Walks in Woodhill

I know picking up and leaving one city for the next does not remove the pain, anxiety, papers, tough work days, lonely nights, laundry, and unknowing of the future. I know this. And yet I knew it needed to happen. I needed to pack a bag and feel the sun on my face, in my city, in the midst of what feels like the longest winter season ever. (said with tired sass and maybe even an eye roll)

My only request this time around was to see inside. After 7 years of envisioning what it would be like. Dreaming, planning, getting our hopes up, seeing a blue print, only to never happen. 

Yeah. Of course I want to see inside. 

So we walked.

Cause God isn't the only one who knows we need the sun to survive after a winter like this one. The first "warm" day in months. We walked from almost one side of Woodhill to the other. Adding a few friends along the way.

Kids running from their yards for hugs. Pops throwing the football with boys no taller than my knees. Waving to the mommas on their stoops. Peeking around doors to say hello to old friends. Holding hands and hearing "sissy look!" every couple of seconds.

I was exactly where I needed to be.
I felt the things I needed to feel again in that place. I needed to be reminded why I started this journey so many years ago. In that neighborhood.

If anyone knows me, they know that my entire life revolves around Loving God and Loving Others.
And "ministry" doesn't have a clock in or clock out time. It's simply my life. This neighborhood has been calling me for a handful of years now. 

But I have also been called to live in the beautiful city surrounded by mountains and orange fans. With kids that feel more like family than ever before. With families that ask me how to handle certain decisions. And a boss that is as crazy about them as me.

So I do what I know best wherever I am. Here or there... or way out there (aren't you curious now?!) Gods timing doesn't mean I have to be passive in the waiting. I can still be brave. I can still love people like they need. And when the time comes, or if it never does, I'll go. I'll stay. That's the cool thing about being in love with God. You're kind of willing to do anything for Him.

Pops wasn't passive all these years in the waiting.
I won't be either.
We will be brave. We will play ball in the street.
We will continue to take walks with those who need the sun.

P.S. That beautiful girl in pink? Same age as me when I chose to be brave and join a village not knowing what it would mean. I know a lot more now. And I am really excited to see where she will be brave now that she is part of the village too.

tuesday night: simple things

I really need to be writing a paper.
For the book I've hardly started.
It's due Thursday.

Also,
I really need to sleep.
I haven't gotten more than 10 hours of sleep in the last 4 days.

Before I can do any of that.
I need to share some of the simple things with you...

I was standing over the sink, washing dishes, when he asked me what it was like to go to space.

I had come over for dinner, which has become more of a regular thing now, 

with the deal I would clean up. 

I said deal. 

His mom and dad were getting the other two ready for bed,

he could have been in the play room, all those toys to himself.

Instead though, he chose to ask me about going to space, and how it's really weird I live at school.

"You can live in the spare room!" he said.

"I think I just might P" I told him.

There is just something about sharing a meal around a table that means so much to me.

Or when I ask for suggestions on where to take your car for repair and they just prove to me yet again what a selfless community looks like. 

And the conversations had right before my long drive back to the south side, 

always make the commute better. 

I am at peace. 

The simple things.

I can thank Him for the blessings, and wipe a few tears in solitude.

-

Knox County Schools were canceled today.

Immediate sadness filled my heart.

No school, no program.

Just as I was settling into the idea that I would have the evening to actually write that paper I mentioned earlier, I got a phone call joking about how we don't have off days.

And before you get all up in arms about me needing rest and time to be a college kid, 

I hear you. 

But if you know me at all, that paper wouldn't have gotten touched without the motivation of seeing my babies. 

Plus, I work so much better under pressure... and we have been given the Sabbath for a reason, I take that ish serious fam!  

Cleaning the van, getting some paper work stuff up to date, I never have the chance to do that.
Also, there were puppies at the church to play with, so that was the best surprise ever!

Today it happened. 
And I'm okay with doing the little things, because sometimes it leads to my boss handing me the card and saying "take the girls to dinner."

My rest looks different from other peoples rest some days.

Today it looked like letting two Fulton Seniors drive me around, running errands, and eating way too much pizza, while we talked about how "people be catching feelings too quick."  Where they plan to go to college. And parents.

The simple things.

And somehow I get to call this my job.

It's Tuesday night and my to do list seems to be getting longer, rather than shorter. 

But I can't find anything to complain about.

The simple things just keep filling me up.

This is my community.family.life. 

I don't deserve it at all.

lessons from the hardwood

I stood in the middle of the gym watching the boys play ball. There were three different games happening, all demanding my attention. 

"Ms. Chloe watch this!"

"Aye this one's for you."

"You seen that right?" 

And of course all the screams, eye rolls, hand gestures, and sweat, that somehow always ends up on my shirt. Gross. 

Wednesday use to be the worst day of the week for me. Now it's one I look forward to most. For a lot of different reasons. Family time is my favorite. And I never get tired of playing or watching ball with them. 

There is going to come a time when none of those boys play in that gym anymore, and I won't be yelling at them to hustle back on defense. And the thought of that makes me really sad. That's life. 

I'm just real thankful that right now, in this season of life, I am blessed with the ability to stand in the middle of the gym and watch the boys play. And soak up all the life lessons that come from that hardwood floor and that hoop.

alovelikethis

I've never known a love like this.                
I've never known heartache like this.
I've never been pushed, challenged, or lived like this.

Yes, I have loved.
Yes, I have had my heart ache.
Yes, I have been pushed, challenged, and alive.

But not like this.

         -                                                                                     

I wrote that in the notes of my phone in a parking lot a few weeks ago, one frigged night, after all the kids had gone home, and I was alone.

That was the day I told the middle schoolers I had accepted a position at EYF's new High School Resource center, College Street, in Mechanicsville. 

The offer came just a day after we had lost one of our high schoolers in a random drive by. There was no way I could handle whatever it was they wanted me to do with the High Schoolers. Not before his death, and certainly not after. Plus there was no way I could leave the middle schoolers. 

So I said no. 

Several calls, texts, and conversations later, with the people that do everything in there power to encourage me to pray, and make my own decisions based off of what God says, not Chloe, or the rest of the world (darn them.) I was asked again later that week by two different people if I would take this on. 

Removing my selfish desires, anxieties about how the high schoolers wouldn't like me, and having spent all of Christmas break in prayer about it, feeling as though this was an opportunity you don't pass on.

So I said yes. 

After numerous pep talks, and about two break downs, prepping the building, and training (tutors, volunteers, and ourselves) what this should look like on a daily basis, we are here. Working out the kinks. Recruiting kids. Small victories, major victories, and a couple failures... oh and more prayer. 

First week is in the record books, and I can't wait to see what God has in store for the next 3 months, and beyond, with this site, and these kids. 

Their stories have begun to be written on my heart and soul. 
Their stories are worthy, bold, dark, messy, vibrant, beautiful, violent, heavy, inspiring, foreign, rhythmic. 
The words I wrote then, are still breathing today.

I've never known a love like this.                
I've never known heartache like this.
I've never been pushed, challenged, or lived like this.

Yes, I have loved.
Yes, I have had my heart ache.
Yes, I have been pushed, challenged, and alive.

But not like this.

Not Strong Enough For It: Part 2

"R.I.P. Zae" 

It was everywhere. Instagram. Twitter. My inbox. I couldn't escape it. 

I leaped to check the news app on my phone, which was dumb of me cause the shooting happened in Lonsdale and "the cops don't come here" statement flooded my mind almost as loud as I heard it the last time last year. Hours would go by before the WATE or WBIR news stations would provide a measly, "Fatal shooting in Lonsdale" or "Man shot and killed, more to come" Man.  Kid was 15. 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

I cringed thinking about our many conversations of, "What happens when it's one of ours on the news... in the street... the new hashtag..." and how it became reality in a matter of moments.  
I cried, no, I sobbed when I started to think about our Falcon boys. A team I learned to support and love this past semester, but more importantly, a dozen of them call me Chlo, and make fun of how I ALWAYS think I got next during their pick up games on Wednesday nights. 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

What is my role in this? 
What do you tell kids who just lost their brother/teammate/best friend to gang violence? 
What do you do as a lover of Christ, seeker of social justice, a supporter of the #BlackLivesMatter movement, and someone against violence? 
And dare I join the young voices crying out WHY to a creator I know better than to question...?
I fell asleep in a pool of tears.
I woke up to a short press conference with an emotional police chief, and desperate mayor challenging our Knoxville community to end this thoughtless violence. 

That's when I found out what Zaevion Dobson, a 15 year old sophomore football player at Fulton High School, member of the 100 Black Men chapter here in Knoxville, brother, and son, did last night as he died. 

"Jumped on top of 3 girls to shield them from the bullets." -KPD 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

And now I know why the first report of the shooting addressed Zae as a man. 

I don't know of many men who will selflessly jump to save a group of people from harm, or death, not once questioning his own life, let alone a 15 year old boy with a future. 

Brave. Hero. A success story. 

These are all things Zaevion will be called the next couple of days. And then most of the further removed public will turn their heads back to their Christmas festivities, and see this day as another one on the calendar. 

Another black boy dead cause of gangs.

But I will still see his friends everyday. His family in maroon. The ones that used to sit with him in class. And play with him on that field. 

And I am faced with the feeling of not knowing how, or what, to say.

I'm faced with prayers lifted up, texts sent, hugs given, tears wiped, and candle lit vigils for a boy that won't be forgotten in this community. 

A community that knows all to well what this loss feels, looks, an tastes like. 

Many will want revenge. Answers. They will feel a sense of urgency to do something, to take action, and to make a difference.  

So we mourn today. But tomorrow we have work to do.

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

But sometimes, even when I don't think I can, I have to be... I am. 

Conversations With J

We struggled through some language arts. Because even though we have been speaking English our whole lives, we still aren't at the levels we should be... and I don't blame either one of us... English is dumb sometimes. Words on the other hand, words have power no matter the language. And between the two of us, we could fill the world with words till the end of time, easy. 

We underlined, added commas, and defined what each sentence was. 

"You know I've been acting good lately." - J 

"Yeah! You really have... I'm proud of you." - me

(insert conversation about how the phrase "good things happen to good people" isn't always true... and sometimes good people still suffer before they find joy - shout out to my Hebrews class coming in clutch!) 

"Ms. Chloe people are saying my Momma is poor cause some people are helping her give me presents for Christmas... but that isn't true." - J

(insert conversation of me holding back tears because sometimes kids can be really mean... and telling him that I know a lot of kids that receive presents from a lot of different people... I also know of a lot of kids that don't get anything) 

His work for the next two days was finished because we considered how many pages were in the packet, and knew he had practice tomorrow so he wouldn't do any of it then. This is the sort of problem solving he has been missing out on - sure homework needs to get done at some point, but if you can make him realize what the rest of his week looks like, and allow him to choose to have a day for just basketball?! Well then, what are we doing just sitting around? We have work to do!

-

Now he was pacing back and forth in front of me.  

(insert a story of him telling me how, a boy we both know and love, was getting made fun of during practice, and how he stuck up for him because "they don't know what we know." I remembered how you said that we should care about our friends... even when no one else is." Again... holding back the tears. )

"Chloeeeee. What do I need to do to be better?! Like... I'm talkin' bout what am I missing? Or can work on... like drills? I don't want people to call me lame. I want my game to speak for itself... I don't want to argue no more." - J

I've learned that J and I are similar in the sense that we have to talk our problems out loud... we don't always want people to respond, we just want someone to listen to us, so that we can make sense of it ourselves. But every so often, we want someone to respond, and to give us sound advice that will take us to the next level. A level we couldn't reach on our own. So I spend a lot of time listening to J. I listen to him, I hear him, and every now and then when I know he is looking for a word that has power, I ask God to lead me in the right direction, and provide a perspective he usually hasn't considered yet.

Today was one of those days he really needed someone to listen. 

And I am just thankful that I get to be the one to hear him. 

  

twenty first

I wrote them down on a yellow envelope. 

But mostly they've been written down on me over the last 21 years. 

Celebrate every victory, big or small.

Find the beauty in everything.

Be present.

Over planning kills magic. 

If flowers can blossom after long, harsh winters, so can I.

My identity is in Christ, and He made me a masterpiece.

Rest.

I am a hurricane of a girl, and the homeless relate with my wolf eyes. 

Listen.

Naps are for everyone.

Play in the rain.

Seek joy everyday.

Take a deep breath and wait five seconds. 

When hugging a child, never be the first to let go. 

Messy isn't wrong.

Love everyone.

Crying is okay.

Pick Adventure.

Laughing loud just means you have a full heart, keep it up.

Don't let anyone tame your wild. 

The last one was hard.

I felt like I was empty without it.

Then it hit me. 

And the obligatory words were tuned out, and the joy was seen in a drizzly November day.

My twenty-first.

I may have been found by the greatest, but His gift to me will always be, even after the songs stop, the pixie dust fades, Wendy grows up, and Peter dies, that I can be a Lost Boy.