Reverse Culture Shock

This is not writers block. This is not a lack of words. This is reverse culture shock.

I'm still trying to figure out how you can live somewhere for just 12.5 weeks, after living somewhere else your whole life, yet returning to that place feeling like an alien.

I remember walking to get my bags off of the conveyor belt in Cincinnati, my parents I hadn't seen in almost 3 months right next to me, and feeling lost.

God bless them I know they care, I know they wanted to listen to me and my hoarse voice from sickness talk about all of the adventures, lessons, and friends, but there was a disconnect because they did not see or feel or know first hand what I was talking about. I felt so bad.

We walked into their house in Lexington a few hours later and I just started to sob. Mind you this is the same house I lived in all middle and high school. But it was different now. The stove, the central heating and air, the dish washer, the big open rooms, my own room, full of childhood. I was sick. Inconsolable. Never before had I felt this way. All I wanted to do was just walk out the door and see my friends walking into the Park Gallery downstairs getting ready for college group, or see dozens of cars zipping by the most dangerous intersection there ever was. All I saw was the same house, row after row. The suburbs. I couldn't hear anything. No helicopters, sirens, people talking, palm trees rustling. Nothing.

A few days later I was back in Knoxville. Moved back to the East Side. Finding my way into senior year and another term at Emerald. Surely seeing my kids and friends would heal whatever sort of sadness I still had... that and time and I'd be fine right?

Apparently not.

Going through the motions I am expected to achieve, turning in work, showing up for class, scanning into chapel. It's all a blur. Sitting still in classrooms for over 6 hours a day after I spent 3 months under the sun, dancing in the streets with babies that had no homes... Living in this big house after sharing 400 square feet with 5 people... Friends that complain about their iPhone update being slow when I sat on  public bathroom floor to help a prostitute sew her skirt with an earring... And yet I'm honestly embarrassed that I'm more than a month removed from the summer and I still can't shake some of the things I felt, saw, experienced, and left behind in order to just "fit in." F that.

"Why can't I integrate back into this dang southern culture like everyone else?"

I'm still mourning the dead bodies from last year, let alone this summer. So forgive me if I find it a little hard to comprehend why I owe anyone a fake smile. I want to not have nightmares anymore. I want to feel like I didn't compromise. I want to know that my black and brown brothers and sisters won't be another hashtag. I want to stop piling stones in front of my heart because I'm starting to forget what it feels like to allow anyone else in.

But I know those things wont stop happening anytime soon.

And I know that I will continue to have an empty feeling inside of me until I am able to deal with the beautiful wins, and tragic losses from the summer. So my prayer is to be present when it's so easy not to be. My prayer is that I will continue to serve the Lord wholeheartedly, allow myself grace, lament the hard things, and rejoice the good.

Here I am, on the eve of a season change, in more ways than one.
Finally admitting reverse culture shock has settled in.
Still taking names, facing waves, and using up a lot of sand paper in hopes I look like Jesus at the end of this journey.

But this tough girl is tired.

Facing the Waves

"Don't turn your back to the waves!" 

"But I'm too scared!"

"You just have to face it head on."

And then she went back to the shore.

On my last Sunday in San Diego, Amy and I went to where everything somehow makes sense. After a tough night before, both of us were in need of some salt water and sun set healing. So we filled our glasses with coconut water, put on our swim suits, and pilled in sweet Nan determined to find peace.

That was when the biggest wave I've ever seen in person beat me up like I was a guy in fight club. Salt in my eyes, my mouth, and sand everywhere (I'm still convinced I have sand in my ears from that darn wave) This is when I started to feel defeated. Like okay, I am supposed to be out here enjoying myself, and spending time with Amy... but no, this wave had other ideas and I retreated to my beach chair to cough up water and sand and cry about the new bruises I had from hitting the ground so hard.

"You done?"

Heck no I wasn't done. 

Was I going to come all this way to the beach just to get wrecked by one massive wave and call it a day? 

No way.

Even after Amy had found her way back to our spot on the beach, I stayed in those waves. The waves I later found out were on the news for some of the biggest and strongest this season. But I could have told you that! And I remembered what she said about facing the waves. Maybe she was right. Maybe facing them wasn't so scary and I was the one who really needed to trust that I would end up okay. Even if I did get a little beat up by the waves. Even if I needed to let the water rush over me while I catch my footing again. 

So, after a few half attempts, I did it. 

I turned my swim suit clad body to the setting sun. 

To face the waves head on.

I jumped up, and came right back down as if no effort was needed.

I wish I could explain to you the feeling that came over me. I had a peace about me, but also so much excitement! I wanted to do it again and again as if I was a child going to the beach for the first time. I stayed out there, facing some of the biggest waves of the season, sharing the space with some of the most talented surfers I've ever seen. We exchanged comments like, "Dude, this is crazy" and I even caught myself yelling back at Amy like, "Did you see that one?!" 

We ended the night with a less than exciting sunset, but I won't remember the clouds and darker sky. I'll remember Amy listening to my story, praying over me, and being the encouraging voice I needed to see that facing the waves head on, isn't all that bad. 

This is all I can say to describe my summer here in San Diego, a season in my life where more often than not I wanted to turn my back on the hard things. I wanted to close my eyes and act like I did not know what was coming my way, or take control over situations that were much more heavy, powerful, and messy than I could handle on my own. But the day I realized that getting knocked down, beat up, or bruised up a little bit in urban ministry didn't mean I needed to sit out... was the day I felt the most at peace with where God had me. 

I started to face the waves head on in San Diego, but that doesn't mean the adventure stops here...

"How was your Summer?"

Much like Jesus had his disciples feel the holes in his flesh, from where he hung on the cross, to make them believe, I too want you to touch my heart and say, "Look, feel, believe what I am telling you!" 

This summer has left crater sized holes in my heart.

It has also filled in a lot of cracks I've been born with, or acquired after being handled without proper care. 

This is a feeling no one could understand without physically poking around in my soul long enough to realize, wow, she wasn't lying, this place is messed up. 

But alas, I will just have to use my half ass words and poor typing skills to convey just how messy it really is...

how beautiful. 

After about a dozen attempts, I gave up writing about what I was seeing, feeling, smelling, doing, experiencing, learning, here. 

Nothing worked. 

Everything felt forced. 

It was as if people were waiting with binoculars at the very idea I had a story to share about being the little white girl who went to California to love on homeless people.

I hated that feeling. 

I hate that I didn't want that title.

I hate that I hated being white. I hate that I wanted to be seen as more than a little girl. I really hated the idea that I needed to give people positive stories about homeless people finding homes, or how miraculously they were no longer addicted to drugs, or how I even bring one to Jesus! 

I hated that I felt the need to shelter anyone from the daily reality of the people I see day in and day out, the true suffering our country is going through right under our phone screens or turned up noses, distance, or just plain ignorance that keeps us from seeing it. The life of the person living on the street. The one hiding behind a title or mask in the church or corporate world. The person who is addicted to numb the pain of their situation. The Refugee from the Middle East. The Immigrant from Mexico. The single mom. The rich white kid who has never had to worry about money, food, or housing. The man whose past is so vividly displayed across his body, even if his heart and eyes look different now. How more often than not I felt like I wasn't good enough for this.

News flash. That's a lot of "I hate's" coming from a girl who preaches Love & Peace. So you can see where some inner turmoil comes into play here. And a lot of resolution has happened, and still seeking to be found. 

Don't hold it against me. 

I don't NEED to give anybody, any particular story.

I don't personally NEED to be anything other than a little white girl, to do what it is I do, just as long as I go about it in a respectful, fruitful, God honoring way. 

So here I am. 15 days away from another seemingly impossible transition. 

Still wondering what it is I am supposed to say about the last 3 months.

Hoping my elevator answer to, "How was your summer?" doesn't sound like a horrible mix of vacation meets activist.

My heart will miss...

Sundays, surrounded by people who look more like the Kingdom will in the end than most churches looks now.

Listening to all the youth group kids laughing outside my window on Tuesday nights & yelling at me from across the yard.

Serving food and praying with the residents at the Plaza every Wednesday with my favorite human beings from the San Diego Rescue Mission.

The few Thursday nights I was able to make it to our college/young adult group and just surrounded myself with some extremely woke young people on fire for the Lord. I owe a lot to those friendships. Y'all did a piece on my heart about what it means to be transformed and adopted by Jesus after a life less than perfect. 

Being able to say "Happy Food Distribution Day!" every Friday to a group of volunteers that are THE MOST ridiculous, but I wouldn't want them to be any other way. 300-500 people coming through our line every week, whether I was the one handing them the food, cleaning up, gleaning for other ministries, or just trying to keep the spirits up as I walked around, that has left a mark for sure. 

All the afternoons spent sorting through fruits and veggies at Feeding America, getting to know the future business owners, lawyers, doctors, politicians, etc. informing them what it feels like to be that 1 in 5 kid going hungry in San Diego.

Every day I went out on the street.

I've never felt the way I do about East Village for any other neighborhood. 

Let that sink in.

There are places on this earth I call home. And then there is East Village. 17th down by Imperial and the bypass might as well be Hell on earth. Take away the drugs, rapes, alcohol, mental illness, physical disabilities, burnings, stabbings, cool. The fact that people are only living with what is on their back, in filth, in their own little village blows my mind. 

I've met people with joy out on the street, there is no joy there.

The strongest street team leaders do not choose to go there most days because it is that rowdy, and yet, I somehow find myself drawn to the darkest depths of that block. 

When others are fleeing, people like me go running toward it. 

Not for a gold medal, not for praise, but out of fear that those people will never see light if I don't go.

I could list off names, experiences, days that left the most impact on me. Days I sobbed driving up, or pulling out of the driveway because I just couldn't hold it in anymore. I could tell you of the dozens of times I made a group of kids turn around in their tracks, or how I still can't breathe around cops. How I took shanks away from drunk ladies, or hugged weeping men because they will never be the father they needed to be to their children. Have you imagine what it's like talking to a group of kids over top 4 choppers looking for a man that killed 3 people in their sleep. I could relive the ongoing jokes I have with Sweet Willy, Heather, Charles, Ms. Streetz, Freckles, Tim, etc. about how a little white girl can earn respect out on the street if she works hard enough for it. 

I could tell you how I fell in love with being called his Mija. Became part of a family that represents everything hot mess and redeemed by the Lord. How five guys in the mission taught me more about what it means to be treated by a man respectfully, than any other dude in Bible college ever has. I could tell you how living in 400 square feet with 5 people is crazy but so doable. How I swore I would never get used to sirens, and the day finally came where it was just background news. I could tell you that some days the most exciting thing about my summer was counting granola bars or zip lock bags. I've learned to appreciate the other side of ministry. The behind the scenes, the numbers, the phone calls and e-mails. I do not love them. And I'll be honest, I never will. But I do appreciate them. 

There are things I won't share.

Things that got zipped up and put away just like the bodies in those bags.

Anger, hurt, sadness, joy, celebration, all things that I need to hold onto or leave behind here in this city so I can be fully present once I return to the south.

Much like I needed to be fully present here in SoCal. 

I ask for respect in that decision. That some parts of my heart will just be fleshy craters, and no one else besides my family here, and my sweet Father in Heaven need to be concerned with. 

So when the question is asked, "How was your summer?" I'll smile big, maybe even hold back a few tears early on, share a memory here and there and say "I learned a lot, it was messy, and it was beautiful." And I'll revisit a place in my heart that is still aching to understand what it all meant. 

Margins in the City

I ran as fast as I could - sand kicking up behind me

My shoes and all other cares in the world were left in the dust.

Consumed.

-

As the sky turned different shades of bright orange, yellow, pink,

I was waist deep in the water wondering how on earth something so beautiful could also be so, 

Destructive. 

-

As I shook the hard worked hands of my brothers and sisters I couldn't help but question when was 

the last time someone smiled at them, let alone sat and prayed with them.

Broken.

-

I bawled more tears for the earthly fathers, than I ever have before that day.

I also learned that this is something I will be called to forever, even in the dry seasons.

Passion.

-

It's very easy to overlook the margins in the city.

This is the part of urban ministry people don't tell you about.

Find the margins, hold tight, and remember why you came here.

Coming Summer 2016: Cali

It all happened really fast... or slow? I can't fully remember. 

But I know I was a mess. A ball of tears and angry at the world. 

Sorry, let me back up for those of you who aren't aware that I'm about to make one of the biggest moves of my life this summer.

Currently finishing my Junior year with a double major in Bible & Theology and Intercultural Studies with a concentration in Urban Studies at Johnson University... and low key hoping to get a minor in Sports Ministry but that's just a dream.

Being an ICS major means I have to fulfill a minimum of 300 hours of field experience through a cross - cultural internship. Most of my peers will be spending the summer overseas since they're in ESL, Chinese, Missions, etc. I however get to stay in the states for mine since the whole goal for me is to serve as some sort of urban youth worker within inner city communities. 

Whether that's here in Knoxville, back in Lexington, or wherever God says to go. 

This summer that "wherever" just happens to be San Diego, California!

Pause

(Insert about 15 hours of crying spread over the last 3 and a half months)

I never said listening to God was easy.

Continue

I won't go into all the messy and chaotic details of how I thought I would be in Montgomery, Alabama this summer, or Harlem and that didn't happen.

Leaving the South won't be the hard part. Leaving these mountains or my sweet city that bleeds blue is always emotional, but my heart does entertain the adventure of new cities more often than not.

Leaving my family and friends... never ever easy, but I've been gone from them longer and farther than this before, and their support means so much to me in this.

I can't even write "leaving the kids" without crying.

"I'm not leaving"

I say it over a hundred times a day... to them, but mostly to myself.

3 months away from the ones I have spent almost every day with since last summer makes me want to just say it's not worth it.

But that would be the dumbest thing I could do.

I have to go, I need to go.

This will be one of the most life changing, influential, and greatest learning opportunities for me to experience while in college, and life as a whole! 

I've been dreaming about Oakland and Compton since the 8th grade and now my chance to see the cities I've been dreaming of for 7 years will become reality. I get chills thinking about it. 

I know it sounds crazy. Who loves cities they've never been to... especially "those cities."

Having the opportunity to serve and learn from some of the most seasoned urban ministry folks on the West Coast is something people like me can only wish for, and I get that opportunity for a whole summer. Making connections, relationships, starting to network for after graduation. This is a huge stepping stone for my future, education, and faith journey. 

Faith

Seeking the peace of the city

Claiming what is better and not letting anyone take it from me

Knowing that sometimes heartbreak is really just you making room to love more people

This summer will look like serving the homeless in multiple different ways.

Loving and caring for refugees.

Food distribution to over 70,000 people a month.

Conferences. Training. Leading dozens of missions teams in our community. 

Attending church at New Vision Christian Fellowship and forming relationships with my team.

After telling my parents and the kids I feel like I can breathe again. That doesn't mean the anxiousness is gone. Or the sadness about leaving them doesn't cloud my mind everyday. But I know that after 3 months I will return from a season of people pouring into me, teaching, training, and showing me what it's like to run a program in some of the most diverse cities in our country - filled and ready for another year in school and at Emerald Youth Foundation. 

Better equipped for the work I love so much.

Three weeks from now I will see the Pacific Ocean for the first time. Some of the worst poverty and greatest wealth within a couple miles of each other in our country.  

I just want to ask for prayer over this big move.

For travels. The summer programs I'll be part of. The team. My family and kids while I'm away. 

And for me to have faith as I am still in the fundraising process.

P.S. I just googled it and I'm less than 20 minutes from In-N-Out. 

Pray for my waistline while you're at it!!

Dear Rowdy Boys

Dear Rowdy Boys,

Yeah, you know who you are.

The ones who never stop talking till you call on them in class.
The ones who wear their pants a little lower cause that's what the grown men on your street do.
The ones who joke around and mess with everyone until someone says something about your moms or hairline or how someone broke your ankles last weekend in the game.

Then your jokes become perfectly shot venom to their Achilles heel, just so you don't seem weaker or emotional.

News flash. We all know that hurt.

My heart has always chosen you.
You who smell like the outdoors, or your uncs' house.
You who will do or say anything to get positive attention from someone.
You who love to wipe your sweat on me and rush to tell me about your grades... or hate to tell me about the trouble you ended up getting into at school that day.
We talk about your newest crush, how siblings are super annoying, argue about who the best point guard in the game is, and dream about where we will be in the next couple of years.

My heart will never stop choosing you.
Young to old.
Years have gone by, and I've gotten tired, but
I refuse to give up on you.
Back talk. Hateful attitudes. And a lack of respect for authority.
There is a reason behind all of those things. And I'm here to listen.

Those dudes in the tinted window cars.
Those dudes who rep something you fear and respect all at the same time.
They don't listen like I do.
They will only choose you while you're of value to them.
I will always choose you, rowdy boys.

I can't be mom... even if you ask me.
I can't be your girl... that's just #protocol.
I'm not blood, but I can be family.
I will be Miss Chloe.

And sometimes that means sitting on a bus in silence why you cry over the tragic loss of a friend.
It means playing 1 on 1 while I tell you about where I'll be for the next 3 months and being honest.
It means showing up in the Ville and just walking with you so you can be heard.
Sometimes that means not yelling when I absolutely want you to know how upset your behavior makes me. Because yelling to you is an unfortunate norm.
You better believe I know your Granny, Momma, Auntie, and big brother. We're close enough to where if you act a fool, I have permission to remind you what's up!
So sit back down sir.
There will always be times when you hate me with your whole being.
There will be times you spit on me, push me away, call me things you think will hurt my feelings.
You wait for my reaction. And when you don't get one, you will hate me even more.

Until one day.
After I continue to choose you.
Day after day.
You realize who I am.
And that I love you, rowdy boys,

It's hard to get all A's

I get upset when kids going home over the weekend without food till Monday.

I have an issue with safe teachers that consider themselves gods compared to their rebellious classroom.

I'm not okay with cops stepping over boundaries cause their badge gave them some sort of pass.

I have an issue when my kids feel like the only way to avoid and forget about all the shit that is happening around them, or to have fun, is to get high.

It bothers me that when there is an event to support non-violence in the community in memory of Zae, somehow, no one is safe even then. 

I have an issue with gang members taking peoples lives and thinking they are above all moral conscious. 

It breaks my heart when little girls are left to raise their own little girls alone.

Ebb and Flow

This is the cycle

Again and again 

Gun shots
Sirens 

The smell of bud or liquor on every corner

Lifeless Bodies

No one knows their stories.
No one knows their hearts. What they love to do, what they wish to be.
But I know. Because I have listened. I cared enough to ask.
They wish to be alive.

"It's hard to get all A's Chloe."

It's hard to get all A's when the resources aren't there to help you anyway. But it is really hard to get straight A's when you have to look over your shoulder all day. Or when you don't know if mom is coming home that night. Or if your home is actually a shelter with a bunch of other moms and kids who have been abused and unloved like you. Or you haven't eaten anything for 3 days. Or maybe you can't get straight A's because your brother, daddy, cousin were shot and killed last week and people brush it off like "they knew better."

The streets are ruthless, heartless, and cold.
Territory. Protection. Identity.
All of these things can be sought after and achieved in other ways.
It is the easiest and most difficult thing to do. To sign your life away.

But every now and then I am greeted with some of the brightest smiles, biggest hugs, "I love you too's" and all of those things fade away long enough for me to remember why I am here.
Why I chose such a god forsaken path down graffiti covered walls and littered sidewalks.
It's the hope that those little glimpses of light turn into forest fires in their souls. And the dark parts of their lives will be snuffed out by their light.

Staying up late into the night this weekend, listening to them, had to be one of the most filling, and exhaustively saddest things I've ever done.
I was excited to be let into their lives this past year.
I had no idea it would lead to feeling like this.

They are my family.
This is our city.
When they cry, I cry.
When they bleed, I bleed.
And when they get accepted to college, or denied the job, or welcome a child into the world. I am right there with them. 
Because I know that is what Jesus would do.

And maybe, just maybe, with enough prayer, faith, and challenging, that ebb and flow can start to look a little different.