Just a Girl & Her Love for Cities

I tried writing this several times. 

Whatever this is.

Nothing measured up. 

No words could be formed in order to display the affection I have for this place.

Closing chapters.

New seasons.

I started blaming the cold weather for the tightness in my chest & misty eyes.

But I know better.

I know myself well enough that traveling over oceans, and countries. 

Going from one coast to another.

Will not extinguish the deeply rooted love I have for this place.

I have fallen in and out of love with others.

The questions have already started to flood my conversations.

The post grad questions all seniors hate.

Some more than others.

For me, I fear the questions less.

It is the answers I fear the most.

Commitment has never been my strong suit.

Ask my exes.

They will be the first to tell you I fled faster than an Olympic athlete in a race for Gold.

My throat starts to close up and my palms get sweaty even from the thought of being tied down to someone or something.

And yet I love this city so much, that even my desire to see every skyscraper this country has, there is a big blue beacon that acts as my North Star.

It is unexplainable.

I read a book over Christmas break a rad friend wrote about this very city.

His second book, arguably my favorite of the two.

It was as if he had snuck into my dreams and wrote down the very detailed parts of a city that make my heart beat its strongest... 

Granted he was sharing stories about his own life, people we both know, and some I do not. 

I read I Used To Live Here in one sitting.  

I cried. I laughed. I sighed deeply.

I am so thankful for Caleb as a human.

And I am real thankful someone else sees the beauty and the heartbreak that is our city.

There have been several cold nights I have returned to this drafted, scattered, emotional collection of words in hopes something better will come.

Backspace. Backspace. Backspace.

Should I say this? 

Will people think I don't love them too?

I miss San Diego.

I miss Santa Cruz.

I miss Knoxville when I'm not here.

I miss cities I've only spent a short amount of time in, but desire to go back, and back again.

I miss cities I've never been to.

And so continues the story of a girl and her love for cities and their street lights, culture, tall buildings, cracked sidewalks, 

and most of all the people in the depths of them.

Christmas on Main St. Lexington, KY

Afraid of the answers, yes.

Afraid of commitment, yes.

Afraid of big changes and not having control, yes

Ready to be challenged in those things, dare I say it?

Yes.

Just Stay

"Just stay."

"You don't have to go."

"We miss you."

3 and a half years ago I sat in front of a group of elementary and middle school kids I had spent a lot of life with. I mean, considering I had been in middle and high school myself... I basically grew up with them on my hip and under my wings. My friends back then thought it was cool and even ended up hanging out with us a couple days after school. We didn't really think it would go this far for me. Then again, maybe they did and they just let me hope and wish and dream on my own.

But I sat in front of them and told them I was going to college. And it wasn't UK like we had planned as a family unit. Where the girls and I could still have ice cream and dance parties and the boys would be able to come to basketball games with me. Nope. Not UK. It wasn't even in the same state. I told them I was going to an itty bitty school in Knoxville, TN, to study the Bible and teach people around me how to love... Marcus and I knew then that my journey at Johnson wouldn't look normal. Nothing about me is really "normal." But I knew then my role would be tough... and I would stick out like a sore thumb. The kids didn't understand that though... and honestly I'm still trying to avoid my obvious role here and I keep getting my butt kicked for it. I have a semester left to figure it out okay?

Of course I would still visit! I reassured them. Plus...

"I'll be back in 4 years."

3 and a half years ago I sat in front of a group of elementary kids and led their bible rotation and helped out with homework where I could. I was nervous, but also very at home. Would I ever be accepted or love others like I did in Lexington? Of course Bolivia is a whole other category in this, but I almost felt more foreign in Knoxville those first few months than I did across borders. The adults in the room made comments about how much I resembled him. How the kids just want to be around me. I was honored and terrified all in the same moment. Even though I can fit his basketball shoes... those were still huge shoes to fill and the bar had been set. I was only a volunteer then. But they knew just like I did, they had me for 4 years. 

2 summers ago I sat in front of a group of middle school kids that were a lot bigger and louder than the babies I just spent my first two years of college with, an prior to that. But a few dance moves and a couple jokes latter it was as if I was a middle schooler myself. "This is where I belong" I thought. And I stayed with them through the fall and winter and spring. 

Last January I got a call about needing me to do something really hard. We had just lost Zae and our kids were wrecked. Change isn't something I am too fond of. Which is ironic considering how much I love cities. It is a love hate thing for sure. But that call changed my life forever. And I wouldn't want to change it for the world. 

Almost a year ago I got on a bus full of kids I didn't really know. I recognized a few older siblings, and a few seniors that had helped me out before, but I sat in a seat on my own. We were headed to resurrection. The time is coming where we get on that bus again, only though this time, I'll know everyone. My heart will swell with joy and I'll thank God for this family. 

My heart will also break a little, because the next time I journey out to the mountains that far it will be for my Graduation. And the ones I told "I'll be back in 4 years" will be awaiting my return. And the ones I've done life with the last 4 years will hold their breath and say, 

"Just stay."

"You don't have to go."

"We miss you."

Less Coffee: Honest Thoughts

It's day 3 without coffee.

I wish that number sounded as significant as it felt. 

My head stopped throbbing around 4am this morning. 

I have a lot of peppermint oil & Tylenol to thank for that. 

Funny how we fill the absence of one thing with another...

People have asked me why I randomly decided to separate myself from something 

I love so much.

Something that does not define me.

Something that I am not addicted to, or in need of at least twice a day.

And something I am most definitely not a snob over. 

I can't really see the problem there myself either to be honest. 

Guess that's why I just ordered a cappuccino in The Old City on accident.

Damn.

-

I woke up before the sun this morning.

Got dressed. Ate breakfast. Started the dish washer and wiped down the counters.

I haven't been the best housemate recently.

I want to do better.

Somehow I make a part time position very, very full time.

And then there is school...

Yeah. School.

Less than 5 months away from the end.

I don't handle change very gracefully. If you know me at all, you know this to be true.

I am both excited and terrified all at the same time.

Currently have an essay and a half left to finish and turn in for this semester.

So here I am.

Writing to you.

Again... being finished sounds great.

But change.

-

I went to the Police station this morning so I could get on my knees and beg the judge to reduce a ticket I got at the end of last month, on my way to school.

Gathered all the peaceful vibes I could.

Bundled myself up head to toe cause the high is 30 today and my summertime joy has magically faded away with my tan skin.

I knew I would be surrounded by guns. Surrounded by uniforms. Surrounded by people I want so badly to love... but somehow still feel as though they are the enemy that hurt my people.

Part of me just wanted to tell the cranky officer behind the security desk that I wish I could hug him.

Is that weird?

Maybe. Whatever.

I just know he needed one, and I needed to be the one to offer.

But I didn't. He was just a little too cranky. And I was still nervous.

Turns out my day to beg the judge isn't until 9am TOMORROW.

It's fine.

-

I also need to admit that ordering a cappuccino wasn't an accident.

Now you see why.

8 years ago

Let me tell you a story

about 8 years ago I met a man who was on a journey much bigger than himself. he had left his home, family, and a city full of kids that still talk about him to this day. he went to the one place he told God he didn't want to go.

he used what he had to play, teach, and invest in this new city full of kids. I was in 6th grade when I decided I would do the same one day.

fast forward, that man called us 7 out to be uncomfortable, to never be average, and to be the salt and light of this earth. we're not perfect. we fail. but we are a family.

hot summers where we developed our own camps & made memories under the street lights.

school years full of helping kids read & using our fingers to count.

moving away. college. change.

pain. heartbreak.
joy. celebration.

the call has always been there, in the distance. Every move I've made laced in the thought that it won't be a dream one day. It will be real. It is real.

the years have passed and that man has remained. the dream never fading.

patience.
so much patience.

he began calling us his own.
in the victories and our less than elegant moments.

when the news came that the dream was forming into a structure, with cement, flooring, windows, wood beams... goosebumps covered me and his eyes were just as glassy as mine.

here we are.
8 years removed from the introduction, even more from the birth of the dream.

we are looking at Gods provision.

we are looking at why that man called us out the way he did. so that one day... there will be more like us.

there will be more encouraged to believe that 6th grade dreams can be made real. and more will see that waiting for God to be God, is so, flipping worth it.

and the story continues...

 

the year I will never forget

I woke up with all the air I could fill in in my lungs

only to let it all out with one very long sigh

twenty-one is over today

and I am trying to convince myself to focus on the mountain of homework I have instead of getting emotional like I always do this time of year

it's not working very well 

year twenty-one was one of those years you can't forget

no matter how hard you try

this was the year I mourned the most

and loved the hardest

this was the year I raised my first in the air 

for something bigger than myself

I learned how to use my voice as a 

megaphone

bridge

whisper 

twenty-one had 

baptisms & weddings & deaths

graduations 

lots of coffee  

a major title shift at work that gave me 

my family of high schoolers

being snowed in on a mountain with that family

the honor to help lead a student organization on campus for social unity

basketball & football & volleyball 

games cheering on my kids

celebrating an 18th birthday that will forever be my favorite birthday

breaking ground on the Woodhill community center 

sunshine

city adventures 

our beautiful Bella Sky Rose being born

serve the city meets the EYF fam

moving to the West Coast

making life long friends & family

sand & salt water

graffiti & tacos 

Mexico

life on the street

sunsets & being a momma for a couple weeks 

the boy

unexpected life lessons through suburban kids 

hundreds of hours in urban ministry 

a new home on the east side

see you later's in NYC & NJ

senior year

being a neighbor 

hope fellowship

and of course capstone 

twenty-two will look nothing like twenty-one for a lot of reasons

that's ok

I am thankful for what it was & the work it did on my heart

I left it tired but hopeful

answers in the sidewalk

Today I walked around my city.

I walked out of a meeting I got told to stop running from my calling.

And I just started walking.

I walked till I got a blister from my flats.

This is why I don't wear flats.

I made the phone call I always make in these situations, 

only to be told the thing I always get told in these situations.

Deep breath.

I hate accountability when it's someone keeping me accountable.

Sure, I keep my kids accountable, my roommate, sister, and some friends when they ask me to.

When it's me?

I'd rather just be forgotten.

I wish someone else would step up or feel the same calling within their spirit and that way I wouldn't have to play this out myself.

I walked over the cracked sidewalk.

I squinted my eyes when the sun started to peak through the tall buildings filled with important business people. 

I smiled to the man asking for money against the wall and told him he reminded me of an angel I met in San Diego.

My mind was both racing and at peace all at the same time.

The "to-do" list is way too long, but for some reason, it's okay.

The "to-do" list doesn't go away... not for me. 

The contents will not stay the same, but there will always be work to do. 

There will always be someone holding me accountable.

Thank God.

I will always find my answers in the sidewalks.

Whether I want it or not.

And now it is time to look at that "to-do" list and call out what makes priority.

What lasts.

What holds power and importance.

What things are simply out of my control.

This won't be the last time I consult the cities sidewalk to work things out in my mind and heart.

But now to hold myself accountable.

And put the running shoes up.

Cake Pops on the East Side

For those of you who don't know, I've been blessed with the opportunity to live in a really beautiful home on Jefferson Avenue.

Smack in the middle of Park Ridge and whats famously known as the East Side.
I am in walking distance of Magnolia as well as the Historic District of North Knox.

This is the street where twenty-thirty something young professionals meet and the ladies walk the streets at night regularly.

This is the couple of blocks where more than a handful of my neighbors have composts in their back yards, and the others have low riders with huge subs in the trunk sitting in their driveway.

This is the porch sitting community. The place you take your kids on afternoon walks.
This place is not just where "North Knox" and "East Knox" collide.

This is our home.

                                                                        -

If you know me at all you know that a huge passion, value, or ideal of mine is to live in community with Gods people. And for awhile now I have been able to live that out in several different ways. Always providing an adventure, learning experience, challenges, and preparing me for when I have a home of my own, and I get to share it with others.

I've dreamed for years of a big house with enough room for a football team size family.
A kitchen table that never seems to run out of room for my big boys, and baby girls.
Space for friends and neighbors to seek rest, fellowship, and love.

This past summer I shared 400 square feet with four other bodies and somehow we still managed to make room for guests to eat and hang out. I really believe that our homes are meant to be places of refuge and recuperation after a chaotic day in the world, but for people that do not have that space of their own... I also feel called to have a willingness to share resources and create a place that welcomes everyone.

Since moving onto Jefferson Ave I have been stretched and challenged in my own beliefs of communal living, and how sometimes you have to put your desires or comforts to the side in order to really look like Christ to the community you're in.

Last night my house was full of beautiful, giggly, creative, patient, loving, little girls. My heart was overflowing so much I had to step away for a few minutes to make sure I wasn't going to break down in tears. It was as simple as watching them play in the backyard and being willing to help clean up the house. It was how they loved on each other and how desperate they were to just have a place away from their reality for a few hours.

A place they can get their hands messy making cake pops, and jam out to some Beyonce in the living room for a dance party. A place they could play, be heard, encouraged, share in the food and fellowship of each other. All we did was open our home and watch the rest unfold.

I never want to take that for granted.