Her Name is Hurricane

"Everyone who meets Chloe knows that she is a spinning hurricane that just sweeps through your life and then you wonder when she will hurricane back around."

I feel as if I should apologize. I never really thought my hurricane-ness was as bad as it sounds when others talk about it. I take over. Invade. In a good way mostly... until the one time I turned around and saw some of the casualties I left behind me. But I can't get back up close to provide aid...
I'm an aftershock waiting to happen.

The sunshine.
The smiles.
The laughter.
These are all the eye of my storm.
Take a few steps in either direction and you are asking for major damage - all in love.

I've learned to suppress and hold things back in a dark place until I am ready to deal with them. I call it the Scarlet O'Hara syndrome. "I'll think about that tomorrow."

The city... that is where I resolve things.
That is where I allow myself to swift through those tucked away thoughts and experiences and revive my soul, in order to go another round of war with this world.
This city, however, has an extra dose of healing.

Sun.
Sand.
Open skies.
The food, music, pace of life... these are all things that help my hurricane-ness catch a break.
At least I thought so.

But he reminded me, that isn't the case.
That everyone is still dealing with the aftermath of Chloe from 2 years ago...
My heart wasn't ready for it.
I came here to repair another cities scars, not this one.
He thanked me, we celebrated his new life in Christ. I was so blessed to witness it.
But he didn't leave out the parts where I knew what I was doing.
This is where my "I think I need to apologize" statement comes in.

What I try to block out and keep in the dark.
When I come here to deal with everything but that...
Still, it is a reality.
Much like when America forgets those impacted by storms, those in poverty across the street from us, I wanted to forget my own body count.

"Thank you for what you did for us. Thank you for seeing us."

My stomach was in a knot.
How can he say that when my own blood feels differently?
Add another body.

People wanted me to come here and rest, to prepare to thrive when I return.
That is usually how this goes.
"She leaves, cries, comes back, and we are good."
This one feels different though.
This one feels more like a separation has taken place.
Welcomed, received, expected... but I know there is a space here that once was, not is, anymore.

A man on the plane asked what I like to do for fun, when I'm not traveling the world, loving people.
I wish he knew how much fun I have doing that... because nothing else measures up.

Part of me is upset at myself for going through it all again.
For remembering.
For feeling it deeply, despite knowing the page has been turned over for awhile now.

Deep breath in. Closed eyes. Jump up.

I faced the waves so I could be free of my own hurricane, if but only for a few hours.

Our New Normal

He walked in the gym early this morning, ready to go. He asked where the kids were and I looked at him funny, "What do you mean? We don’t have camp today.” I could tell he was disappointed. We quickly decided breakfast needed to be made & some cleanup around the building could be taken care of. We called for some backup and made it happen. I’m not sure how many teenage boys wake up early on a Friday morning for camp that isn’t happening, just to stick around and make breakfast... but this is our new normal...

Our new normal looks a lot like teenagers asking me for the keys and taking every chance to practice driving in the neighborhood... Instead of corralling a bunch of kids to put on their seat belts. As much as I loved van rides, I don’t miss them this summer.

My wall at the office is full of goals, dreams, and personal perspectives. It doesn’t look cute or well organized like my coworkers walls. But it screams reality. It is the true reflection of this group of young people, of this family. Scribbles, broken thoughts, deeply rooted passions. I hope no one makes me take hem down.

The kids know if they make it up to the office they are either about to get a speech from me, or they are about to get a speech from me. But it always ends with a hug or high five. Our new normal feels like the old normal when it comes to expectations, and leadership, it just happens to be new faces following through with those expectations, and surprising us with their leadership.

My boys raid the kitchen daily. My girls ask to hula hoop and braid hair nonstop. Parents hold me accountable just as much as I hold their kids accountable. We expected the family to grow... over time. What we didn't expect, what I was not ready for... is the new normal. But I wouldn't really change it for anything. I'm glad I found room in my heart, and I'm glad they found room on the couch... because I don't think any of us plan on leaving anytime soon.

I fear the last day of summer. This is nothing new. But the new normal looks a lot like preparing for Fall in the biggest way and I don't have the confidence in myself to execute and deliver results like I should.

But, at the same time, our new normal says that once the summer ends, and the school year arrives, our chaos will find its rhythm and we will be alright. This has really always been the case... now it is just amplified with fresh paint and a new address.

I haven't been able to express in written words just how this season feels... or maybe I'm just too busy living in it to share... either way, what I know is, this is our new normal. and it is good.

grown kids love

It's interesting...

the older kids get. the less *climb all over you and ask 100 questions* moments there are.

for years that's all I ever knew. 

fight for who sits in whose lap. 

who gets to hold my *insert item here* for the day. 

you know the drill. little kids love to love you. 

or act like they don't like you just so you will go the extra mile for them to like you!

that changes as they get older. 

less hugs. more head nods.

less giggles. more hard conversations. 

this is the world I've been in recently. 

they don't hate me... at least not all of them. 

they just can't sit in your lap or want to play games anymore.

and they for sure don't scream your name down the hallway. oh no.

the love. the loyalty. is expressed much differently now. 

who shows up when asked.

who comes around even when they aren't asked. 

the ones that remind others what I say should be listened to...

this is how they show their love or their loyalty most days. 

today was tough.

today I told myself I would do anything for my kids. 

no matter how old they are.

no matter how they show love. or where they are from. 

or if they check a certain box on an application. 

I was going to do whatever to make sure the bad couldn't get to them

...at least today... 

at least in the space I told them they could be safe. 

and when threats came our way

... my way... 

just as I had jumped in, they jumped faster. 

They held me back from making a mistake I would regret.

I didn't want the bad to touch them, not even come close. 

and yet, there they were, defending me, 

praying they kept their cool and wouldn't lose out on their opportunity. 

I was blown away. 

No, they don't scream or chant my name to eat a weird snack like the little ones do.

But they have my back. 

And I will forever have theirs. 

We have a long way to go, but tonight, I am thankful for how my grown kids love. 

There's More to This Story

To the last 24 days of my life

You waited for this day for what feels like your whole life

Tears. Laughter. Great big hugs.

Answered prayers coupled with prayers we will just have to accept the answers to.

I wish I could tell you in words how much my heart has been exploding open... while still having the capacity to lock some out. 

Day in and Day out hard truths we always give or receive.

We are hearing their stories for the first time.

Raw and ready to be held.

We are turning the page to our own story.

Wondering how we are so blessed to see good days like these.

So often people cheer and applaud for me, on days like this, and I shake my head.

This was always in them. We should cheer and clap for them.

I see the darkness and the brokenness and the loss and the different as motivators for us to be here.

To remain in a space that has always felt like home. 

It never developed over time for us. 

I didn't pray about it.

I never asked God to show me where home was. 

It was always here. 

Always them. 

So no, I don't deserve applause or cheers for doing the easiest thing I could be doing. 

Showing up. Loving. Crying. Laughing. Reminding.

And standing in the middle of the wrong path giving some kid my side eye like, 

"I wish you would go down this path! See what I do to you."

I'm exhausted. 

I'm not sure what just happened the last month. 

But I can say I wouldn't want to live another life. 

No amount of unforeseen circumstances, late nights in this city, brutally hard conversations, or missed deadlines will prevent me from seeing the good days. 

Because they are really, really good days. 

And there's more to this story.

This is why I do what I do.

They are my why. 

I Don't Want To Talk About Our Last Days

I don't want to talk about our last days...

I woke up in a fog this morning.
Eyes still puffy from the night before... chest heavy from all the weight it has taken on recently... When I know good and well I shouldn't keep allowing it to take on more.
I managed to get myself through the morning and into the school for our "party" in room 006.
That damn portable felt more like home than a damn portable most of the time.
This isn't the end.
You will still see them.
They will be okay.
You will be... okay.
There have been a lot of first days this year... and with a lot of firsts, come a lot of "lasts," and I don't like it!
I still have a hard time with change... probably always will.
This year I got close to a lot of kids in a short amount of time.
Some were already part of the family... others were sent my way cause Jesus and a few counselors agreed it would be good for all of us if we hung out some.
Monday - Friday I was in a school.
In classrooms, in the office, in safe, in the cafeteria, in the hallway...
More and more I grew accustomed to who and where I needed to be, and the kids did the same with me.

This morning I woke up in a fog.
I knew the last, last days were happening.
Preparation for the summer, and next fall, will be at the forefront of my world.
But this morning... I wanted to remember how this year felt.
How all of those firsts won't be like anything I experience again.
And how learning all that I have, not reaching specific goals I set for myself, don't measure up to or negate the fact that my family just got a lot bigger.
And the partnerships made will hopefully last beyond my time here.
I hugged. I cried. I screamed. I laughed.
I am thankful to be their Ms. Chloe.

No, I don't really want to talk about our last days...
Those haven't truly come yet... I won't let them.

A Year Later

It's been a year since I walked across that stage.

A year since I decided to go back to Lexington.

A whole year has passed and I'm not really sure how to measure it.

There were no semesters. No classes. 

Yet, still so many tests, failures... and what I call small victories.

If there were an award for isolating yourself... for padding yourself in such a way... in order for nothing, no one, to enter beyond a certain point... I fear I would be the recipient.

I haven't truly allowed myself to sift through all the brokenness. To acknowledge that I am broken.  

A year ago I was discharged by my therapist and despite the fact another friend had to practically drag me there months before... I was confused. I felt like I was losing the only space I had allowed myself to be fully broken, vulnerable. I didn't see the growth she had seen in me. 
I had to be honest with myself. Everyone else, well they can see right through me, or claim me as a mystery they want to solve...

A year later and I don't regret that space... I also don't want to go back to it. I am not ignorant though.
I know what it feels like to be under the water too long. I know the feeling of telling yourself you can do it, when truly, you cannot. 
With an Indie-Folk Ballad playing in the background, I have looked myself up and down in the mirror, receiving what my body tells me. Accepting the truths no workout or self help book or meditation could have aided in.
Just me and my body. 
Knowing that all bright suns have to set at some point. 

I am okay.


A year later I am still in my parents house.
A year later I am still waiting for the community center to be opened in Woodhill... just days away.
A year later I have seen my team come together in strong numbers, passion, experience... to falling in a dark spiral, to leveling out... to just showing up each day, giving it all we have, and wondering what our future could be.
A year later and I have decided situational friendship is true. I don't feel sad about it either way. I've just become more cautious. I don't enter spaces I doubt will be genuine beyond a certain occasion unless forced.
A year later and I have humbly learned it takes a lot more than a big heart to make anything in ministry happen, and happen well.
A year later and I have met some amazing young people that blow me away every single day. Young people that are facing things that would keep you up at night. Young people I would sacrifice everything for.
A year later and I wonder if I set people up for failure once I left.
A year later and I have no regrets.
A year later and I am looking forward, always... really I have a hard time looking back most days. I don't know how people do it. I am better off just looking forward, gracious for the time I had behind me, of course.


I think the reason there is no true way to measure this past year... or many years after this one, is because everyone is having the year they have. We aren't running the same course, at the same pace anymore. Maybe I never was. But I know now, for sure, that your land marks are not mine. And I am still fighting for what mine look like. I think I learn something knew at every sun set. And tomorrow, a bright sun within me will rise again, allowing me to mark a new journey.

The Caged Bird & I

I once read a poem about a caged bird and I sobbed. 

The thought of it being created as a free thing, and getting trapped into confinement broke my heart at an early age. 

My mom told me one spring if I played in the rain barefoot I'd get sick... but I was created to be free like the bird, so I dared the previous warnings and didn't regret it once a cough settled into my chest.

I have ignored almost every word of caution since...

From bed to bed, couch to couch, house to house, city to city, I go.

If not for adventure, what?  My soul asked confused.

Chaotic routine hit me like a baseball bat cracking as it hits the season opener.

This free bird saw a cage like shadow and swore she could manage... but it loomed.

Needing rest. Forgetting to exhale. My eyes remain in a flash flood zone.

No identifiable timeline, no recognizable season. I feel the need to move sluggishly and quick, all at the same time. No way of telling right from left.

The bird sought out a landing spot... just for a minute... just so she can gather her thoughts.

That's when he saw her... and put her in the cage. 

I wonder now, how long that little bird survived after entering the cage.

It's awfully dark in here.