Class of 2020

Class of 2020.

Thank you.

Thank you for the

best memories.
late night talks in the van.
the grey hair.
the life lessons none of us really
wanted to learn at the time.
long summer days.
cold winter nights.
arguing with me for 20 minutes
about how you didn't want to read
for 20 minutes.
swapping shoes so you can play football or basketball,
without creasing your own.
belly laughing till you cry.
blasting music in the car and singing as loud as we can.
all the hugs and high fives.
shared plates.
holding me accountable.
crying because some days you just have too.
trying new things.
letting me go on my own journey,
accepting me back with open arms.
telling it like it is.
for being the best "siblings" to the rest of us.
allowing me into your homes,
classrooms, families, and heart.
showing me who Jesus really is.
for being leaders.
for all your love, tough and tender.
but especially, growing up with me.

Your class may not be walking across a stage, or ending the school year "traditionally" but I'm not sure if there really ever was anything "traditional" about your class. Looking back over the last several years, there is no Ms. Chloe without y'all. Whether we've been together 9 years or 2, we grew up together in every sense of the way, and for that, I am grateful. There are so many things I could say about how this is the end of a season, and start of a new one... I could tell you how proud I am of you all. How much I miss a lot of you. But really... when I think about it, we've had moments similar to this for a long time. Overcoming obstacles. Fighting against disappointment, worry, or comparison. We have celebrated on the court, we have danced in the park, we have hugged it out on the street. This feels familiar and new all at the same time. I dedicated my life to make sure young people like you all, all over this world, were loved, celebrated, seen, heard, and given the opportunity to succeed at anything you set your mind to. Some of you will begin to have your own families, look for a job, go to college, continue to play the sport that you love, move away, or serve your community wherever you go. Class of 2020 you are beautiful, messy, loud, kind, easily inspired, hard working, hilarious, outspoken, courageous, humble, and sometimes very annoying.... congratulations! I love you to the moon and back.

He Was The Best Of Us

I've tried writing something down. I've tried to close my eyes tight enough to where this isn't real anymore. I've cried myself to sleep. I've hugged the young people I love dearly, without any words attached. I've scrolled through endless posts with a new hashtag. I've gone through multiple stages of grief in a few days time... shock, denial, pain, anger... but it always ends in sadness. 

Sadness is the scariest one of all. Because it doesn’t ask for permission to enter your heart. It doesn’t apologize for creeping in and settling down for who knows how long. This time… it will be forever. 

When I read the text that Ladonya had died... the air left my lungs. I didn't cuss. I didn't yell at God. I just wanted to go back to school and have him follow me to group because he saw donuts. I wanted him to laugh with his friends again. I wanted him to put the underdogs on his pick up team one more time... I wanted to get the image of his blood covered body out of my head. 

The text came after the call... I didn’t ask questions… but I knew.

I half walked, half ran down the sidewalk between Osage and the little park. 

Shit shit… God come on keep him alive. They are okay. Shit. 

It was all a blur. screaming. crying. cops. our boys. caution tape. 

Then I saw him.

Blood everywhere. His eyes... 

Ladonya. 

My gut reaction was to reach out and grab him. I just kept telling him we were with him and that it was gonna be okay. I wish that wouldn’t feel like a lie. That chill will never leave me. 

Cops started asking questions. They kept talking to me... That is when I lost it. But a friend reminded me that I had kids watching me and I needed to pull it together. I blinked a few times and looked around. She was right. There were kids walking through the cut, kids looking over their fences, kids on the sidewalk, kids at the park... I knew most, if not all of them. And they know Ladonya. 

Flash forward and the nightmare doesn't end. The devil doesn't just accept one loss... he wants them all. He wants to rip our community, our families... our kids, apart. The lives of his closest friends have been forever altered... and for what? No one has been able to answer that yet... He should still be alive. They should all be safe at home. Mothers should be able to hug their sons. 

Today I watched our neighborhood come together to honor Ladonya's life. In the middle of a pandemic. Even the police stood back to let everyone give their respect. The streets were lined with cars and the entire little park was filled. All for him. Young men and women I have watched grow up, in tears. After almost 2 months of not seeing some of my babies and grown up babies... we were reunited under the worst of circumstances. But it proved to me one thing.

He was the best of us.

The Sun Will Come Out Again

2.6.20

I walked through the door and was finally allowed to let go. Cry. Scream. Feel. I found out through a private message, in a gym full of kids playing basketball. It didn’t feel real. I told myself it couldn’t be. 

“Dale died in a car accident tonight.” 

This couldn’t be our, Dale. 

Nothing or no one to blame. It was just an accident. 

He was always there. Always around. Smiling. He was just. Dale. 

This is how every message I was sent that night and next morning went. “Dude we were just together!” Or “remember when we used to sing so loud to make you laugh?” Yeah. I remember. I remember a young teenage boy, everyone’s friend, no one's enemy. I wish I had some amazing story to tell you about Dale. One that would make you understand why he was so loved… but there isn’t one that’s flashy or loud. Why? Because he was the foundation of who we were then. The glue even. He wasn’t the first one picked for 5 on 5 but he was no ones 6th man. The girls thought he was just their goof ball brother from another mother and he would be there if another boy got too close. Even the little ones looked up to him. His quiet peace and big smile could light up any room. And it always did. His picture still hangs in the community center I once spent every day in. Watching over all the new babies that come in. They won’t know who it is personally, but they will feel welcomed each time they see his face. 

My heart knows he’s with Jesus. I’ve never been more sure of something before. Jesus would be silly not to let him in. Telling jokes, spitting beats, and smiling all the time. Everyone needs a friend like Dale. I know I did, even if I didn’t know it then, I am thankful and honored to have watched him grow into a you f man, for the time I did.

So much of this world is dark, cold, evil, and unfair. But Dale was our little corner of home away from home while he was here on earth. I didn’t get to know him like I wish I did, partially cause so many of his “siblings” were much louder, much more present in the chaos of our family dynamics. Part of me wants to regret that, the other part of me is thankful he was able to be the stable glue for them, while I helped others remove the weight on their shoulders in the forefront. It takes a village and tonight, our village feels both far away, and so very close. 

I always worry if I ruined those beautiful kids. If I set them up to fail. But on nights like tonight, when we all come back together, in person or on the phone, I remember why it was a good thing. It still is a good thing we are a family. I’m thankful for an opportunity to be a small part of the story. To cheer them on. To cry with them. To hold them accountable. To be silly. To be their sister. I didn’t know how to be one before them. In fact, I’m still learning. But they gave me the gift of practice, and I’ll never take that for granted. 

I won’t forget the moments when my phone rings and it’s my mini me and he asks if I can show up, tonight, in his city. That he’s a senior now and without saying it, he tells me that I am part of this story. With basketball. With graduation and growing up. With suffering. With victory. I know how hard it is to pick up a phone and tell someone you want or need… insert whatever. And to be so young. I couldn’t have moved quicker out the door. 

My heart couldn’t have been more full watching him do his thing. To be surrounded by people that chose me. That keep choosing me. People that trusted me when I was so young, to help their child do well. I’ll never understand it. Looking back now, I had no idea what the hell was gonna happen beyond those first days together. Day in and day out. We fought. We disagreed. We doubted. But for some reason we kept showing up. And kept encouraging. Kept praying. Kept hugging. Till now. Where time and space feel like forever and far. But somehow the love never left. 

So we honor, Dale. With our smiles. And our jokes. And our willingness to be part of the team. No matter if we’re chosen first, last or in between. And as a family.

R.I.P Dale. 

2.16.20

I searched for a newly dug grave today. Wandering among spirits that had been there long before his. I even saw someone being lowered into the ground and I wondered how they had died. The emotions didn’t hit me till the man digging the grave drove up and said, “was he around 20 something? Buried yesterday?” And then nodded in the direction of raised sod and quickly moved away to give me my space. Almost immediately my eyes watered, because the suddenness of this loss was heavy, and knowing what my own city and ministry family has gone through this past week... losing Antwan to a bullet that wasn’t even meant for him. I let go of the tears I had kept inside longer than they are meant to. I spoke out loud to a young man I knew as my kids best friend... I told him they missed him, that I missed him. I asked him to hug Zae for everyone... and that he was loved. I touched the muddy grass that still has no marker for identification. Grief is a weird thing. I think it’s especially hard when its for someone young, something unexpected, an act of violence or an accident... I’ve tried to suppress the anger or fear or sadness... overcompensating for everyone else’s sake. Peoples “hugs or prayers” feel like a pile of mail that goes unattended at an abandoned house. I can’t imagine what the mommas feel. The sun came out for a few seconds and it meant everything to me. No life passes through this earth without purpose. I think the young men that just left this earth have a much greater purpose than they ever knew while alive. It was their light. Their smiles. Their willingness to be a little silly. Those moments provided us with a gift of joy. Seeing the very place where I grew to love young people, in a new capacity, today was what my soul needed to keep going. A reminder that the hard days will be many, but so worth it, because the sun will come out again.

working title: no more smoke and mirrors at home

Just to preface. 

I'm not a writer and never claimed to be.

I started this thing what feels like so long ago because I felt the need for accountability. 

Whether that be from the public or just from myself looking at archives years down the road. 

I have the heart and mind of someone whose spirit isn't truly free unless it lets things go. 

Through words. Written or spoken. 

And when that doesn't happen... things start to weigh heavier and heavier. 

I feel trapped, or like there is an emotional and physical barrier 

that keeps me from where I am meant to be. 

I never intended for this to have a following. 

But what this has confirmed for me over the years, 

is that I am not alone in the feeling of needing a space to speak. 

To write it out. To be heard in some weird way. 

I say all this to say... I have forced myself to sit here again and string together whatever I can from the racing thoughts that have no true home. 

I am doing this because one day, this too big of a heart, 

will be just big enough to quit,

 and I will want to have memory of the times I truly expressed myself

 in a capacity separate from my physical voice.

And that brings me to my next thought of how this season in my life has been one of the heaviest. Surprising to some maybe. 

Because now I have the dream job, in my childhood city, 

my parents are down the street, my siblings moved back. 

The list goes on and on. 

This... whatever this is. Was supposed to be the end all for me. 

And yet, 

darkness waited for me to get comfortable. 

Recently I heard someone say, people ought to stop blaming the devil for their hard days, 

because it's us falling into our own comfort-ability, that is the true hardship to overcome. 

I made my own path, I was, I am, my worst critic. 

I placed all of my joy in others, when they had their own demons to fight themselves. 

I know better now.

I know that my darkness was masked terribly this year. 

I chalked it up to needing to show up for others or that I would seem weak or lost. 

In years passed maybe I was happy and didn't need to hide anything. 

This year... this year I can only remember being truly happy a few times. 

Don't hear this as a lack of Joy. 

But know that day to day... happiness is the perception of the previous. 

I had friends, my kids even, ask me if I was okay. 

Ask me if I needed help connecting the dots or taking a step to talking to someone. 

It wasn't till others in my world showed me the blood on their own bodies 

that I was even willing to say this wasn't sustainable. 

And that is why I share or write or whatever. 

Because there is someone else, just like me, drowning. 

And hoping someone will say, I can't breathe either, but here comes our life jacket. 

A lot of my kids considered my personality to be "sunshine" like my last car, 

but I felt and feel like rain. 

But the kind you can dance in. 

I think that was the biggest lesson I learned about myself in 2019. 

People can perceive you however they want, that doesn't mean you have to buy it at face value for yourself. 

Because dancing in the rain is something I really enjoy. 

I turned 25 a few weeks ago and it felt like my world was ending. 

Getting older is weird, especially when 90% of your time is spent around young people. 

Everything about that situation felt claustrophobic and mandatory. 

It was black Friday and I had family in. None of it was their fault. 

I just always feel the need to maintain everyone's elses... whatever... why we are together. 

They didn't pass out job descriptions at my family gatherings. 

But I always seem to end up with, "mediator or "glue" or "perspective" and that doesn't really balance well when you're watching the days tick by on your "young adult" calendar. 

Anyway... I survived of course and realized then that being 

sunshine and also darkness didn't make sense for me anymore. 

Thus. Rain. 

The last time I wrote something there wasn't threat of snow... 

We were celebrating giving out a scholarship. 

And my prayer over the next 5, 10, 20 years is that every year there be an abundance of our kids receiving money from us, schools, scholarships etc. 

Because people will see the spectacularly vibrant family I am a part of and not be able to look away. 

I went to Atlanta because God knew I needed to jump up and down 

for hours and hours around people that are unashamedly themselves. 

The siblings and I got older. 

I said goodbye to my little yellow car.

We celebrated 20 years as a nonprofit. 

I blinked and realized that the ministry I have been part of has become its own little family. 

Spending everyday in the schools or evenings getting to know

 the students are kids have invited to be part of the program (fam). 

They have formed their own sort of discipleship by invitation and we could all learn from it.

We ran a marathon worth of events that honestly feel like a blur. 

We cried over lost lives and celebrated over new babies. 

I'm not sure what all this new and old means. End of a decade. Start of a new season and year. Growing and trimming at my own roots. 

Maybe this is why I had such a hard time to piece it all together over the last three months. 

I can't see land quite yet. 

But so many beautiful people have thrown out life lines, 

disguised as undeserving blessings in my mind, 

but we all know they are doing it because I wouldn't survive without it. 

I unfollowed a bunch of people.

 I made some really bad financial decisions.

 I put a little more effort into myself... which is hardly anything but should still be acknowledge.

 I am telling myself 2020 is the year I allow myself to receive. 

To receive the blessing without an excuse of being undeserving, 

to receive love without questioning my own worth, 

to receive help when it is needed... or even before, 

to receive change, newness, loss, and victory as it is. 

It is still developing. But I knew I needed to claim it before I doubted its validity so there it is. Receive. Not deny. Not decline. Not anxiety or doubt. Not anger. 

Receive. 

Moments Like...

Ordained moments that happen when you least expect them.

Those are the ones that shape you.

Those are the ones that sit you on your ass and remind you, you were never the one in control to begin with.

Moments like...

Running into a young man you knew years ago. In a sea of unfamiliar faces, he grabs your arm. He's doing great. Grown. In college. Starting a clothing business. Still has a smile that could melt your heart in seconds.

Walking down a school hallway and finding out a sweet girl from back in the day was just enrolled and mom works there too. Reunited and working to make sure the family stays connected in more ways than one.

Getting a text from one who just turned 21. He's married now but still makes sure I listen to music that isn't considered trash. My brother for life. Distance is tough but we don't let each other forget.

Watching the football game with my parents only to see another young man living out a dream. He is a walk on, and still has to make some hard choices, but he grew up to be a strong leader. I am proud.

She asked if her team could volunteer at the center. She organized and orchestrated the whole thing. From 9 years old to almost 18. I never doubted what she had in her, but that doesn't mean I don't cry about it every now and then. One day she will see.

The other day I went into the store for something quick. Hopefully I wouldn't run into anyone I knew... joke was on me of course. She said "Ms. Chloe?!" And I saw the little one behind her. I don't know why I would wish to not see someone I knew... because they lifted my spirit to a great height.

Moments like...

The list could go on and on.
Every day I am reminded of why I do what I do.
When I see dads love on their babies.
When I see young girls believe in themselves.
When little boys grow up to live a positive life past sixteen...eighteen... twenty - one.

I am thankful for the hard days. I am thankful for the days that never seem to end in the best way. I pray I never lose sight of those moments not given to me because I worked hard or loved well. But because God was planning it all along.

To The Moon And Back

To the moon and back. That was the response I never thought I would hear in this moment… let alone this lifetime. I haven’t felt this sad in awhile. Joy? I fight hard for it. Exhaustion? Its frequent. Anger? Of course. But sadness? I hate it with a passion. And yet here I am. So very sad.

People I know and love keep dying.

People I know I am supposed to love, despite their evil, keep hurting.

I bury it. I avoid it. I tell myself I am still safe, better off, okay.

Then shit hits the fan and everyone thinks I am capable of being strong… at least I think they feel this way. 

Maybe I just tell myself that so I don’t blame myself for when it gets this bad.

Interventions. Control. Lessons on boundaries. Tough talks. Sleepless nights.

One day it’s the news. Another day it’s your city. Then it’s your friend.

Some days you’re so busy trying to save the world you miss the very pain right in front of you.

I imagine myself to be a lot like Jessica Jones. Able to kick ass, investigate the problems, has a passion for justice and fighting the “bad guy” but really struggling with the worlds view of me and unable to reconcile “following protocol.” Also bourbon. 

Don’t confuse this with me comparing myself to a hero. It’s the exact opposite actually. I am trying to identify why or who my cynical mind and broken heart resemble. Because Jesus is just too hard these days.

And now all the evangelicals are gasping because “does she still love God?!” and my friends who have never seen God in ways that make them believe are leaning in a little closer.

I think I have been distracted from a purpose, from a reason. I know what I have been getting out of bed for. I know that I have deep love and joy every time I get bear hugged by a kid or told by a parent they see change in their child.

People I know and love keep dying.

People I know I am supposed to love, despite their evil, keep hurting.

I bury it. I avoid it. I tell myself I am still safe, better off, okay.

Then shit hits the fan and everyone thinks I am capable of being strong… at least I think they feel this way. 

Maybe I just tell myself that so I don’t blame myself for when it gets this bad.

Interventions. Control. Lessons on boundaries. Tough talks. Sleepless nights.

One day it’s the news. Another day it’s your city. Then it’s your friend.

Some days you’re so busy trying to save the world you miss the very pain right in front of you.

I’ve had the same nightmare for 8 years now.

Yesterday I felt like it was becoming reality and my body went numb.

There is confusion and loss and celebration happening despite.

Where I live. The community I found myself to be part of. Celebrates milestones a little different. Yesterday a lot of mine started college. And I happily took calls and texts explaining how classes went and that “they might like this college thing.” Today some turn 16 and I praise God they are here to see it. That she is here to see it.  

This community has mourned the loss and the pain for so many the past few months. Families afraid to walk down the street or answer the door. And then you have young dads bringing their babies to the center because they know they are safe and they can play ball and still be kids, even if it’s just for an hour. But I have to wonder how long I can keep them safe.

People I know and love keep dying.

People I know I am supposed to love, despite their evil, keep hurting.

I bury it. I avoid it. I tell myself I am still safe, better off, okay.

Then shit hits the fan and everyone thinks I am capable of being strong… at least I think they feel this way. 

Maybe I just tell myself that so I don’t blame myself for when it gets this bad.

Interventions. Control. Lessons on boundaries. Tough talks. Sleepless nights.

One day it’s the news. Another day it’s your city. Then it’s your friend.

Some days you’re so busy trying to save the world you miss the very pain right in front of you.

But then… some rotten kid you least expect says, “to the moon and back.”

Boxed Up Thoughts

I wrapped another dish in newspaper and place it in a box that will sit there for a month probably. The dish came from a friend, newspaper and boxes too. Come to think of it... a good chunk of the things I "have" came from someone else. 
A collection of mix & match. 
Some things are well worn already. 
Other things, came well taken care of or still in the original package. 

I sat the dish in the box and thought of how many people I never let past the threshold of 305. Typical me... not letting people past a certain point.

I was only here for a year. 
A year that contained the longest winter of my life. 
A year of my own sort of independence and yet a new found dependence as well. 
305 was my statement that I could do it.
I could live on my own and not die I guess. 

But the part of me that needs to be reclusive, quiet, restful, introverted, etc. found it to be a new space to make me separate. Sort of the opposite of how the rest of my life goes. People don't like to describe me as reclusive, quiet, or introverted. I don't blame them. What proof do I give them anyway? 
305 was my proof. 
I was so caught up in having an hour here or a moment there, of silence, I forgot how to share space, resources, my home. 
Things I had been taught for years, not really in my first home, but all the others that followed. 
The ones who took me in. 
Showed me how to feel home no matter what the day, activity, etc. 
I put that dish in the box and I felt like I was being released of a season I needed to be in, in order to make it to the next one... this next one. 
Moving here I had a bit of rose colored glasses and thought I had fulfilled my childhood dream... and in a sense I did, because I got to know my community and my neighbors and myself. But now I know that there are more layers and levels to that dream. And this next phase is just part of truly fulfilling it. 

I want to have more people cross the threshold of my next spot, but only if I know for sure they will feel the same sense of home I have for years. I also want to feel content and confident in my awareness of needing some space or time to myself. I don't need a lot of it, trust me, I am on day two of "quiet" and I'm already losing my mind. But I am thankful for it all.

The next couple of weeks I will slowly pack away the few things that make up my space, take them down the road, and set up shop in a place that has a lot of unanswered questions. A place that has the ability to grow me even more than 305.