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.

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...