middle school camp | I must be crazy

Giddy, anxious, excited, nervous, butterflies.

These were all feelings I had as I prepared for Middle School camp.

I do believe I was more excited about it than the kids.

After a week of rough home life situations, court meetings, hard Wednesday night talks, shootings, suicide, and just anxiety in my own life, this was something we all needed.

We needed the mountains.

We needed family.

We needed Christ.

I told myself not to worry about the usual things I would in regards to overnight trips.

I prayed that God would be in every action.

More often than not I forget I’m not superwoman… I don’t know how though…

Thank goodness I have people remind me daily that I actually suck at a lot of things!

Just kidding. 

With a lot of encouragement and wise words coming my way, I took a deep breath and got on that bus full of kids I have grown close to over the last 6 months. 

I was born for this.

The cabin was basically a mansion. I felt like I was on vacation with my extended family. 

Rachel and I dream for a life like that, much like the Kingdom, where we are all under the same roof. Even a few of our favorites said they wanted to live there with everyone too.

Blood is nothing when you have Jesus in common.

Not to bash our blood relatives at all, but some of these kids have no idea what a healthy household looks like. And for three days, they got to experience a steroid version of that.

Being able to pray with each of the girls in my room as I tucked them in, being able to tell them they are beautiful the second they woke up, facing fears with the boys as they climbed up a ropes course. Playful roast sessions, and encouragement when they thought they couldn't go higher. 

And then they did.

Sharing meals.

Sharing clothes, pillows, blankets.

Sharing painful secrets.

Being honest about my own struggles.

Telling them that I don't have all the answers during small group, and crying in front of them felt like a failure. Then one of them spoke up, tears in her eyes, saying "I've always been told to suck it up." 

Not here.

Not with me.

Not with Christ.

I spent my very early mornings watching the sun rise, and as the kids woke up, stumbling out of their rooms, each gave me a wave, or head nod on their way to breakfast.

My favorite though was when they would gasp and run to give me a hug or ask me if I slept in the couch all night. "That is so uncomfortable why didn't you ask for a bed?!"

Middle schoolers struggle with identity, belonging, expressing themselves, being oddly inbetween too young and too old for everything. 

They are usually the middle kid (shout out).

And heaven forbid they didn't have their phones for an hour.

I love how weird they are.

And I am fearful for how I acted at their age!

But they remind me daily how uncool I am... so no worries there!

Being able to worship with 100 other people searching for Jesus to be a part of their lives in any sort of way, that is something that gives me chills.

Learning how to lead alongside some of best people in the game has been such an honor and humbling experience.

When I need to cry before sessions cause "I am not cut out for this" they are right there beside me to slap those words out of my mouth and remind me why I am here.

Remind me I was born for this.

I hate having a kid sob in my lap for 30 minutes because life sucks. 

I love being able to pray with a kid and say "so yeah... welcome to the Jesus fam." 

I love when my kids try to give me life advice. 

"cause let's be real Ms. Chloe... you are a little crazy." 

I know I am. 

I have to be crazy to be so in love with Jesus I would let those kids eat my last cookie!

Or to only get 5 hours of sleep this weekend,

 dance in the rain just to embarrass them,

let them STEAL my favorite Kentucky sweatshirt,

use my towel, 

get me to dress up like a zombie and lip sync to Thriller with 12 minutes of prep time.

I am exhausted and full of joy.

"this sucks"

I'm currently sitting on the bus that takes kids home after Wednesday night church. There are only two left, and I'll be dropped off back at my car. 

Pretty sure we covered all of east Knoxville in 30 minutes, and that's with seven of them getting off on the same stop! 

They lost a brother this week.
They lost a friend.
They lost a classmate, neighbor, cousin.

And until I had a ball player twice my size tell me "this sucks" I had no idea.
I had no idea how hard this would be.
I've seen death. I've suffered loss. But I've watched a lot more people suffer and die in surrounding communities, other than my own.

I had no idea. And my heart hurts. Because I am not the solution. And that is hard.

I'm pretty convinced I suck at offering the real solution too. Cause let's be real. The little white girl offering Jesus after you just lost your family isn't something I would want either.

                                                                               -

After having so many nightmares about identifying the body, you start to hate sleep. Or maybe sleep hates me. That is something I fear. That I haven't impacted the way I want. Or the way they think I have. I'm too late. It's impossible. They can't change. I don't have what it takes. And by now the Devil has made himself comfortable. Like he belongs inside me more than I do.

Push him out. Start over.
The sun wants to kiss me good morning, but getting up seems way harder than normal.
God is good. But how would they know unless I show them in the midst of all our own chaos.
Be strong.
I hear the words, and feel my body moving, I just don't feel the connection between the two.
I hate being robotic.

                                                                                -

Not everything is well.
Reality looks like the songs being prerecorded.
The face was filtered, and wiped of tears just moments before that picture got all the likes.
The meals were missed.
The prayers are hands clawing for something that looks like a silver lining.
I don't believe less.
I just have a lot more reasons to agree with his statement.
"This sucks"

The story goes on.
My eyes look through the grief like rain, searching for stars. They are still there. They never left.
Neither did You.
Joy.
My heart still beats, because this is their broken story, and I am their writer.
One day, they will see beyond their struggle, grief, rain. And they too will see the stars.

I Won't Be Put On Mute

If it's not one thing, it's another.

Oppression.

Opposition.

Others hateful words.

Failures are adding up, and the victories are small and few.

I have more doubts in what I am doing here, and if it's worth it.

Sin.

Satan.

Selling me a campaign, to believe more in evil, than the Holy. 

The second we catch a break and think we are doing something good, people want to step on it, and remind us that, we are the minority.

I want to say "yeah, we are... were the only ones living like Christ." But that would just be real petty ish wouldn't? So WE have to keep it classy... cause WE will be the ones sent to the office. 

Bull.

There is a reason people chose to just be silent. 

They are sick of their voices being put on mute.

News flash. 

I won't be put on mute. 

That's why I'm here. On earth.

To be the badass with a mega phone as a mouth. 

Refusing to let the minority, the children, the broken, the forcibly mute, the urban, the refugees, the people of God, be forgotten. 

Sometimes I really suck at my job.

Sometimes I get caught up in the little things, things that are put in front of me as a distraction. 

Seemingly good things, people, events, etc.

At the end of the day though, they are part of the problem.

This week my heart was ripped apart, 

Over and over again.

Peoples voices weren't heard.

Words were put in mouths that didn't belong. 

Loved ones were too far away, broken.

Yet, I still see the light.

Because that's the kind of hold He has on me,

I just wonder if you have that same feeling... or if you've somehow put Him on mute too.

This isn't a list of hate filled observations, or a statement of how I have been knocked down and wounded. 

This is a battle cry. 

And I have called roll. 

Seen who will measure up. 

To the ones who played spy, only to know where the Achilles heel was.

Remember what you chose. 

Remember whose voice you tried to put on mute. 

News flash.

I won't be put on mute. 

the sun still rose

this is the part of the story people don't want you to know about.

the struggle.
the parts that get rough and dirty.
the sin.

this is the part of the story where I get quiet.

because this isn't a victory... yet.
the potential is there, sure.

I have to remind myself to breathe in and out.
this part of the story wants me to forget.

this is the part of the story where the ghosts are real, and the people are fake.

but the sun still rose today.
and that gives me hope that joy lies in the pages unseen.

I must love middle schoolers

If you were asked to look in my backpack right now you wouldn't find the usual college girl items.

There's a binder full of schedules, a handbook, and rules I'm supposed to follow as an Americorps member. Which some of the kids and I like to call #protocol 

Some paper work with kids information.

Brand new expo markers I forgot to put upstairs in the class room, so when my 8th graders ask me for help with their algebraic equations, I can write them on a dry erase wall. 

They need to see things bigger picture sometimes. Visual. Audible. I am in no way a teacher, but I know what it's like to hate math. 

The folder Sam made me, which I love with my whole heart. 

Meant for the service and culture rotation we had this summer. 

Hands holding different flowers. It's perfect. 

ADHD medicine can be found in another pocket. 

Cause 4'o clock is harder for some than others. We don't love them any less. 

However, we do make sure the pill is swallowed and a high five is given.  

A destroyed planner covered with pictures of family. 

Full of assignments due from last year, weekend trips planned, reminders, parties, breaks, etc. 

Oh and a picture of two girls faces from the photo copier!

Now it's August. A new planner is on the way. 

It will find it's home next to confiscated Lego's, takis, extra shoes to play ball, artwork, candy wrappers and other trash I somehow end up collecting, among other things!

This can only mean one thing...

I must love middle schoolers! 

I actually love them so much, I decided to stay at Emerald Ave through the school year. 

Surprise! 

Stay tuned for more victories, big and small. Adventures. Life lessons. Straight up failures. 

The good, bad, and ugly, that comes with being a family at EA. 

Cause being a middle schooler ain't easy y'all. 

Here's to a school year full of "WHAT ARE THOSE?!"

Apartment 8

An open letter to those who get to live in apartment 8 after were gone.

Yes, the door is shut... no it won't close anymore if you lean on it. We kind of like it halfway open like that anyway...

No, you won't fall through that spot in the floor close to the tub... you might have, had our awesome maintenance man not come and fix the leak though. You're welcome. 

You may not smoke, but your neighbors below do. Which is basically the same thing. Candles were our go to, but after awhile you get used to your clothes smelling like smoke and you continue on.

The water heater was fixed about a month or so ago... but if something happens, expect the oven to be in the living room for awhile why our awesome maintenance man fixes it. 

Your neighbors can hear everything. I think that's why people keep their doors open most days... they gave up "being quiet" awhile ago. Plus... who pays for AC anyway. 

Sorry the front closet rack is jank... we don't know either.

The wifi password is actually the length of the Mississippi river.

Oh and if you want to talk to someone at the front desk... just forget that was even an idea. I don't even believe there is a front desk. 

These aren't complaints by any means. This is just me letting you know what we didn't, and eventually learned. Learned to love, and learned to live alongside some really cool people. 

Get to know the people in your building if nothing else. Their stories, hellos, good mornings, and late night conversations, are some of my favorite memories of being in apartment 8. You can't find a more diverse group of people than an east side apartment complex. 

That stoop, and the sidewalk around the side of the building is where I saw God this summer. Where I called home when things were hard, or a victory was made. It was also where I got to play in the rain with my roommates and read a book about stepping into the unknown. 

I'm glad I stepped into the unknown this summer, where I had a place to end and start my days well. 

Be thankful for the leaky shower. Be thankful for apartment 8. And the things you will experience while you live there. Maybe you have a family to take care of. Maybe you're here looking for work and your seasons change faster than others. Maybe you have roommates like us. Regardless, embrace the glorious mess that is your neighborhood. The gardens, the park, the windy streets that have powerful names like Selma and the like. 

As I spend my last days here I can't help but look back on the unknown blessing this place would be to me. The relationships I have with my roommates is something I can't express the thankfulness. Abby, Grace, and Lauren, you three are beautiful souls, game changers, peace makers, kingdom builders, and so much more. I am thankful for the countless cookies made, the prayer nights, adventures, workouts, game nights, late night talks, movie nights, jazz, making dinner together, coffee and tea shared, quiet mornings being encouraged by your devotions or just simple comments made. I could go on and on. This summer was full of crazy schedules, but the time we spent together in apartment 8 is time I can truly "Praise God" for! 

J

I didn’t have to carry those boxes or backpacks.     J could have managed & Granny is tougher than people like me give her credit for.     I helped anyway.    Walked the several blocks from the park to their home.   Even took the cut behind the townhouses.   Granny told us to walk ahead of her cause of “long legs” but we both knew it was her asthma.  

Next came something real special.  

This young man walking beside me was telling me how he’s gonna keep his head in the books this year.   He’s “gonna get good grades, and find a job that hires a fourteen year old black kid.”    It’s unfortunate that he knows somehow that will make a difference.   “I need to save money so I can go to Y and train so I can make the football team… and not be bored.   It’s so boring here.”    I asked him how he thought he would get to the Y and back since it’s not close.   Of course the bus was J’s answer, no surprise there.  

Next question was “If you could, what would you do to make your neighborhood not boring?”  “Well I would want a place to help kids with their homework, and like a pool to swim in… and like a place for kids with disabilities ya know?”   He paused for a really long time.    “Maybe when people need help finding homes I can help them do that too?”

He opened the screen door and I had no idea how we got there so fast.    I wiped the tear that had fallen without permission.   He took the handful of boxes and backpacks I carried, gave me a hug and ran upstairs.    I don’t know how many of our boys will go to college, get their dream jobs, or even out live me. I don’t know if what I say to them, every time, gets through. All I know is that I have to keep loving them, and encouraging them.    J’s goals used to be very different.    Not bad, but now he is thinking of others instead of just himself.   He was thinking about giving back.   Making an impact, a difference.   He was thinking about more than the hoop or the corner.   And you know what?

I couldn’t be more proud.