Not Strong Enough For It: Part 2

"R.I.P. Zae" 

It was everywhere. Instagram. Twitter. My inbox. I couldn't escape it. 

I leaped to check the news app on my phone, which was dumb of me cause the shooting happened in Lonsdale and "the cops don't come here" statement flooded my mind almost as loud as I heard it the last time last year. Hours would go by before the WATE or WBIR news stations would provide a measly, "Fatal shooting in Lonsdale" or "Man shot and killed, more to come" Man.  Kid was 15. 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

I cringed thinking about our many conversations of, "What happens when it's one of ours on the news... in the street... the new hashtag..." and how it became reality in a matter of moments.  
I cried, no, I sobbed when I started to think about our Falcon boys. A team I learned to support and love this past semester, but more importantly, a dozen of them call me Chlo, and make fun of how I ALWAYS think I got next during their pick up games on Wednesday nights. 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

What is my role in this? 
What do you tell kids who just lost their brother/teammate/best friend to gang violence? 
What do you do as a lover of Christ, seeker of social justice, a supporter of the #BlackLivesMatter movement, and someone against violence? 
And dare I join the young voices crying out WHY to a creator I know better than to question...?
I fell asleep in a pool of tears.
I woke up to a short press conference with an emotional police chief, and desperate mayor challenging our Knoxville community to end this thoughtless violence. 

That's when I found out what Zaevion Dobson, a 15 year old sophomore football player at Fulton High School, member of the 100 Black Men chapter here in Knoxville, brother, and son, did last night as he died. 

"Jumped on top of 3 girls to shield them from the bullets." -KPD 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

And now I know why the first report of the shooting addressed Zae as a man. 

I don't know of many men who will selflessly jump to save a group of people from harm, or death, not once questioning his own life, let alone a 15 year old boy with a future. 

Brave. Hero. A success story. 

These are all things Zaevion will be called the next couple of days. And then most of the further removed public will turn their heads back to their Christmas festivities, and see this day as another one on the calendar. 

Another black boy dead cause of gangs.

But I will still see his friends everyday. His family in maroon. The ones that used to sit with him in class. And play with him on that field. 

And I am faced with the feeling of not knowing how, or what, to say.

I'm faced with prayers lifted up, texts sent, hugs given, tears wiped, and candle lit vigils for a boy that won't be forgotten in this community. 

A community that knows all to well what this loss feels, looks, an tastes like. 

Many will want revenge. Answers. They will feel a sense of urgency to do something, to take action, and to make a difference.  

So we mourn today. But tomorrow we have work to do.

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

But sometimes, even when I don't think I can, I have to be... I am. 

Conversations With J

We struggled through some language arts. Because even though we have been speaking English our whole lives, we still aren't at the levels we should be... and I don't blame either one of us... English is dumb sometimes. Words on the other hand, words have power no matter the language. And between the two of us, we could fill the world with words till the end of time, easy. 

We underlined, added commas, and defined what each sentence was. 

"You know I've been acting good lately." - J 

"Yeah! You really have... I'm proud of you." - me

(insert conversation about how the phrase "good things happen to good people" isn't always true... and sometimes good people still suffer before they find joy - shout out to my Hebrews class coming in clutch!) 

"Ms. Chloe people are saying my Momma is poor cause some people are helping her give me presents for Christmas... but that isn't true." - J

(insert conversation of me holding back tears because sometimes kids can be really mean... and telling him that I know a lot of kids that receive presents from a lot of different people... I also know of a lot of kids that don't get anything) 

His work for the next two days was finished because we considered how many pages were in the packet, and knew he had practice tomorrow so he wouldn't do any of it then. This is the sort of problem solving he has been missing out on - sure homework needs to get done at some point, but if you can make him realize what the rest of his week looks like, and allow him to choose to have a day for just basketball?! Well then, what are we doing just sitting around? We have work to do!

-

Now he was pacing back and forth in front of me.  

(insert a story of him telling me how, a boy we both know and love, was getting made fun of during practice, and how he stuck up for him because "they don't know what we know." I remembered how you said that we should care about our friends... even when no one else is." Again... holding back the tears. )

"Chloeeeee. What do I need to do to be better?! Like... I'm talkin' bout what am I missing? Or can work on... like drills? I don't want people to call me lame. I want my game to speak for itself... I don't want to argue no more." - J

I've learned that J and I are similar in the sense that we have to talk our problems out loud... we don't always want people to respond, we just want someone to listen to us, so that we can make sense of it ourselves. But every so often, we want someone to respond, and to give us sound advice that will take us to the next level. A level we couldn't reach on our own. So I spend a lot of time listening to J. I listen to him, I hear him, and every now and then when I know he is looking for a word that has power, I ask God to lead me in the right direction, and provide a perspective he usually hasn't considered yet.

Today was one of those days he really needed someone to listen. 

And I am just thankful that I get to be the one to hear him. 

  

twenty first

I wrote them down on a yellow envelope. 

But mostly they've been written down on me over the last 21 years. 

Celebrate every victory, big or small.

Find the beauty in everything.

Be present.

Over planning kills magic. 

If flowers can blossom after long, harsh winters, so can I.

My identity is in Christ, and He made me a masterpiece.

Rest.

I am a hurricane of a girl, and the homeless relate with my wolf eyes. 

Listen.

Naps are for everyone.

Play in the rain.

Seek joy everyday.

Take a deep breath and wait five seconds. 

When hugging a child, never be the first to let go. 

Messy isn't wrong.

Love everyone.

Crying is okay.

Pick Adventure.

Laughing loud just means you have a full heart, keep it up.

Don't let anyone tame your wild. 

The last one was hard.

I felt like I was empty without it.

Then it hit me. 

And the obligatory words were tuned out, and the joy was seen in a drizzly November day.

My twenty-first.

I may have been found by the greatest, but His gift to me will always be, even after the songs stop, the pixie dust fades, Wendy grows up, and Peter dies, that I can be a Lost Boy. 

Not Strong Enough For It #1

"Where's Chloe?!?" 

He choked out through the tears.    

I had already turned the corner. Still in ear shot, but out of sight. 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

We both needed space, but each other at the same time. Reminds me of the best, who is 2.5 hours from me, soon to be 11. 

I needed him to know it was okay, and he needed to know that I was still there. 

Just there. 

"I'm here" I spoke up, out of the slumber I was in. "Come talk to me."

Only though I didn't really mean it like it sounded... 

He fits right under my shoulder... practically the same size at this point. 

Silence. 

I hate it.

I hate it so much. 

I know he only needed me to be next to him, and not say a word, because we are the exact same person give or take a few things. 

"Good game" is BS in this situation. And I wouldn't dare someone to say it them.

So we just continue being silent, and I remind them all that win or lose, jersey or no jersey, the love doesn't change on my end. 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

"She is starting to show"

"Yeah... I noticed"

Come April, our EA fam in getting a little bigger, but not in a let's celebrate kind of way. 

Don't get me wrong, we will celebrate with her... we're even gonna plan a shower soon. 

It's just hard when one of the babies has a baby.

She is one special girl. 

And I am blessed to work alongside people who care for our kids like they do.

Even when others won't. 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

Home.

There has only ever been one place people wanted to consider my home.

I agreed for a long time.

Now know what my soul has been trying to tell me for awhile.

Home is where I sweat, bleed, cry, give and get love on a daily basis, sleep. But it's more than that. It's also where I

celebrate small victories, and big ones,

get smelly hugs from boys twice my size who just got out of football practice, 

get challenged and encouraged, 

wake up with the strength to do it all again, learn, feel Jesus, 

where my beliefs are not ridiculed, but strengthened. 

Much like the succulents in my window, I can survive harsh care, but don't love that forever.

My roots can be cut, and I can relocate with ease. 

Take one of my petals away? No big deal, I will multiply in the next place, just give me time. 

The first wasn't wrong, the last isn't really the last. 

But my present is always where I give my all. 

My present is home.

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

But you know, sometimes I am strong enough for it. 

to be continued...

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.