When the Light Shines Through

If you read my last blog, you know that we have had a pretty rough time in our neighborhood lately. Little did we know that was only scratching the surface. In the past 48 hours we have had 20 gunshots in the middle of the night and an 8 year old boy riding his bike was the victim of a hit and run (he is recovering). I received a text message Sunday morning from a friend a few streets down saying, "I just witnessed a hold up, lock your doors." The neighborhood was swarming with concern on Sunday morning, but we noticed something.....it was bringing neighbors together in conversations about the safety of kids.

It's incredibly easy to get bogged down in the bad news. If we lose our focus we can slip into the mindset of fear. The "world" may be dark, but there are little lights shining all over this community. People are stepping up, walls are coming down and the hardened shell that so many of these kids put on in the beginning, is starting to crack as light shines through.

In the midst of a bad news morning, we were preparing for a big block party. There were a lot of people praying over our house and yard and we had complete peace about moving forward with the days events. Two missions teams and a small group from our church came and put on an amazing block party for our kids AND many of their parents came this time and participated. I had several conversations with Mom's who want to volunteer. There has been a SCAD movie filming next door and the director and crew walked over and participated and wanted to know how to sign up to volunteer this summer. YES! Light. Unity. Community.

Last night as we collapsed on the couch after an amazing day, we pulled up a movie on Netflix called, "In The Hive." This is not your family friendly, sugar coated, made for TV movie. It is very real. It is actually one of the best movies that mirrors so closely what we see and what we do. It is based on real events and is so incredibly powerful in the way it shows what many kids are up against and the difference having someone believe in you can make. If you want  a real world understanding of why we do what we do, watch it. If you don't have netflix, come over...we will gladly show it to you.

Throughout the movie, I kept looking over at Glenn like, "This is our story." The scenes were very real, they caused tears of understanding to run down our cheeks. One of the closing lines in the movie talks about the fact that it only takes one light to shut out darkness. We often feel like we are given an opportunity to start cracking the shell. It starts with building trust, being consistent and being a safe place.

The shells are sometimes thick and for a period we work with "little adults" because their demeanor is anything but a child's. Over time they soften and start to ask questions like kids, want to watch Disney movies, want a happy meal for the toy, laugh at our silly attempts to lighten the mood and eventually, if you wait long enough....they will reach out for a hug or sit down next to you and actually engage in conversation. The road to that point is long and sometimes painful. The one line from the movie that will stick with me is, "You're not afraid to die, You're afraid to really live." The streets teach you "Ride or Die." The other way? It's sometimes scary. When the voices around you start to consistently give you a different option, challenge the positive things in you, truth will reign. Truth will speak. Light will break through the calloused places.


Our kiddos teach me something everyday. They spur me on to be a better person. That challenge me. They inspire me.

A few days ago, I was teaching some kids the song "This little light of mine, i'm gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine."

"You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden." Matthew 5:14

We always need more light shiners...will you help us?

Let it Shine til Jesus comes,
Morgan

When The Sirens Never Come

I grew up in an upper middle class and very safe community.  I was raised in the church from birth. My parents set boundaries for me. I actually managed to make it through my entire high school and college career without ever seeing drugs or even knowing how to get them. I never saw a homeless person  in our town. I never saw guns outside of being locked in a gun cabinet and never heard gunshots unless it was in the country and due to hunting. I never had profanity shouted at me or heard my parents using it every other word. I grew up very sheltered, very protected, very supported. In most ways, I am thankful because I would not be who I am today without that foundation. But I also had a mom who knew that wasn't the real world....and would one day encourage me with a mother's love and on bended knee to embrace the calling to live in the middle of the exact opposite of everything I had ever known.

My husband and I retreated to a cabin in the woods this past weekend to rest, recharge, reflect, rekindle and refocus. It was a beautiful time to be in nature, disconnected from the world. The disconnect did not last for long. The first night we turned on the TV to look for a movie and the evening news was on. We decided to watch long enough to check out the weather but not without seeing that there had been a shooting a few blocks from our house. My heart sunk. Another one.  By the time we returned home 3 days later, there had been 3 shootings in our area.

Last night as I was just falling into a deep sleep around 2 AM, I became wide eyed at the sound of 4 very loud gun shots and uttered those all too familiar words to my husband, "That was close wasn't it?"
He replied with what I knew, but hated to hear, "Yep, probably only a street or two down."

Then I did what I always do, I listened and waited....for the sirens. Yet, they never came. They never do. 

Where I grew up, if there had been gunshots in our neighborhood, the 911 call center would have flooded with frantic calls and every cop in our town would have been there in a matter of minutes. It may be that way in your neighborhood, too. We live in gated, security patrolled places for that reason. We pay a lot of money to arm our houses  and even be able to view a live feed from a computer or phone because we know that there is a potential for harm. If there wasn't, what would be the need for them? We go to that extent because we trust that if there was a problem, someone would be alerted and they would come to check on us. I grew up like that. It was normal to me.

The absence of it feels very real at times. I was speaking to a neighbor today about it and she said, "Girl, we in the hood!" While that may be true, I can't help but run the scenarios through my mind each time I hear the bang of a gun..."Who shot the gun? Who were they shooting at? Why did they do it? Why isn't anyone coming to check it out? Who is next? What were they like as kids? Did they have involved parents? Did they join a gang? Did they act like they were holding guns to other kids heads in make believe play as children, like we sometimes see?  Do they know Jesus? Could this be some of our kids one day?"

Today was supposed to be an extension of our retreat, but when I opened the door and there were at least 10 kids under the age of 12 playing in our yard all I could think about was the sirens that never came. I sat on a bench in our yard most of the afternoon and bounced little girls on my knee, made funny faces, sang every kids song I knew, oversaw the basketball court, passed out snacks, diffused arguments between siblings and watched two mom's get into yelling match of profanities in the street after their sons had an argument while all the neighborhood kids watched nearby.  I overheard their kids start talking about guns once they were back on the basketball court and sadness pained my heart.

In the midst of it all, I was surprised when I felt a three year old girl kiss the top of my hand. I looked down and she said, "Can I have a hug?"

Some people may look at me or know my background and think, "She can't possibly understand."

In many ways I can't, but I do know about God's love and grace and I know it's available to both the gated community and the hood. I know He has given me a mother's heart and desire to see all of these kids succeed.

And I cling to the fact that God does not always call the equipped, but He equips the called. I know without a shadow of a doubt that He has brought my husband and I here and woven our stories together for this very moment.

There may not be sirens, but there is a safe place.

My mind went back to yesterday afternoon when a 10 year old boy said, "Miss Morgan, do y'all have to do this for the community or do you want to do this for the community?"

Oh sweet boy.....We want to, more than you will ever know.

Peace Be Still,
Morgan

The New Toy Box: From Crayons to Fake Guns.

I remember as a child making ramps in the wooded cul de sac for our bikes, making mud pies with the bright pink dirt by the shed, watching Mr. Rogers in the afternoon, playing with my Jem Doll (who rocked the flashing red earrings), competing at Duck Hunt on Nintendo with my brother, drawing with crayons, playing piano and generally being a kid. I never felt unsafe (except for that time our nanny,  Ms. Mayonaise (that's what we called her), came after me with a switch after I knowingly broke the rules and convinced my little brother to cross the busy street and check the mail....just because I could. What can I say? I was a typical first born. :)

Times have changed haven't they? I feel like safety is always on people's minds. Crime rates seem to be up, at least in our neighborhood. Technology is now the best babysitter. The traditional teenager is attached to their cell phone and the days of mud pies, bike riding and hopscotch seem to be growing more and more slim as we have fully embraced a technologically savvy and almost dependent generation. Heck, I know kids that aren't even required to use textbooks anymore. Everything is done on the computer. And do you know the result? Reading and writing skills among the youth we work with are devastating.

The other day I shared on Facebook that as I was getting out of my car, I noticed a group of boys walking down the sheet. All of them were around the age of 9-12. One of the boys was on a bike and was trying to ride slow enough to proceed down the street with the crowd. It's hard to ride a bike that slow and he accidentally knocked his wheel into another boy. The boy who was hit immediately reached into the front waste band of his pants, pulled out a fake hand gun, put it up to the head of the boy on the bike and said, "Boy...don't make me put a cap in yo head."

I froze. I could not believe what I was seeing. I looked at Glenn who was on the back porch and said, "Did I? Did he? Did I just see him put a gun up to his head?" Sadly, he shook his head to affirm what I feared.

Friends, this is not a game. Our kids are playing with a new toy box. The days of cap guns and make believe are long gone. This was mimicking real life. A few days later I saw the same group of boys in an empty lot playing "gun wars"....the "fake" guns they had were too life like as were the words and actions exchanged. This is the playground of 2014. One day I fear those guns will not be fake and those interactions will be played out in real life.

This could be a downer, but for me, it shoes the urgency and necessity of what we are called to do.
This is an opportunity.

How will they know differently? If not us, then who?

God has strategically placed us in a position to interact with some of these kids on a daily basis.
We recently put in a basketball court so that there is another option of play. On any given day there are anywhere from 4-14 kids shooting hoops. The rules are simple. No Cussing. No Rough housing. No Bullying. Why have rules? Because our kids need boundaries. They need to know that some things are just not ok and they need to see the consequences enforced when they step outside of those boundaries.  At times, students are asked to leave if they can not cooperate. They are always given the invitation to come back tomorrow. They always come back. They are not turned off by our structure. Structure is safety to many who do not have structure elsewhere. There is a balance of truth and grace.

This has evolved into us starting a new youth meeting on Sunday afternoons where we invite all of the kids into our house, play games, have a bible lesson and eat dinner. We had 16 last Sunday. They came. They heard the gospel. They left with full bellies and they waved at us this week as they got off the school bus. Structure. Safety.

The goal of The Dream Campaign is to not stop there. We want every single one of those kids to receive a mentor. Someone who can hang out with them once a week, encourage them to be the best they can be, hold them accountable to their actions, commit to praying for them and CHALLENGE them to put down the fake gun and pursue a future that will lead to success, not jail or death. Just as students respond to structure, they will respond to challenge. We are two people and we can not do it alone. 1 hour a week. That's all we are asking for.

So I challenge you to pray about what role you can play? There are many. Mentors are a desperate need. We also need prayer and financial support to even be able to do this on a daily basis. Pray about it. Then Act.  If you are interested in mentoring a student in Savannah, please email me: morgan@helpmedream.org. If you are interested in donating financially, you can visit our fundraising website or send a check to The Dream Campaign, PO Box 5306, Savannah, GA 31414.

If you aren't here and can't or don't feel led to give financially, please pray for these kids. They are all precious to our God and are the future! There are mentoring programs all over this country...consider it maybe even in your own city.

Put up a basketball goal in your drive way or cul-de-sac, bring out freeze pops on a hot day this summer, bake cookies, provide sidewalk chalk and invite kids to be kids again.

We could all use a little of that.

Thank you for your continued prayers and support. We are incredibly grateful for our friends and family.

Blessings,
Morgan

Reflections From the Pitcher's Mound

I wasn't nervous before my feet hit the pitcher's mound. I had sung the song a thousand times growing up. It was one of those songs I don't remember learning, but always remember knowing. I'd performed it with youth choirs at Major League Baseball Games and watched to see who would sing it for major sporting events on TV. Never had I stood on the mound alone, looked into empty stands and tried to recite the words long remembered in my heart while being judged on my ability.

I was there to audition to sing the national anthem for our local baseball team: The Savannah Sand Gnats. Yes, only in the south do you give such an annoying, pesky insect the title of: mascot. (Although, my history of mascots has always been questionable. "We are the Skippers. The mighty, mighty Skippers" was the chant often heard at my High School Alma Mater). Prior to walking onto the baseball field, I sat with a handful of others who were also secretly critiquing how they measured up against each person. I watched as girl after girl decked out in their trendiest of clothes, curled hair and make-up stood before the Sand Gnats version of American Idol. I was going more for "The Voice" in my wet hair, no make up and fleece jacket. (In my defense, I had decided not to audition and then stopped when noticed there were hardly any cars there when I drove by.) Despite our appearance, regardless of where we felt we landed on the measuring stick, there were claps and sometimes cheers given to each person who braved the mound. There, within the bounds of competition, there was also camaraderie.

"Next up: Morgan Paddock" said the girl on the baseball field. I gave myself a pep talk as I walked onto the field. I did what I always do when I'm nervous: become really "happy-go-lucky" and play it off with humor.I tried to appear confident in my ability while trying to mentally stop my hands from shaking and sweating profusely. One of the girls before me forgot the words and had to pull out her phone to recall them. That was my biggest fear: forgetting what I knew, under pressure. I took a deep breathe, smiled and opened my mouth to sing the first note. How do you really know which note to start on without a pitch pipe? I picked one and hoped for the best. Most of the time I singing from a stage where the speakers are pointed out away from me. Standing on that mound, I was hit from every direction with the raw sound of my voice being shot back at me on level 10. I remember saying "sorry" somewhere in the first section for my voice giving out. The judges were writing their thoughts about me and my ability the whole time I was singing.

 My least favorite part of the song are the words "Red Glare" the highest point in the song where if you picked the wrong starting note can create disastrous results. The combination of nerves + breathing + cold remains caused this robotic sound to come out on those words that can never be duplicated if I tried. I closed my eyes and put my hand on my diaphragm to calm me as I sang the next few words. There was something about blocking out the overwhelming sights and focusing on what I knew. I heard my voice steady and gain confidence. By the end, I was looking right at the judges doing what I love: singing. I landed the ending in fullness on "The Home....of the......Brave."

Hoping that I they would remember the ending more than the beginning I approached the judges and handed them the microphone. They said, "Great job." I quickly followed with, "sorry, I had to sing with a cough drop in my mouth," as to somehow excuse any of my mistakes and cushion my own judgements. As I approached the table where I had left my purse, a girl said, "I'm sitting here blown away right now." I thanked her but really thought, "um...didn't you hear my voice shaking? Didn't you hear how "red glare" came out of my mouth?" The judges thanked us for our time and said they would call us.  I walked back to the car half embarrassed and half proud that I did it and God did what he always does: gave my a life application beyond singing the National Anthem for a baseball game.

How often do I know in my heart what I believe and yet freeze when I'm in the midst of a decision or facing a big trial? How confident am I that my God loves me and has gifted me to serve Him, yet compare myself to others in those gifts? Have I hidden His Word in my heart so deeply that when I open my mouth it overflows? Do I seek approval internally? Or do I put my worth in what others opinions are? When the stands are full of people and I'm given a platform: What does my life preach and where does my peace come from?

Sweet friends, we have to remember that this life is not a competition and our worth is not based on our ability. Any platform we are given is an opportunity to point to Christ and His worth and His ability. We are nothing without Him. Our life is given purpose with Him. We don't have to apologize for who we are.

I may or may not get a phone call to sing at the game, but I'm thankful that God takes every opportunity to give me gentle reminders of His love for me. I'll never look at baseball the same way.

Play ball.

Blessings,
Morgan

An Invitation

Dear Morgan,

You are formally invited to be informal.
Put on your most comfortable clothes. The oversized thermal shirt that makes you feel a little smaller. The pants filled with holes and bleach marks yet soft from being worn so many times. Slip your tired feet into those fuzzy pink slippers that you once wore to bible study just because they were the love your feet needed that night. The ones you occasionally take with you to your friends house where you feel that you can be your true self.Throw your hair up with abandon in a bun. Little stray hairs spiking all over the place with no place to land. Grab your soft fleece blanket which makes you sigh every time you wrap it around you as if you have arrived in a safe place.

Sit. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Rest in the comfort that this is you at your best and that is ok. That is enough.


You are invited to enjoy.
Look at your calendar and pencil in something you that brings you life.
Don't be tempted to mark it out because something comes up that you need to "do" for someone else.
Focus on being. Relish in the small moments of the day that whisper "that was just for you."
You don't have to have the same interests as everyone else. Be uniquely you. Don't feel bad if your interests are not shared with others.  Laugh from the depths of your soul.

You are invited to fail.
You don't have to get it right all of the time. You don't have to perform.
You don't have to run until you are on empty. If one of your spinning plates crashes to ground, it's not the end of the world. You forgive others. What makes you think you are beyond the receiving end of grace from others? Sometimes you have to take the focus off of your feet and look up to be able to dance. Stepping on a few toes while you learn is inevitable. It will be ok. The end result is the freedom and beauty of the dance.

Sincerely,

The Voice Within



I'm currently participating in a Write In over at Story Sessions and the prompt is "What is Inviting You?"

Learning How to Breathe: My Year of Being Selfish

"Oxygen masks will drop down from above your seat. Place the mask over your mouth and nose, like this. Pull the strap to tighten it. If you are traveling with children, make sure that your own mask is on first before helping your children."

I have picked a "One Word" for each year for the past 3 years. It's always really interesting to see how it becomes a theme woven into the moments of my year. Usually my word is something encouraging like "Cultivate" or "Release." I was anticipating a similar feel good word for 2014. Once I worked through the words I "wanted" to have or words that "looked good," I was left with that knot in my stomach when you become self aware of truth. (That is why it is February and I'm just now getting around to writing this blog). My word for 2014 is: Selfish.

I kept reading Webster's Dictionary definition and going....that's not really how I feel about it. Then I came across this definition: "devoted to or caring only for oneself; characterized by manifesting concern or care only for oneself." If you know me, you know the word "only" will never be true of me.  My heart was drawn to the words: devoted, care, manifesting concern.

There is usually an underlying theme for people in ministry and that is a servant's heart. I think I have at times worn this as a badge of honor rather than a humble position. It feels good to help people. It feels good to be depended on. It makes me feel needed to be asked to do things. Beyond that is a deep pit of pride, exhaustion, unhealthy choices and a distorted view of one self.  Other people's "emergencies" soon consume any amount of margin that may possibly exist. The most dangerous of them all is neglecting to realize that God is on the throne, sees all, cares for all and can handle all.....without me.
I don't think this makes me a bad person. I think I'm being honest about a topic in which many struggle. If you are that person....you are not alone. You are not a bad person. It doesn't make your heart or care for others wrong. It certainly doesn't mean you can't serve.

Everything I do is with the best of intentions. I think most people would use words like "huge heart, servant's heart, caring, loving, devoted, etc" to describe me. While those are true....there are other words like "exhausted, lonely, self reliant, stubborn" that I would tack onto a definition of me. I'm not ok with that.  I know I've been a less than stellar friend because I have been "too busy" for a phone call or a cup of coffee. A few months ago, I was so burnt out that I just cried and shut down for a few days. I was so afraid of letting someone down. Upon digging deeper I discovered that I had this performance issue that I think has been there my entire life. I was always trying to get people to laugh or like me and prove them wrong about what I presumed their first impressions were about me. Effort. Lots and lots of extreme effort.

Effort is exhausting. I've found myself constantly sick and constantly tired. I have a craft room I don't even use because there is no time. I have shelves and shelves of books to be read (which I've been better about recently). Missional living feels like a 24/7 job and to some extent, it is. Even within the missional life, there has to be a rhythm. Breathing is necessary for life to exist. If a person only exhales, they will die. So I'm trying to learn how to breathe again. Most of that falls on my ability to not find my worth in other peoples opinion of me. It's learning to say no when I need to say no. It's caring enough about myself to treat myself every now and then. It's about making healthy choices. It's about cutting out drama and surrounding myself with people who encourage me. It is making that time to breath IN my Savior and his words about me, so that I can breathe HIM out to those we minister to.

Please, for those I serve with....do not stop asking me. Give me the opportunity to say no. I spent several years on survival mode and this is the first year in awhile that I actually feel like I'm thriving in certain ways. Don't make that decision for me, just be aware that the girl who ALWAYS says yes.....may start to say no. That is ok. It is good. It is me clearing out my lungs.

Tonight, I packed up my bags in the middle of bible study and I got in my car and came home. I didn't cause a scene, but I knew that with my schedule this week, I needed some time at home. I didn't feel guilty. I didn't apologize. I just left because deep down thats what I needed to do. I was not the teacher. I heard the message and it was about self care and the best self care I could give myself was to breathe tonight. (So any of my girls there....don't worry, I'm not mad.) I'm actually feeling good to be showered, comfortable and in a dim lit room typing my thoughts before bed.

I'm always seeking ways to bless others and I'm choosing to also bless myself this year. There is a group of women with whom I've knitted hearts with. It is a writers group of women (My Story Sisters) and they have at times been the voice of truth recently. They encourage me to write words like this. They push me to dig in and find my voice and my brave because its good for me. They have a retreat in Austin this summer and while I still don't know how I'll afford it, I know that I need to be there. It is the big selfish decision of my year, to do something that is "for me."  Writing is healing for me and I need to invest time into that. Reading the words that come out of me are sometimes a shock and in those moments I feel like God took over my fingers to teach me something that was within me all along.
There is a reason why pastors take sabbaticals or teaching months or even spiritual retreat days. I think for me, I just have to be intentional about doing those things on my own.

So...here's to breathing. I'm securing my own oxygen mask and and breathing in, SO THAT I can breathe out.

Less of me and more of you God. I want to be who God created me to be....in relation to Him.

That is my earnest prayer.

You have my permission to ask me how I'm doing.

Exhale.

Passion Versus Compassion

I had a little experience today that made me think a lot....

I was invited to a little seminar on eating healthy. The understanding was that the individual would teach participants how to cook a healthy meal and the importance of health. Due to a previously scheduled worship team rehearsal, I was unable to attend. Glenn decided that he would still go and represent us. After dropping him off, I encountered the man in the parking lot and offered him my vacant space up front. Upon discovering that I was going to miss his lecture he proceeded to use guilt tactics.

Me: "I'm sorry sir, I have worship team practice and will not be able to attend."

Him: "Well then, I strongly suggest you consider faking a cold for the next two hours and be here. You need to hear what I have to say."

Me: "I'm sorry sir, I can't just not go. This is a commitment I have."

Him: "Well you need to seriously reconsider because you obviously need to be here."

I'm thankful it was a moment where God put his hand over my mouth and allowed me to leave without flying off the handle at him. (I'm also thankful that He did not allow me to make a U-turn half way to rehearsal after I had rehearsed all of the "should have said" statements in my mind.)

In hindsight, I believe this man was  passionate about his message because he had a near death experience due to poor health. He was able to make changes in his life which has afforded him more time on earth. He wants others to understand the urgency of making healthy choices.

But....his delivery was all wrong. He bullied me. His tone and looks were filled with nothing but judgement. Nothing about his stance made me even slightly interested in anything he had to say....ever.

It does not mean that what he had to say was of no value or not even true. The result was that I could not receive that truth from him.

I have replayed this confrontation over and over in my head today and I can't help but wonder how often I (we all) do this, even unintentionally. Do we have a belief that is so strong that we desperately want others to know what we know or feel how we feel? Passion is not wrong as long as it is met with compassion.

I truly believe in earning the right to be heard.  The best of intentions can be completely null and void if the audience does not feel like you care. Words can be intended as morsels of truth but swallowed as poison if not served in the right manner.

Yes, learn from your experiences. Use them to share wisdom with others. Speak about things in which you are passionate. But please....remain silent if you can not express your views without a lens of compassion. Let's make sure that we are not rattling off scriptures to say something is wrong without the message that Christ will meet you right where you are. I know I have been guilty of that in the past and done some serious damage to some relationships because of it.

Now if you back your compassion with passion? That's when some amazing things happen.

Just some food for thought...(Mr. Angry Food man wouldn't appreciate that statement, I'm sure.)