I Am From:Then & Now--a SheLoves Magazine Link Up

I haven't been writing much, but I've been reading.

One of the places I've been reading is over at SheLoves Magazine. SheLoves is a group of ridiculously talented writers who have hearts for Jesus and authenticity and justice and community. When I read their posts, I feel at home with these women whom I've never known in person, but feel like my tribe.

Each month they post a theme and this month's theme is HERITAGE. They invited their readers to a synchroblog, and when I first read it, I thought maybe I should write a piece.

But then Fear and Intimidation spoke loudly. They asked me who I thought I was. In case I still had any momentum, their buddy Busy got to work on me. I hadn't written my synchroblog.

And then this morning I read a Facebook post from Idelette, the founder of SheLoves. Of the synchroblog, it said this:

"It would be easy to stand with this and watch what comes in ... But I want more ... for us, because this is community. And that 's a good thing, I think. I want ALL of our SheLovelys to write this, because I want to know you more ... I want to hear, please. So, if you have a blog, would you consider writing this, please? If you don't have a blog, you can message it to me and I'll put it on my personal blog.

This is too beautiful to let it drift along ... Today I want more. I would be so honored if you would move with me, with "us." I am from apart, and I desire together, o so much. Come play?"

And I knew, that if I allowed Fear and Intimidation and Busy to bully me, I would miss out on this opportunity of Tribe.

And so, I humbly present to you my offering of this exercise.

I Am From--Then and Now

I am from snowboots,

from dog bowls and plastic blue tumblers,

Full of apple Kool-Aid

I am from the log cabin on the side of the mountain

The bead board ceilings and wrought pine floors,

an amber box called home.

 

I am from the aspens

The blue spruce pines

The creek trickling, carrying nuggets of gold

Smoke from the pot-bellied stove filling the sky.

 

I’m from Christmas morning breakfast and suspicion,

from Nana and Grandma Jane, who died before I was born.

 

I’m from keeping busy and working too much

and from being in the same space without really being together.

I’m from “you can be anything you want to be” and “mind your manners”

and Jesus Loves Me (but you’re a dirty, rotten sinner).

 

I’m from mashed potatoes, and white meat,

and stuffing cooked outside the bird.

 

I’m from Colorado

and the Wild West,

the lonely, lonesome, ghost towns.

 

I’m from chocolate chip cookies and scrambled eggs with toast.

 

From the sister with Down syndrome

Who beat all the odds,

To live a life of her own choosing.

 

A picture of a mother, two boys on her lap, reading the story of the Christ-child

Hangs on the wall in my father’s house,

His mother,

A grandmother I never knew.

 

Now,

I am from cast iron skillets,

From local honey and slip-on shoes,

Piled in baskets at the back door.

 

I am from the crumbly brick ranch with the red front door

I am from coffee, freshly brewed in the pot

A sofa which you need not ask before you put your feet on.

 

I am from the white crepe myrtle

The magnolia

Whose giant blooms drip from its branches.

 

I’m from morning snuggles in bed and grace for mistakes,

from JoJo and Stellar and Monster.

 

I’m from clean laundry stacked in baskets and grace

and from opening the windows to let the fresh air in,

every chance we get.

 

I’m from “I love you” and “I’m sorry”

and “Hush, Little Baby” sung in whispers to their ears.

 

I’m from princess crowns on your birthday,

because we deserve to shine.

 

I’m from Carolina

and the South,

it speaks to me, “You’re home.”

 

I’m from banana bread and spinach smoothies,

Black beans and rice, and homemade maple nut granola.

 

From a son who never made it to his birth day,

Yet changed our lives forever.

His ashes sit on our bookshelf,

Reminding us of our hope for Heaven.