Where I’m From

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I am from roller skates, from Pop Rocks and Madame Alexander dolls.

I am from the small town turned city, new roads and schools.

I am from the devil mountain, the oak trees and wildflowers.

I am from roast beef on Christmas and Rhode Island accents, from Moffats and Whalens and Parsons.

I am from the procrastinators and the list-makers.

From poof you're an egg and book, tree, sky, man, flower.

I am from baptism, confirmation, summer camps and community. From gathering together and singing hymns. And rock music. From accepting and loving all who search for a place to worship.

I’m from California and England, and Scotland and Ireland. From Grammy Faith's mustard sauce and perfectly flipped fried eggs.

From the Strawberry Festival where I ate frozen yogurt in the snow, from practicing how to work the clutch in the church parking lot with my dad.

I am from piles of albums, notes scribbled in the margins. From scrapbooks of stickers and handwritten stories. From boxes of well-intentioned, but poorly organized photos. Collage frames of snapshots, of all generations, and the countless new memories still to be made.

I am from having and not, from gaining and losing.

From happy and sad, from laughter and tears.

I am from yesterday, and looking to tomorrow.