I Am From

I am from my mother’s curls and from my father’s laughter,

clear and long and low, like wind chimes.

I am from the birch tree planted at the corner the day I was born,

and I’m from the silent and mighty Mississippi, 

flowing relentlessly through thousands of my childhood memories.

I’m from towering tree canopies eclipsed by city skyline,

a corner of comfort in a restless world.

I’m from puppy paws and autumn leaves.

I’m from walks along the river in all seasons, 

yellow street lamps spilling light across the path

and night falling around us like many tasseled arms.

I am from skipping stones on the Mississippi,

from scaling fallen trees and splashing over creeks

with my dog close behind.

I am from books & stories,

from ink & paper, from keyboard & cursor.

I am from words spoken, words written,

and Word made flesh among us.

I am from the church “village” that raised me,

encouraged me, put a guitar in my hands and a mission in my heart.

I am from my mother’s addictions.

I am from court hearings I was too young to remember

and painful disappointments I’ll never be old enough to forget. 

I’m from, “where’s your mom?” 

and from, “why do you only live with your dad?”
I am from abandonment and unworthiness,

from depression and razor blades and a longing to be rescued.

I’m from perfectionism and fear,

and striving anxiously to be “good enough” so that I won’t be left.

But more importantly, I am from redemption and healing.

I am from a Father who never stopped loving me,

even when I couldn’t love myself.

I’m from “I love you twice as much as yesterday,

and half as much as tomorrow.”

I’m from morning snuggles and back scratches.

I’m from reggae music on road trips,

coolers full of soda, wind in our hair and sun on our faces.

I am from all manner of made-up hot dish meals,

from home-squeezed orange juice, pancakes for dinner, 

and movie nights with buttery popcorn and ice-cold Diet Cokes.

I’m from watching thunderstorms on the porch, 

huddled under a blanket while spidery purple lightning scribbled across the sky.

And I’m from the instant that the world I knew unraveled. 

I am from my dad’s death.

I am from grief, stale and weathered.

I am from tears and questions and doubt,

I am from wandering, ungrounded, untethered.

I am from longing and praying and nightmares recurring.

I am from loss.

But I am also from the hands that caught me—

the hands that still hold me steady.

I am from Tjoflats and Mahers and Wicklunds,

family not by blood but by choice, 

hearts who have claimed me 

and loved me deeply as their own in the wake of tragedy.

And I am from a Savior, a hope,

a deep love which stays me,

like the roots of a tree in tempest winds.

I am from the bread & the cup and the waters of baptism.