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.
