At a function recently someone asked me, “Where are you from?”  I answered in the usual way, giving the name of my hometown, but I secretly wanted to reply:

“I am from a song that was begun long, long ages ago,

breath and vibrations and imagination.

I am from where snow begins,

high in the sky, falling silently.

I am from a bird’s song

resonating from high atop an ancient oak tree.

I am from a chant sung by a Native American fore-mother.

I am from lullabies hummed by ancestors from across the ocean.

I am from my grandmother’s homemade biscuits, butter, and jelly.

I am from the back of a horse, saddled for me before breakfast by my grandfather.

I am from peaches and pecans from the trees in her yard and creamy,

Rich fudge from my grandmother’s stove.

I am from sitting on my grandfather’s knee and singing songs together on a road trip

halfway across the state of Texas.

I am from coastal sunshine, salt spray, and fish caught with my daddy.

I am from clothes beautifully crafted by my mom.

I am from sailing adventures with my brother.

I am from climbing trees and giggles with my little sister.

I am from games and cousins, and Christmas trees and camping,

and books and hymns.

I am from a place that, when I was 11 years old, was devastated by a hurricane

and resurrected by determination, faith, and countless helping hands.

I am from women and men who lived with Jesus

and taught others, who taught others, who taught others,

who taught my Sunday School teachers.

I am from many places, far from here.”

“And where are you from?”

Peace, Blessings, and Joy

Bev