I come from sweaty brows and upturned earth. From berry patches and patched clothes and parching thirst with draughts of cold sweet tea.
I come from drinking deep of Dickens and Dickinson while traipsing through trails of trees along old babbling streams. I come from singing long into the night and stepping out under full moons to hide and seek in evening dew. From setting camp on shores of Lake Superior, bicycles, paper routes, paper dolls and piano concerts to the least of these. From old-fashioned ice cream makers, made from scratch bread, made from scratch everything and pressure canners humming long into the night.
I come from hymn singing, Bible breathing, we’re not afraid to say it loud and go the extra mile kind of folk. I come from there’s always an extra seat at the table and no one is too low for love and prayer is not something you do…it’s what you wear.
I come from truth-telling, big family, big dreams, bigger hearts and tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet. And when you can’t find me? Look in a meadow all grown tall with wildflowers. I’m most likely fixing a vase for the table with the extra seat.
So where do you come from?