Finding Surprises in the Question, “Where are you from?”

“Where are you from?” has always been a complicated question for me.

I might mention where I was born (Louisiana), where I first traveled abroad with my family to live (Holland), where I went to high school (Iran), where I have lived the longest (Oregon), or where my family lives now (Texas). It took me a while of trying to choose only one, to embrace a beautiful collage of them all and how they each had a hand in shaping me.

I am from bayou places, desert places, hilly piney places, canal places, rainy places and sunshiny places. From the Gulf Coast, Cascade mountain range, rugged Pacific Northwest Coast, Caspian Sea and the cold North Sea. From cypress trees with knees, Kudzu vine, smooth bark crepe myrtles, azaleas, Texas bluebonnets and tough Saint Augustine grasses. From Holland tulips. From hostas, hellebores, Japanese Maples, Ponderosa Pines and Douglas Firs, the ones with the story of opening their cones as a home to mice running from forest fires.

I wonder what you say when people ask, “Where are you from?”?

Do you answer with a city, town, state, or country? A geography? A people? A corner of the world?

I read two things recently that has me thinking much more creatively and insightfully about where I am from.

The first was an article in a magazine my friend, Heidi, gave me for my birthday. It was a beautiful magazine called Bella Grace - Life’s a Beautiful Journey. And in it was a short article in issue #35 titled “I am from . . . by Wanita Toews.

And the second from a book called “Life Worth Living” written by Yale professors Miroslav Wolf, Matthew Croasmun and Ryan McAnnally-Linz. This book will warrant much more conversation, but for now it was this line that caught my attention,

“the weight of our lives comes from their irreplaceability”

In the wise words of Mister Rogers,

“You are special. You’re special to me. There’s only one you in this wonderful world.”

I often call this your “youiness” or your (insert your name here) + iness.

It seems worth a little time to reflect on all that went into shaping us - places, people, experiences, encounters, music, art, education, heartache, work, friendships, stories, our bodies and our times. There is some kind of magic that comes out of our unique reflection of our Maker and our movement through this world.

You really are irreplaceable.

Langston Hughes said it this way,

The night is beautiful,

so the faces of my people.

The stars are beautiful,

so the eyes of my people.

Beautiful, also, is the sun.

Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

I am from learning to drive around a strong pecan tree in my Granddaddy Crump’s rusty 4-on-the floor pickup. I am from tears and Louisiana sweat and that hum when the balance between clutch and gas its just so. From crawfish, red potatoes and corn on the cob boiled in Zataran’s and spilled on newspaper down the center of a wooden picnic table, kids running through the fireflies and sitting on top of a redwood bucket so Daddy could crank hard to churn thick fresh peach ice cream.

I am from a childhood of growing up slow and responsible, doing yard work as a family before running off to roller skate, play Hands Down, Monopoly and Barbies for days. From we did not have her dream house or store bought clothes. From my Mama who sewed Barbie outfits from scraps and remnants from our own clothes so matching outfits which made my sister very happy. What made me happy was making the furniture. My favorite was a high back barrel chair made from oatmeal cartons covered in contact paper.

I am from parts of the 1970’s in America Levi’s, pea coats, puka shells, bell bottoms and wide belts, Earth shoes, feathered hair, peasant tops, fat Bonne Bell Lip Smackers in soda flavors, octagonal wire-rimmed glasses and wide hoop earrings. From The Brady Bunch, Scooby Doo, Nancy Drew, Little House on the Prairie, Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom and The Wonderful World of Disney. From Dr. Pepper, Frito pie, M&M’s and Oreo’s, and from missing those tastes and styles when we lived abroad.

I am from the strong metallic scent of coming rain (ozone) and afterwards, too, (petrichor) when the world seems to let out her breath. From stormy places of rolling thunder and crackling lightning so fierce we fled the community pool in a mad scrabble to take cover, the smell of Coppertone and chlorine lingering in the rush. From threatening hurricanes where we boarded up windows, filled bathtubs with fresh water and eased our station wagon on to the lines of cars seeking higher ground. From packing the car with pimento cheese sandwiches, store brand Creme Soda, Barbies and GI Joe’s, and heading for Granddaddy Crump’s low brick home at the Arkansas edge of Louisiana where we ate those scratch biscuits from a cast iron skillet.

I am from thrifting, reimagining and restoring, saving wrapping and ribbons, ironing tissue paper, collaging bulletin boards way before there was a Pinterest, repurposing vintage table cloths into curtains, collecting ironstone pitchers and wooden bowls, foraging Sabbath flowers into pitchers and pickle jars as vases.

I am from Jo and Dickie, young to marriage (1960) and parenthood (1961), thrillingly afraid, brave, and strapped for cash. From Leona and Harvey, who died too young in a log trucker accident, leaving my Dad to be raised by Mama and Papa Mayerle who were were strict, blue collar, and Nazarene. From Bobby and Joe who married not quite soon enough or nearly long enough, leaving my Mama to be raised by Arnett and Icy Virginia who were strong, kind, and resourceful.

I am from scratch biscuits in a seasoned cast iron skillet, Steen’s dark molasses syrup drizzled on top of fresh fig preserves and walking to Ollie Green’s mailbox. From sweet tea in milk glasses flecked with circus animals, toothpicks in a woodpecker holder on the table with Bible memory verses among the pickled peppers in a bottle, wooden clothes pins in a calico cloth bag and racing the rain to bring in sun-dried laundry. From shelling peas into a bowl between my knees (pecan halves, too), and old iron beds with thin sheets and scrap quilts layered on top.

I am from a 38-year marriage to Mike and motherhood to four beautiful faces and two we never got to meet. From endless shenanigans, some from the mystery, beauty and struggle of autism, the weaving in of three in-laws and seven Wonders of the world who call me Jojo and tell me I am old, maybe somewhere between 15 and 85. From their height marks on the laundry room door frame and erasing those pencils marks so we could sell the house that held their childhood art on the walls.

I am from a God who wooed me at an Easter egg hunt when I was maybe 5 years old, a Nazarene church camp somewhere around age 9 or 10 where I was afraid to step outside into the inky black night but after breakfast in the enormous screened-in dining hall, we made crafts out of Clorox bottles, yarn and popsicle sticks with such joy it lit up the place. From singing “Just as I am” and walking down the long center aisle when I was twelve to be saved and later baptized in a white robe. From only honestly owning that walk when I turned seventeen.

From a beautiful God who called me from rough waters into starry nights, who I thought might be mad at teenage me but who was so fiercely tender to hold my wandering tears and deep sighs and encircle me into his chest. From a Maker Father who was already looking for me when I finally realized I was looking for him. From my friend Jesus who talks tenderly to me at night while I sleep. From knowing it even when I don’t know precisely what he has said. From the Holy Spirit who enchants my worlds inside and outside.

There is more of course, for God is always in the making of us like a crazy quilt with bold stitches and we seem to be always in shades of accepting and resisting his shaping hands of love.

For now, I am accepting it may not be an easy question for anyone if they really think about it. (And I invite you to do so.)

Though sometimes I am more from one place than another or one experience over another, in the end I am from all of it in my own way. My brother and sister who were in most of these places with me when I was there would have some similar reactions and shapings and others completely different.

And at the very same time, full of mystery and dark shine, is a deep part of us from somewhere completely Other and somehow familiar or remembered or waiting.

Where are you from?