I am from perfectly made beds and nothing ever left on the floor.
I come from a Scottish mother in Throckmorton, Texas. A redhead. A terror. A strong one disgruntled with life. Elva escaped the orphanage, but her two younger brothers did not. She was an adult toddler who took care of her flighty, artistic mother. Her silent, quiet, rancher father died young of melanoma with five dollars in the bank. There was no conversation that helped her grieve.
I am from Buick Electra 225s and Highlander sailboats and BMW motorcycles.
I come from a dad named Paul who fled to double feature films in Grandview, Ohio most evenings after his mother died of painful bone cancer. He was her massage therapist after school. As a ten-year old he was up at 4:30 a.m. for his first paper route and after school another paper route and finishing, hopefully, by 5:30 p.m. He sometimes would sit on neighbors’ back steps to be able to hear and remember the sound of a mother’s voice at a dinner table.
I am from a dining room of perfection with a shimmering chandelier with something always simmering on the stove, aromatic, bold and bubbling.
I come from a violent birth. Placenta previa. Born in March, instead of May. My mother hemorrhaging in an elevator and swift surgeon hands saved our lives. My manmade birthmark on my right cheek still survives.
I am the middle, a peacemaker between a disgruntled mom and an orphaned man who sometimes proved volatile and unpredictable.
I come from a salesman stockbroker and a striving philanthropist. The ups and downs of the Dow Jones Industrial Average created depressions or joy that were the wallpaper of our home and our souls.
I am a lean, sinewy child who couldn’t fall asleep. I have two recurring dreams. One is a dream of German soldiers bursting into our house. The middle girl never flees but somehow is always able to climb on the top shelf of a closet and hide in a hatbox.
Three times a week I am lost in Methodist traditions and Southern Baptist insertions. I love the church’s beautifully framed pictures of Jesus in Gethsemane and Jesus with the little children around him. I love children’s church and singing wholeheartedly with the big kids behind me. I remember how it feels to walk on linoleum hallways in white or black patent leather shoes. I can hear the sound of my footsteps in my head.
I am from the native ground of the Wyandotte tribe with Chief Leatherlips’ grave nearby.
I am from Buckeye trees and red geranium blossoms and raked leaves and weeded gardens.
I am from knowing what’s right and finding fault with others.
I am from never speaking unkindly about my family and being thankful for F.D.R.
I am from homemade vegetable beef soup, Fritos and ice cream.
I am from the twelve-year old great, great, great, great grandfather captured by Apaches while at school one day.
I am from immaculate photo albums, fine china and Waterford crystal and piano practicing every day.
I am from lots of evenings watching television shows and ice cream eating on the couch.
I am from watching the Beatles, Ed Sullivan, JFK’s funeral and moon landing alongside my family.
Most of all, like you, I am from the great I Am. I am the violent intersection of heartache and loss and the dream of God. I am the one who desires and delights in the God who made me and I am the one that reveals that God is.
And who are you? What I have written needs to be penned by you. All you need to do is to ask the question: Where am I from? What are the landscapes, people, smells, food, sounds and stories that have framed you to be the “I am” that you are? This work originated with the poet George Ella Lyon (http://iamfromproject.com/) who has created the I am project.
How can I celebrate who I am if I don’t know where I am from? How can I celebrate you if you don’t know or won’t share where you are from? How are we to reveal the goodness of the God whose name burns in the flames of a fiery bush if we don’t have a hint of our own name? It is good to meet you. Won’t you tell me your name and where you are from?
Becky Allender lives on Bainbridge Island with her loving, wild husband of 42 years. A mother and grandmother, she is quite fond of sunshine, yoga, Hawaiian quilting and creating 17th Century reproduction samplers. A community of praying women, loving Jesus, and the art of gratitude fill her life with goodness. She wonders what she got herself into with Red Tent Living!
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Beautiful and complicated. I love it.
Thank you! Yes…we are complicated beings. So true.
The question, “Who am I protecting?” has been troubling me for a while. Your post gives me more insight into why the question troubles me, because as long as I have someone or something to “protect,” I hold back from revealing who I am and where I am from. Thank you for sharing.
Since going through The Journey and The Allender Center Certificate training I have learned to love my story with the care that I got from my group leaders and group participants.. My parents did not have the luxury of having anyone listen to their stories of trauma from their childhoods. I love them more and more as the years roll by. Madeline, you have great depth and deep love for so many. I love reading your Red Tent entries. I hope you come to know, “who am I protecting.” I would love to know more about you…. Thank you for your reply.
Oh goodness, this is a game-changer. Thank you, Becky. I love it. Who am I? Let us dedicate ourselves to embracing this question! Grateful for you and your words.
Dear Claudia, thank you for your reply. Your words intrigue me. Especially, “Oh goodness, this is a game-changer.” I would love to sit and ask you what was triggered by this “I Am” poem. I hope what shows through is a glimpse of the bedrock of who I am and how much compassion I have for my parents.
Becky – I feel honored and encouraged that you have shared parts of your story with us. There are many facets to each of our lives that we either have the courage to share or we do not. It is in the sharing that the facets begin to shine. Thank you for encouraging us to share boldly our truths, our stories of who we are and where we are from. Each of us are a volume of stories – some happy, some sad, some life changing, some ordinary – but unique to us. Please keep writing. This was beautiful and profound. God bless.
Thank you for your reply. My desire is that this “I Am” project will allow you to write a free flowing poem with smells, fabrics, colors, seasons, whatever to add flesh and bones to your story of who you are and where and who did you come from!
Thank you Becky. You embrace yourself well. I feel blessed reading your words.
Marie, thank you. And may you do the same and know it’s artistry that comes with remembering and remembering the senses.
Thank you Marie!! I am curious about you!
Becky, this took my breath away…I was so excited when I read your piece this morning because I too, wrote an I Am From piece inspired by George Ella Lyon for this month’s theme! May this start a movement at the Red Tent table. I cherish the rich imagery in your writing and the way that you invite us into such precise and raw imagery that brilliantly weaves the place you came from and reveals who you are. The line “I am from the great I Am. I am the violent intersection of heartache and loss and the dream of God. I am the one who desires and delights in the God who made me and the one that reveals that God is” is so rich, full and hopeful. Your storytelling always takes me back to the heart of God.
Rachael! I cannot wait to read your “I Am” poem!!! It would be amazing to sit at a table and read poems together.
Breathtaking. Profoundly provoking. Courageous. My heart moves toward my story with each beat in the cadence of your march into yours. Thank you. Yes … Yes. And, yes.
Thank you for your reply. It might be courageous…but it made me feel grateful for my parents and proud of their fortitude to be who they were on this earth. I have so much to be grateful for as their daughter.
I am from… an Italian mom, who was the youngest of 10 first generation immigrants…where her “nurturing” came from her mafia connected brothers…she had no compacity for emotional connection or physical touch… while my dad was passionate with fury… his fury ruled us all!
these words… this truth you wrote…have been the healing salve over my long journey of healing…
Most of all, like you, I am from the great I Am. I am the violent intersection of heartache and loss and the dream of God. I am the one who desires and delights in the God who made me and I am the one that reveals that God is.
Ro! I love your first stanza of your “I Am” poem. Isn’t it amazing to be able to say so much in so few words. I look forward to hearing the rest of your poem. It is good to journey alongside one another. Thank you!
Dear Becky, this is one of the most stunning pieces you have written! Your words just get stronger and bolder with every writing. I love to read what is in your heart, what has shaped and is shaping your world and how you bring such beauty to life from all of it. Love to you! Christine
Thank you Christine! Your words truly bless me with every time you reply. I am grateful to say the same about you and your words. It is amazing how writing and being vulnerable help us be more present and grateful. The I Am project is a really great format. It is amazing how much I have learned and glimpsed into my friends’ lives by this exercise. Our words of blessing to our parents and their parents propels me to live strong and wholeheartedly! And brings me aware of the hard road we all have by being human beings.
Love this and your challenge. Gonna do this soon. Thanks for all you give here.
Kelli!!! I want to read yours when you finish! There is so much that I love about you and so much I do not know about you.
Kelli! Please let me read it when you write your poem!
I think of all the little pieces that make me, and wonder. Thank you for this.
Yes, yes and yes, Eliza! So true. All of us, right? You are welcome and I hope you write your own “I Am” poem!
Incredible. Incredible!
Thank you and please let me read yours when you write it!
Becky, I love getting to know you through these beautifully vivid and evoking images. Some of them conjured the tension of your world, others revealed beauty, and a few were oh-so-sweet (those patent-leather shoes clicking on the church’s linoleum floors<3)–all the while weaving in the history of both your family and your own childhood. I imagine that engaging in the writing of this piece was as engaging as the final product. Thank you for inviting us to write our own "I Am" piece too. I look forward to doing this with the ladies in my monthly Red Tent dinner group!
Awesome that you will do this with the ladies in your Red Tent dinner group!!! I hope Red Tent Living gets to enjoy your piece too!
Becky, I’ve just finished writing my “Where I’m From” poem for our upcoming RTL gathering, and I wanted to honor your request to read it too. Thanks for sharing this invitation with us here; it was meaningful to engage in it.
I am from the land of dinner-on-the-grounds, garden club, and “who are your people?”
I am from a neighborhood located “up-the-valley”, where friends live in every other house and we enjoy long summer days playing without a curfew.
I am from East LaFollette Elementary, and the library tucked downstairs, where Mrs. Wells always greets me with a warm smile and a waiting book.
I am from Sunday school, graded choirs, Sunday morning (and evening) church, week-long revivals, and summer VBS.
Methodist or Baptist, Democrat or Republican, Jacksboro or LaFollette, Woodson’s or Shelby’s…these answers tell you nearly everything you need to know about a family.
My people are Baptist, Republican, and LaFollette, and we trade at Shelby’s.
Of course, we trade at Shelby’s…we are the Shelby’s.
I feel like this explains a lot about who we are, and who I am, but I am not quite sure what it means.
I am pretty sure I’m supposed to know; I’m not supposed to ask.
Becky, I absolutely love this! It is amazing how much just the few lines you’ve written have expanded my knowing of you. My heart aches with you on being the middle, the peacemaker in between. Thank you for this, and for the invitation – I’ve already checked out the project and am so excited about writing mine!
This is my beginning:
I am from Grand Rapids, mecca of the Christian Reformed Church, steeped in West Michigan Nice, frequent observer of Dutch Bingo – waiting to see how many names were spoken before a connection with ‘one of us’ was found.
Becky- One of the things lost somewhere is who I am! I wrestle in wonder of what parts of me are truly me and what I have taken on from others because of my distaste for me. At age 48 I have grown more and more curious about me. Through healing and transformation, I recognize parts of me coming alive. My tastes have changed, my colors have changed, someone is showing up I do not know. I love that you have urged your audience to write who we are. The task is immensely daunting to me! I have not written on Red Tent Living in so long….my writing voice has been muted, much like my vocal voice. I will attempt this exercise because what I hear in yours is such beauty and intrigue, I see you in it though I do not know you. Thank you!!!