(Several months ago people in the blogging world were doing this, and I thought it was neat. But, until this morning, I never had the motivation to do it myself. You can find the original poem here, and a blank template to write your own here. I've included links, some to photos and others to explanations. I think this would be a neat thing to do with kids, to hear their perspectives on their life so far. I know some of you have done this before, but if you choose do it, please let me know so I can come read it!)

I am from steaming terra cotta cups of masala chai smashed on ancient cobblestone, from freshly baked bread and simmering soups, from canned peaches and freezer jam.

I am from mountainside log cabins, farmhouses and city houses, from wherever my family is.

I am from golden wheat fields and arid deserts, from sledding hills and six-foot snow drifts, from rainy winters, from mountains beautiful enough to make me cry.

I am from brown station wagons filled with brothers and sisters, from Tesseract the Datsun, from rickshaws and tuktuks, from boats and airplanes and camels and elephants.

I am from fragrant lilacs in the springtime, crocus blooming in the snow, calla lilies, marigold garlands and baby gardens (for babies who flew away too soon.)

I am from Charlie Brown Christmas trees in ice cream pails and loud, happy gatherings, from immigrants and explorers, from settlers and survivors. From Erik my true love, and my children, from sleepy morning kisses and fierce bear hugs.

I am from loyalty and love.

I am from verses of comfort from Isaiah the Prophet and shooting Gospel Guns while hiding under covers.

I am from the family of God, the people of Jesus, from hymns and choruses (on Sunday nights), from dancing and joy, from flickering flames, golden icons, and incense rising before the Throne.

I am from a mountain town in Canada, from temple squares in Nepal, orphans in Liberia, from tropical beaches and Ganges River sunrises, from long train trips, and First Street in Ensenada, from pignoli cookies and baked zitis, homemade tortillas and refried beans, thali plates eaten with fingers, from massaman curry and pozole and fresh roasted coffee.

I am from stolen kisses on immigrant ships and daring sea rescues, from dreams of utopia in Mexico, from tomato fields and orange orchards.

I am from black and white photographs, from tattered children's artwork in a manila envelope, The Museum, and love letters written on birch bark, from the journals of my Gramps and those who went before him, from heavy photo albums and yellowed pictures.

I am from too many places, my heart left in pieces all over the world.

I am from heaven, my true home, from the saints gone before me, from my waiting babies, from my Savior, and from every tear wiped away.