Autobiography

So here we are again, friends. I'm back in good ol' Murica slowly adjusting to a different time schedule, different people, and a different daily life. Some days I think that I'm back to normal while others I ask myself why normal has to consist of class and work and a lack of Filipino smiles. Over the next few weeks, I'm going to try (try being a key word) to write a few posts about the trip.

 This semester, I'm taking a creative writing class- something that is far, far outside of my comfort zone. This last week, we had to write an autobiography that was exactly 500 words, no more, no less. Strugglebus. How do you fit ninteen years into less than two pages? So here it is.

I come from a father born the youngest of three boys. To this day, he still has to prove that his Bible college education was worth something by praying for Christmas dinner.

I come from a mother who walks quietly and speaks with her eyes rather than her mouth. She comes from strong German stock that used to dust the top of the refrigerator when she and my too tall father were dating. My father claims that she chased him. She says it’s the other way around.

I come from a younger brother with a mind that will someday move mountains. Until then, he is content to dream about a girl named Katie who bakes him peach pies. No, I am not kidding. His love for Jesus will blind you if you get too close.

I come from little Egypt- the fertile land captured between the Ohio and the Mississippi. It is a land of fields and accents that can only be described as hick. It is beautiful.

I come from a childhood spent with Laura Ingalls Wilder and a slew of imaginary friends. My parents once told me that if you sprinkle salt on a rabbit’s tail, it will slow down enough for you to catch it. My summers were spent building elaborate dirt piles in the outfield of the t-ball field and chasing rabbits with stolen saltshakers.

I come from a sudden move in the middle of my fifth grade year. It was an uprooting and transplant that produced bigger blooms than I ever could have asked for.

I come from an awkward stage that began too early and overstayed its welcome.

I come from a single summer relationship. It began with the thought of “We’re best friends… so we should probably date.” It ended quietly with the acknowledgement of the lessons learned. He is still my best friend.

I come from friends who watch too much British television. They are diamonds in the not-so-rough. When I come home from school, we drive down back roads for hours because they know that that’s what I need.

 I come from the “good batch” in school, somehow managing to escape a town that captures those who jinx themselves with the wish to leave.

I come from a last minute decision to attend a school five hours away. By the grace of God, I ended up where I needed to be.

I come from a time of growth, learning to live with and love others. I’m drinking too much coffee and staying up too late. I am building relationships.

I come from a sudden accident over the summer and a father who is a quadriplegic. He is learning to walk again, one day and one step at a time. My family is learning what it means to be whole again.

I come from a heavenly father that loves me more than I could ever deserve. He continues to give me grace upon grace upon grace.

I come from a story unfinished.

Song of the Post: Oblivion - Bastille