Where I'm From

I’m from the south. From please and thank you and yes ma’am.

I’m from late nights in soft pews. From Christmas specials and long sermons. From church dresses.

I’m from sunshine and climbing trees. From long hot days with cousins and sisters and popsicles.

I’m from brush and mesquite and thorns and cactus. From beauty.

I’m from fajitas and fruit cups with chile. From pinatas and “que chulo.”

I’m from hard-working dads and independent moms; from being rich, but having little money.

I’m from mashed potatoes and sweet tea. From homemade birthday cakes.

I’m from tickle fights and real fights. From sharing rooms and sharing clothes. From only three channels.

I’m from palettes on the living room floor. From late night giggles. From “I love you” before you fall asleep.

I’m from plucking chickens. From homemade ice cream and fresh tomatoes.

I’m from the oilfield. From men in coveralls that smell like diesel. From dirty hands and v-neck tans.

I’m from Narnia. From Sweet Valley. From daydreams and stories that took me to far off places.

I’m from plaid skirts and skinned knees on the playground. From jump roping contests and a school that was a family.

I’m from laughter and tears. From happiness and pain. From hello and goodbye.

I’m from redemption. From grace. From the God of the universe who chooses to love me. From the perfect Author of my story.


And you? Where are you from friend?

I Love Old People.

I really do. Last week was Senior Adult camp and we had close to 100 senior adults here Monday through Thursday. The guys at work have often said that if you are over 65 and you can’t get along with me, there is something wrong with you. Haha! For some reason I just get along really well with the elderly. I’ve always been a bit of an “old soul” and my insatiable love for story makes sitting around talking to them easy and interesting. 

Since I was a child I have daydreamed in stories. I wrote fictional tales in my head about people I saw at hotels or walmart or convenient stores. This is why I am fascinated with documentaries and biographies and reality shows (ie: Hoarders/Intervention/etc). I just LOVE real life stories. I love hearing about how these people fell in love and fought in wars and worked through pain. And do you know what I have realized?

There is nothing they want more than to tell you their story.

This statement brings tears to my eyes. It’s so very true. These sweet people want nothing more than to be HEARD and REMEMBERED. They are blunt sometimes, yes. They are grouchy and old-fashioned from time to time. But, you cannot go wrong by asking them about their life and listening with intention. They light up when they talk about their daughter, and how she is just as hard headed now as she was when she was born. They teared up talking to me about how their grandson died of cancer; how they never walked the same after fighting in World War II; how their wife gets prettier every day. They laughed as they told me that their first home cost $750.

I’m incredibly grateful for them and what they teach me about life and about myself. I hope one day, when I am old and wrinkled, there will be someone that will want to hear what I have to say. I hope people will not just disrespect me and see me as a useless member of society. I hope they will remember that I was once their age, and that I have wisdom to share. I have a friend who once told me about a time when he was visiting a lady in the nursing home. Before he left she told him, “please don’t let my church forget about me.” That really stuck with me. Don’t forget about them. They are here, and they have so much to give.

Take some time to sit down with your grandparents if you are blessed to have them here, or find an “adopted grandparent” (I have a couple of those:) and ask them some questions. One of my biggest regrets is that I didn't take the time to write down my grandparent's stories before they passed away. I always wanted to and never took the time. Ask them what they learned from being married for 60 years. Ask them what countries they have been to. Ask them what they wish they knew when they were your age. And then listen. Genuinely listen. You won’t be sorry. 

Family Matters.

I love my family A LOT. To some people it’s a little overboard I’m sure. I think they are the best. They are always there for me. They love me without fail. They make me laugh hysterically and encourage me and lift me up in prayer. Of course we argue, OFTEN, but I don’t know what I would do without them. I guess, because of this, I think that everyone in the world is as attached to their family as I am to mine. I get excited when people talk about their brothers. I ask them a million weird questions like, “what is your mom’s name?” or “Do you get along with your sister?” It’s strange. I know. I just absolutely adore the fact that these two people meet each other, fall in love and have children that are a mix of them. I love that bubbas and sisters grow up together...sleeping on the living room floor and climbing trees and putting on ridiculous skits. No one knows you like your family does. The Webbs have way too many inside jokes. I am entirely too protective of my little sibs. We are the same and different and no one understands me like them.

I guess this is why...lately...I have been frustrated with girls who marry guys and shut their family out. I realize that you may not get along with his mom. I realize that his parents might be strange and white trash and blunt. BUT, these are the people who raised your husband – the man you love more than any other man. Regardless of what you think, he is a mix of their genes, and much of how he looks at the world can be contributed to these people. His sisters are the ones who helped him bury his childhood pet and sat on his bed with him when his high school girlfriend broke his heart. His brother is the one who taught him to drive and sat in a deer blind with him in the early morning light talking about life. 

I know this relates to husbands too. I know they should take time to know and communicate with their wife’s family. But, let’s be honest, girls are going to stay in touch with their families for the most part. And guys just don’t. They will forget birthdays and miss Christmas dinners and move away without thinking twice. As a wife I feel like you should make an effort to know his family. Let your children meet and know their father’s parents. If you love this man as you say you do, then you should love his family – imperfections and all. 

I know I am single and I don’t understand what it means to be a wife and mom. I also know that families are different – and there are sometimes real, deep issues. I just feel like this is important – and makes sense. Your children will be a mix of you and their dad. That means half of their genes come from this man. They need to know their grandparents; learn family recipes from them; hear stories about their dad when he was growing up. It’s not fair to only allow them to know only half of where they came from. And put yourself in the shoes of your husband/fiance/boyfriend’s mama for a minute. This sweet boy...who she carried with her and held while he cried...has chosen to leave her and take another woman as his caregiver. This can’t be easy for her. The least you can do is remember her birthday and take some time to cook with her and hear about her love story. The least you can do is try to respect his father. Get to know him. Stand outside by the BBQ pit and ask him about work while he cooks. These people raised the man of your dreams. It’s the LEAST you can do.

And yes okay? These pictures do make me cry. I’m telling you. I’ve got love for families. Also...sidenote: Scripture tells us that our love for Christ should be so great that it should make family love look like HATE. Incredible.