I am from...

where I'm from
One of my favorite places on the internet is SheLoves Magazine, a collection of diverse writing from women (and the occasional man) which consistently challenges, encourages and encircles me. This month, SheLoves is doing a synchroblog using the same prompt, which is adapted from a poem by George Ella Lyon. Even though I usually don't post so many times a week, I wanted to make an exception for this, and I hope you'll consider writing your own, whether it makes it onto the internet or not. I found the process to be illuminating and I hope you enjoy the results.
I am from sensible shoes, from mismatched paperbacks and fresh-brewed PG Tips.
I am from the window on the second story, praying for a neighbor, my age, who never came;
from someone else's yellow walls, sponged with light.
I am from the "friendliest flowers," the best sand dollar beach, the stones piled up to remember.
I'm from "finding Baby Jesus," and "hasn't God always provided?"
From needing to love and loving to need.
I'm from the voice of my mother, reading aloud, from tying my brother to bannisters.
I'm from "you seemed stuck-up when I met you," and "what does that word mean?"
 From "Jesus Loves Me" and "Father Abraham Had Many Sons."
I'm from dinner, together.
I'm from the heart of California, the desert of Washington, and the breathable Scottish air; from Narnia; from Heaven.
I'm from chicken pot pie and artichokes dipped in butter.
From a mothers mothers mother, fresh from a Depression-era orphanage, married in a lion's cage, trembling. A publicity stunt, to pay for the wedding.
I'm from stolen coins, vintage "pearls" and "I love you smoogiest."
I'm from knee socks, "I'm writing a mystery," and "would you like to be friends?"
I'm from a language I've not known, and from liturgy. Prophecy and procession. From the Bread of Heaven and the cup of Salvation.
I'm from the wilderness, watching, singing, waiting for the rivers.