I am From

I am from sheets of music
Lying on the bed
Guitars propped up

I am from brothers’ clothes
The buttonhook on dad’s hand
In the backyard of summer

I am from bike jumps and bloody knees
Prayers and backrubs by my bedside
Dad’s surprise tickle attacks

I am from kleenexes
Tucked in a sleeve in case of tears
I am from a late night movie
On a school night

I am from cake rolls
Cinnamon gum in a purse
Crowds of people laughing
Cousins joking
Till stomachs hurt

I am from dirt paths
Cutting down Christmas trees
A small cabin overflowing
The clean plate club
Pink curlers and the boxcar children
Popcorn clouded skies
Endless with dreams

I am from sock fights on rainy days
Mochas and listening from blue eyes
The patience that taught me to drive
Taught me to live

I am from hands that let go
Freedom to become
Freedom to sing my own song
That love
Even so

I am from bike rides and road trips
Books on tape
Stories around a campfire
Guitars around a campfire

I am from cheers at soccer games
I am from cheering
At football
At basketball
At the Depot

I am from being amazed
At songs they write
At their humor
At their love
For a sister in tears
Or a sister on an amateur stage
Or at a project on beach
Or a sister in a fight
Even so
They love

I am from drums in the basement
Microphones and speakers
Crowds of boys in the house
I am from wanting to be cool
Like them

I am from the Christmas walk
Birthday Breakfast in bed
Cinnamon Rolls on Christmas
From homemade dinner
From buttons re-sewn
From fingers calming my back
Hot chocolate after
The snow jumps we made

I am from clothes on my back
And shoes on my feet
Dinner on the table
Every night
Lots of kids don’t have that

I am from fights and misunderstanding
And a powerful grace
Moments of re-creation
Redemption at work
A puzzle never-ending
Still being pieced

I am from a goofy face
Peering in the door crack
Holding a football blanket
Asking to sleepover
Night after night
Late night chats about mistakes
About redemption
Backrubs and peanut butter
Harmonizing to songs

I am from his hands
Showing me A, B, C, D
From power chords
And re-writing songs
His help, his intellect
His honesty
Another goofy face
Making me laugh
Making me think deep
Over coffee
Over a kid’s ice cream cone
Creative ideas
Made into real life

I am from the tree house
The boat, the music
I am from vanilla dipped in chocolate
At the drive through
Chocolate chip cookies
Baking

I am from their genuine songs
Ears and eyes
Gets louder, wiser
Freer
Over time

I, Too, am a Refugee

“I, Too, am a Refugee” Personal Narrative
By Katie Vanderheyden October 17, 2007

Rain slammed down hard on Loring Park
It slammed the stories
Of the boy who’s face was blown off by a bomb
Of the girl who carried her brother
On her back
Everyday
To get medicine

Into my mind

The mud splashing the misery onto my feet
As the puddles of distant pain grew deeper
They flooded the guilt of the American Individual
The guilt of having freedom
Of having enough

There were 10,000 people in Uganda
Huddled in a field, he said
He got a call and went
They escaped
A rescue worker died trying to help
She gave her life

Puddles deepening

I’m sure I could die of self obsession
Here in America
In Darfur, in Chad, in Colombia
They want to be safe
To eat food

Suffering, we all are
Some more affluently than others

We have a lot of stuff
What about empty jars without water?
They have so many over there
Got to pump it from wells
If they have a well to pump from

I never see where my water comes from
Know I get thirsty
Know what it feels like to appear full
But to be empty

If their jars were full
Would they want more?
Don’t we need more than food and water?
Looks that way, here in America
When I watch TV
When I go to college

I do
Want more
I can’t sleep sometimes
Because its not enough
The food
The water
My affluent quality of life

It’s not enough for me

Fallen, Broken
We are
In Darfur, in Chad, In Colombia
Everywhere
Here, in America

Fighting, Despairing
We are

Unconsciously attracted to life
Hoping forever is real
Rest for our souls
Wanting to know the secret
Groaning for places that sparkle
From conversation to conversation
Heaven, Utopia, Nirvana…
Begging to be given everything we need
Or acting like we need nothing

Jesus Christ says his yoke is light
Come to him; says he will give us rest
Wasn’t sure if he was just my “homeboy” a “good man”
Or a liar
Stopped believing in the cultural Jesus
Wanted to know him
For real

Truth

Use to think he wanted just the good ones
Now I know Him
Know he likes to take the ones broken, crying
Messy and honest
Like me

Says he will see us in paradise
Not because we’re good enough
But because of his mercy

I am a refugee
From sin
From guilt
From hiding
From the weight of others’ eyes
Got so heavy, I laid my burden down

Still fighting, but not despairing
Persecuted, but not abandoned
Struck down, but not destroyed
His joy is going to be my strength

His joy, His strength

A free gift he says
But I want to act like I have
A wealth of knowledge and peace
Like I understand
But I don’t
Just know it felt real dark
And I got scared that the dark would take me
I needed a refuge
A rescue worker
Who would die for me

A free gift to
Everyone who is fleeing
Everyone who wants to escape
For all of the refugees

Who have nothing left but belief

I don’t feel free because of America
Or because I can eat, go to college, and be clean
Actually, I feel heavy chains here
Maybe there are chains are everywhere…

Maybe its because we’re all sinners—
We know not what we do

Offending a perfect God
Could we admit it?
Would we?
If we knew—
We could be completely accepted
Approved of
Lavished in grace

“Forgive them, Father—
They know not what they do,”
He prayed

But dancing with him
The one who made himself poor
Who loved prostitutes, outcasts, beggars
Like me

Laying my sin upon him
Like he’s my best friend’s ear
Being made new, scars erased
That’s where I feel the most free

For what he’s done now
What joy, what peace!
I am not who I use to be…

Never thought, never dreamed…

He’s come to free me
All I am is worth it to believe
Worth letting go of the past
Worth admitting I am weak
Worth it to start over
To see him live in me
Worth it to feel this true

This free

In my puddle, I can see that
I, too, am a refugee

First Snow

Early October
New life in full swing
Books weigh
Leaves crunch
Cider warms the mug in my hands

Powerful how he enters
Dressed in white
He spills over a grey horizon
Over a lonely city

Shaken by his glory
Heads turn
Tasks unfinished
A sign to some that warmth is leaving
To others, warmth is coming

“Each year the beauty lasts less and less,”
Sighs a voice as we stare
Because in our eyes, it has fallen to soon
But, to him, this is perfect timing

So soon the swirls of white rest invisible
On streets and buildings,
But he has not gone away

I am glad he came like this
He stopped us all
And we looked out
We forgot about our coffee
We forgot about our problems
He distracted us
We saw his beauty
But we didn’t know it was him

A promise keeps
Unbroken in his hands
He will come back

And it will be like the first snow

Take Me

Summer 2006

Will you take me like this
Will you reach your hands down from your holy height
And touch my lowliness
Will you wrap me in your arms of love
And hold me until I surrender
For I am flesh and bone,
Turned into dust
Longing to be recreated