Stories are incredibly important. A program was put on at school where part of my story was read along with many others. This is what I wrote:
I am a daughter of two fathers, earthly and heavenly.
a sister, a friend
I am your typical student, academic, social, extroverted a “face” of Whitworth, a leader.
My hair is blonde, occasionally red, and my eyes are blue
People assume I am like them
That I am from Oregon, Washington, Colorado, California; somewhere near, somewhere people can understand.
But I am not.
I am a chameleon, I can fit anywhere
You think you know me, you think you understand.
I have been persecuted for my faith, for my skin color, for my passport country.
I was born in a country where English is the second official language.
I have lived in a warzone, where life might end at any point
I have tramped through the Amazon, gone sand boarding in the Sahara.
Tubing in the Alps and hiking on the Nakasendo trail.
I could chose to be who you assume I am
I could deny my culture and pretend to fit in because it is easy
But I am myself, my background has formed me
I do not have a home church, a hometown, a home anything
My family is my home
Sometimes, many times, I wish I had those things.
I struggle.
Though they are fallen, people are good
They are small reflections of Christ in the world
I have people who have come beside me
To share in my struggles, to fill me up
I have found joy, and I will cling to it.
