I come from the northern suburbs of Chicago.

I come from powder puff wheels on blacktop driveways.

I come from apple-cinnamon pancakes made with love by my grandpa.

I come from banana seats on pink Schwinn bikes.

I come from funnel cakes at the mall.

I come from kick ball and 4-square on the playground.

I come from penny drops on the monkey bars.

I come from pierogies and the smell of apple cider vinegar for dipping.

I come from Caspar the Friendly Ghost, The Flintstones, and Popeye the Sailor.

I come from two working parents and after school at the neighbors house.

I come from cheerleading at the high school basketball games.

I come from Heads Up 7-Up in Ms. Ryan’s second grade class.

I come from snowsuits, mittens, hats, gloves, snow banks and snowball fights.

I come from a father who loves music.

But more importantly…

I come from neighbors who cared enough to tell my parents about Jesus.

I come from vacation Bible school every summer from age five.

I come from children’s choir at church.

I come from a mom and dad who made sure that we were in the pews every Sunday.

I come from youth pastors who gave all of their time to awkward kids, trying to find their way.

I come from inner city missions trips where I learned to see God in unlikely places.

I come from the communion table.

I come from summer church camps and winter retreats.

I come from singing His praise at the top of my lungs.

I come from poor decisions that I never would make again.

I come from His grace and mercies that are new every morning, praise Him.

I come from His word.

I come from a Heavenly Father who knows what my future holds.

I come from desiring to know Him better and to walk more closely.

This is where I come from. It made me who I am today. It is molding and shaping every choice that I make now, and in the days to come. Thank God He is there through it all.

Where do you come from?

By Jenny Yarbrough- The Southern Institute

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