Who We Are

For some reason, my father chose to move into a house, on the North West side of Oklahoma City. As memories of the house are recalled, my Mother will say the move was motivated by his want to be as far away from her side of the family as possible. Built in the 1940's, I remember walking through the house after we closed, I'm four or five, and believing every part was absolutely magical. I do not think I had ever seen an attic before. Dad will renovate, nearly the entire property, but my favorite parts remain the spaces that were a bit sketchy. Mom let us roller-blade in the house and as you went from one end to the other, a significant slant downwards would give you a good amount of momentum. The living room had a beautiful, huge, double pane window, that would fill up with water, like a fish tank, when we got rain.    There was a large mulberry tree in the backyard, under a wood fort we would make mud pies with miniature wild onions, even though we were only minutes from dow...

The most still spaces in a mind and heart often seem the most threatening; the threat of valuing hope, in spite of failure, the threat of remaining still, and at the same time, draped in vulnerability to a past that continues to knock at our door, unravels and unsettles. Yet, the still remains, inviting us to move forward, despite an overabundance of feeling like we are rather unqualified to enter that said race onward.  I sit there, in the wooden pew, allowing the hardness of the room to enter my body. I am visiting Michigan, for the first time, as Kevin has decided to take on a Youth Pastor position in Flint. We have not yet married, but we are engaged, I am in between spaces in my mind but the physical presence of the church sanctuary wallops over me with dated artifacts. Someone had invited me to sit in the front row of these impossibly wooden pews, I smile, nod and decline. I am in no way someone special, and would feel quite disingenuous if I inclined. I fold int...