Remember Where you From Son...

The first time my dad visited my mom's childhood home, one of my uncles was marching through the woods in a confederate uniform performing his own Civil War reenactment. My mom's family was less than thrilled when my fro-ed out Catholic Italian Yankee daddy strutted through the doors of my Grandma's house. My granddaddy was sitting on his rocking chair with his 9 toothed grin cleaning one of his many guns.  (As a child one of my favorite games to play was counting my granddaddy's teeth to see if he had lost any since my last visit).


Growing up, before we would go visit my dad's family up north, my southern grandma would warn me, not to forget where I came from. I was always slightly confused because, as my large hips, loud mouth and dark hair proved, I most definitely came from my dad.


I was reminded of my Grandma's words today as I read Deut. 8. Basically Moses was saying, "Remember where you came from son." After 12 years of walking with Jesus and more drama than you can imagine I feel the subtle urge to forget, but in light of it all I choose to remember.