The origin of my story is essential.
Where do I begin my tale? —
at my birth?
near the roots of the land I live on?
do I reach back to Eve?
Or further —
when only animals roamed the earth?
River veins of Mother Earth from long ago touch my present toes.
My soul roots grow into her ancient knowing.
I am connected to the beginning.
The origin of my being holds secrets of becoming.
As I weave thanks giving,
I re-member my story.
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The origin of our story is essential.
Where do we begin our human epic? —
at our individual birth?
through a historical lens of the land we call home?
do we reach back to Genesis 2 and grasp at sin?
Or further —
when good intention was spoken into darkness —
“Let there be light.”
Cellular clues of the past are thread into our present.
Our bodies carry wisdom of old.
We are linked to the grief and joy of our ancestors.
The origin of our humanity is healed
when we listen and grow compassion for the whispers of our past.
As we weave thanks giving,
we make room for a chorus of voices to be heard.
Today — as we weave thanks giving,
Let us make room to re-member the native peoples
whose lives were upended by brutality and war (when settlers arrived);
whose ways were shamed and/or appropriated;
whose voices were silenced;
whose stories have been shifted to an idyllic tale
of friendship between natives and settlers.
Let us ask the question, “Whose been telling the story
and what do they have to protect?”
Let us be brave enough to invite a fresh perspective
at our table today and ask of the origins.
Amen.