You Are

When a General Conference tries to tell you otherwise, remember:

 

 

You Are

you

you are

it’s who you are…

you are love…you are loved…

you are seen…

your funny smile when you are

up to a little mischief…

your hand movements

when you are anxious…

your downward glance

when you know you have been judged…

your amazing artwork that hangs in your home…

your quick steps when you are excited…

your huge grin when you surprise someone

with a gift always perfectly chosen…

you are invaluable…we all need…

your ability to light up a room with your smile…

your talent when you play

the saxophone with the band…

your ability to handle a

complex accounting problem

without feeling stressed…

your compassion when you

sit with a dying hospice patient…

your hope when you wait for answers with a friend…

your patience when you teach in the schools…

your style when you dance across the stage…

your creativity and vision

when you design and invent and build and plan…

you are heard…

your laughter when it fills a room…

your voice when you speak out against injustice…

your song when it heals a broken heart…

your call to others when they lose hope…

your statement when you testify to truth…

you are queer…trans…gay…bi…lesbian

you are pan…asexual…questioning…straight…

you are young…old…

you are male…female…you are nonbinary…

you are black…white…

one of a thousand shades between…

you are Hispanic…European…

you are Asian…African…American

you are an islander…a native…

you are an immigrant…a refugee

you are a blend of people who came before…

you are love…you are loved

it’s who you are

you are

you

–Chris Pepple ©2019

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The Memory Room: A Poem about Remembering

I was honored to recently have a glimpse into a room that held a lot of memories of a family I have known for a few years. I wrote this because I was so touched that I was allowed to glimpse into the room and share the memories for the moment.

Memory Room

It’s the small room

tucked upstairs

out of the view

of most visitors

but I linger there often

sometimes staying busy

with a task at hand

but sometimes

just remembering

the hands who had

touched all that

I filled this room with…

a grandmother who

dusted the top of the chest,

the young girl who

tugged at a dresser drawer,

the mother who lifted

the lid of the wooden chest

to fill it with keepsakes

and memories for me

to hold dear…

so, when I am here

in my memory room

I am surrounded by

the touches of

generations before me

who placed pictures on

dressers and folded clothes

for the drawers and laughed

and cried over items that

were shared and treasured

over time and I add my

touches to each piece and

leave behind my treasures

on the wooden surfaces or

hidden deep inside and

I place items for my

daughter within her reach

and put treasures just

out of reach of my

first grandchild and I

wonder who will dust

these next after me

and who will open

a drawer and smile

at what was left inside

and who will be the

keeper of the memories

I have inside my memory room.

                              –Chris Pepple ©2019