“Where are you from?”
It used to be such a simple question… with an equally simple answer. People asked it as a way of understanding a little bit more about what made you tick.
I used to envy people who were from “someplace else.” They seemed strangely exotic and mysterious… even if the “someplace else” was no more than two towns away.
My response was usually to hang my head and mumble, “I’m from right here” if anyone even bothered to ask.
These days, however, simple answers to the origin question just don’t stand up. We hunger for deeper, more archival, more historically researched answers to what used to be a pretty simple question.
We want to know who our people are and what traits we have in common with them… all as a way of peering more deeply into our own souls, I suspect.
In response to our yearning, companies like Ancestry.comand “23 and me” have sprung up. Their sole purpose in life is peeling back layer after layer of the genealogical onion to help us discover our REAL origin stories. With enough time and carefully harvested saliva, they can tell us about roots going back six or seven generations.
I have not yet jumped onto the ancestry bandwagon myself, but I know people who have. They describe moments of tremendous excitement as names and snippets of personal histories of long-lost ancestors come floating into view from deep beneath the mists of time.
I imagine there is a lot of insight to be gleaned from this kind of exploration. But honestly, I am not sure how finding out I had a great-great grandfather who either, A.) Captained a slave ship, or B.) Built the first school in the western U.S. (neither of which are true, incidentally) would alter my approach to living or making decisions.
That kind of information might make me a more scintillating conversationalist next time I find myself stuck in an elevator with eight strangers. But honestly, beyond that, I really can’t figure out how it does much to alter the landscape of my life.
The Bible tells the story of the Israelites and the various stages of their quest for identity… going from their exalted status as “God’s Chosen Ones” to the shame of exiled personas non gratis in Babylon.
It was a painful passage, but as Paul reminded them centuries later, their identity was restored and their origin renewed by the merciful hand of God’s abiding grace: “Those who were not my people I will call ‘my people,’ and her who was not beloved I will call ‘beloved.’” “And in the very place where it was said to them, ‘You are not my people,’there they shall be called children of the living God.”(Romans 9:25-26, NRSV).
I’m not really sure what my DNA test would show if I sent it in. But I am pretty darned certain that if you sent your spit in to be analyzed, the results would come back telling you that you are, “100% that child of the living God.”
Russellings of the Spirit 
I’m “primarily” an introvert. I love [need] quiet, alone time. I love people, but prefer them in smaller groups in which we can really connect. I can be rather “good” at “performing” in larger groups (classrooms, forums), so people often don’t believe that I’m an introvert and actually very shy.
I don’t know how that comment ended up on this post. It was supposed to be posted on “Outside In.” Sigh.
To this post–Amen. I haven’t looked into ancestry yet. I have relatives who are doing it the old fashioned way…long, hard research, questions, and piecing together tidbits of information. That seems a whole lot more fun to me than the DNA tests. They serve their purpose. I’m just not that curious (yet).
This was fun and I liked your surprise ending of sending spit. I thought, Oh no, he’s gotta dig for a good ending now, and you did without digging at all.
Thanks!