Mankato's Poetry Walk and Ride

If you happen to find yourself in Mankato any time over the next year, check out the poetry boards througout the city.  

"Father's Wood Stove" is a version of a poem I wrote in college.  I rekindled its embers about a year ago with a few revisions and am happy it's found a home in southern Minnesota, where I'm able to visit with my dad.  A cozy poem for winter reminiscing.

 

Can I Call Myself a Writer Yet?

My fingers want to fly across the keyboard, so energized they are as I prepare for tonight's book launch.  Book launch!  That's right.  My work is now published IN A BOOK.  I am so honored to able to hold my words, enterlaced with the stories of twenty other women, in my palms.  This feels so much bigger than the other small publishing experiences I've had over the past few years.  And still, I am grateful for each of those opportunities and would like to take a moment to highlight them here.

https://www.blurb.com/b/732250-una-vista-brillante-reflections-of-colombia

In 2009 I self-published a book through Blurb.com filled with original poetry and photography from when my husband and I traveled to Colombia to adopt our oldest daughter.  The courage to create  this book, came from my desire to donate something personal to the Friends of FANA, MN silent auction.  This is an annual event that supports FANA, which stands for Fundación para la Asisténcia de la Niñez Abandonada, and is located in Colombia.  Our daughter was cared for at FANA for the first 2 1/2 months of her life.

In October of 2010 I created this blog, because I'd heard aspiring writers do that sort of thing.  After chosing a title and domain for the blog, along with carefully wordsmithing my short bio, I froze.  Although I knew that only a couple of people would ever read whaterver I wrote here, the actual thought of sharing my words publically paralyzed me on the writing runway.  I stayed there for two months, until I ended up composing a short post about my insecurities as an aspiring writer, my inner critic's booming voice, and my writer's block.  I also threw in a little winter poem in an attempt to join the theme of my words with the title of my blog.  Click.  Post.  Done.

That same year, I took my first writing class at The Loft in Minneapolis, entitled Motherhood Words with Kate Hopper.  In between mothering and teaching part-time, I journaled, scribbled poems, and sowed seeds of thought to be explored some day.  It's where I wrote my first draft of the first essay I ever published.  Though I loved the class, I ended it frustrated that I couldn't quite get this essay good enough to submit anywhere.  The "so what?" of the piece flitted up, over, and around me, but remained out of grasp.  It just so happens that the essay needed to sit and age another nine years before it was ready to be sent out into the world.  And I'm so glad it landed right where it did, in Literary Mama's online journal.

• My Fledging Reader is a createive non-fiction essay that tells the story of a mother (me) watching her daughter take flight into the world of books, as she contemplates the environment she and her husband have created for their little girl.  She wonders if the foothold is strong enough to support her as she continues to grow and gain independence.  You can find the essay, published in 2019, here:  


https://literarymama.com/articles/departments/2019/05/my-fledgling-reader

Many rejections, and two unfulfilled publication promises, I received an acceptance letter from  Burningword Literary Journal.  Their online publication breathed oxygen into my words and ignited a momentum within me to keep writing.  You can read the flash non-fiction essay here:

https://burningword.com/2021/04/his-season/

And now, tonight, I'll raise a glass and toast to twenty-one women writers.  I'll read a short selection of my essay, "Just Swinging," published in Her Path Forward: 21 Stories of Transformation and Inspiration.  A Modernwell Anthology edited by Julie Burton and Chris Olsen.  I'm thrilled to share this story that has longed to be told for years.  When I think back on all of the writing, revising, submitting, revising, and resubmitting I did,  I'm now so glad this piece is no longer swinging in limbo, but rather has found a stationary place to sing.  

So, can I call myself a writer yet?  I think I just might start today.

Solstice Born

 Solstice Born

    Today I begin the last year of my thirties.  My son, Will, says you're not old until you're forty, so only Dad is old.  I couldn't agree more.  I have grown to love and appreciate being a solstice baby., though when I was younger, I thought being a new year's baby sounded way cooler.  My mom was induced ten days early because Dr. Lester didn't want to be called in to deliver me on Christmas.  A healthy eight pound baby, my mom cried when she had to take me, her first baby girl, back to the hospital for Christmas.  I had developed jaundice and need to wear some sweet shades and sit under some bright lights wearing nothing but my diaper.

    

    I suppose this was the start of my love affair with light.  As a child, I would hear people saying that December 21st, my birthday, was the shortest day of the year.  I felt so jaded!  Why was my birthday shorter than everyone else's?  Later, I felt silly when I learned that my birthday actually lasted for twenty-four hours, the same as everyone's.  There was just less daylight, my mom explained.

    So now, when people mention me being a winter solstice baby, I smile and tell them, "Well, I like to think of having my birthday on the shortest day of the year to mean I brought the light when I was born.  Each day after my birthday gets lighter and lighter.  The sunlight stays out a little longer."  And in a way, I did bring light.  Light to my parents, who had two boys and dreamed of a little girl.  Light to my Grandma Proehl, her first granddaughter after a stream of five grandsons.  Though she didn't live to see my first birthday and I don't remember her at all, I believe a part of her lives in me; that she passed it on when she spoiled me and held me any chance she could.

  

    But in all seriousness, I know that only my savior, Jesus Christ, truly brings light.   Each day, I find a few quite moments to spend with Him.  One of the daily devotion websites I turn to is Blessed is She.  In Susan Spencer's post today, she writes:

The winter of waiting is almost past, and He is almost here. Let us arise to meet Him as He comes this Christmas. Bring Him all of the weight of this past year—all of your joy, suffering, and work. Imagine yourself kneeling down beside His waiting manger and offer it all to Him along with your heart.

Arise, His beloved, His beautiful one, and come and see the coming Newborn King.

In the midst of this very dark year, I see so much joy and light and hope.  I pray you see it with me, and that we all might catch a glimpse of that "Christmas star" tonight.  And as I strive to "offer it all to Him," and come to know God more deeply, I feel myself twinkling a little brighter and growing a bit closer to becoming all He has intended me to be.  If you are reading this, it is because you, too, are a twinkling star in my life.  

    On this cold winter solstice 2020 my cup is warm and overflowing.  I'll leave us all with a little advice from the day's DailyOM article delivered to my inbox.

Do not be afraid to venture joyfully out into the cold and the snow as you may have when you were a child.  A tingling and reddened nose is a small price to pay for a clear mind and invigorated soul. If your body articulates a desire to rest, give yourself permission to spend your free time reading, writing in your journal, daydreaming, engaging in artistic pursuits, playing board games, working a puzzle or meditating.

May this winter solstice clear your mind, invigorate your soul, and give you rest.

 

Of Snow Dunes

Of Snow Dunes

This isn’t a day for traipsing long and slow
harsh winds send spirits fleeing
over desert dunes pure and white.

Temperatures drop by the hour
three, then two, now one,
and onward into negativity.

Surprised by a pull to press on,
I let my four-legged companion lead
across the road, around the fence

I look down to avoid the bite of wind
studying the geology of snow
measuring strata, mapping the movement
that folded this fine fabric

Steadying to stay on the smooth, I spy
scritch scratch tic tac prints,
evidence of birds out testing the newness
before the morning gale took hold

Having sought retreat, all other signs hidden
I gaze forward, we forge homeward
The pull receded , we glide above swift secrets

My Christmas Prayer

As I read my morning devotion today out of Daily Reflections for Advent and
Christmas: Waiting in Joyful Hope 2018-19, I understood the significance of
this first verse from the Book of John in a whole new way, “In the beginning
was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”  I’ve
often heard it said that actions speak louder than words. This is true, and
yet my devotion from today speaks of an even more powerful language,
that of words and actions together.  The Word John speaks of, manifest each
Christmas as we remember the birth of God’s son, is love. God sent His
beloved to Earth, to save us. So, as Christians, God calls us to put this single
syllable word into action.  On the page, love is made up of only four letters,
but once written on our hearts, it becomes uncontainable.

In my MOMS Bible Study, I recently read a story about a little boy who, when
asked if he wanted to let Jesus into his heart, replied, “Well, I’d like to, but I
got to figurin’...I’m so little and Jesus is so big--he’s just gonna stick out all over!”*
Yes, that is precisely why God sent His Son, to be in relationship with each of us,
in such a way that we cannot help but reflect His love. This little boy’s innocent
response revealed a wisdom so many of us believers take a lifetime to understand.
We cannot experience His love only to guard it under lock and key.  Once we truly
know His love, the only action that makes any sense in response to God’s
irrational love for us, is more love.

On Christmas we celebrate the birth of an innocent child, a pure and spotless
lamb, sent to save the world. Don’t get me wrong, I love the image of this
peaceful baby cradled in his mother’s arms, but it is the man Jesus became,
what he said and what he did, that captivates my heart.  The last words from
the prayer included in today’s Christmas devotion are, “Make us all your living
vocabulary of love.” That’s it. That’s all there is to it. Perhaps this resonates
so strongly with me because I am a language teacher and a lover of words.
Perhaps I love this sentence because I’m still only beginning to fully understand
what God's love for me means in how I live my life. Either way, this is my
Christmas prayer, that we might all be a “living vocabulary of love.”

As Snow Flurries

As snow flurries in November air
so too our worries swirl and whirl
hearts flutter with the rush, the absent hush
a season so short, so full and frantic

Most thin flakes evaporate mid-flight
Fickle and sporadic, approaching, dissipating
Won't last the day, not to mention the night
Impermanent, barely visible; then gone

A few float down, sprinkling a faintly frozen pond
Speckles less fleeting, yet temporary still
Wind biting, impeding clear sightings
of friend, of foe, of fear, or faith forward

Worries and hurries dance weightless
small pieces searching for solid ground
observe them breathing, receding
No present place to touch down

An Auntie All Over Again

October 1st, 1997.  I was 15 years old and I'd just become an aunt for the first time.  Zachary Justin Proehl breathed his first breath, born to my brother Adam and his wife, Lori Proehl.  What a heaven-sent gift! None of my other friends would become aunts for a very long time.  My nephew had made me special.

Spring of 1999

Zach: 2 1/2 years old 

Me: 17 years old

Through the years, Zachary grew and became more often known as Zach.  He became...

a dinosaur-loving goofball.

our oldest ring bearer at the age of 6.

a dog loving, Harry Potter fan.

an "always ready to laugh at my husband's big kid antics" kind of kid.

and a movie loving, German studying, history buff at Winona State.

He is extraordinary.

October 1st, 2018.  Zach turned 21 today as Conor Clement Sonnek entered this world, born to my brother-in-law, Tyler and his wife, Cheryl Sonnek.  He has made me an aunt all over again.  He has made his brother Mason a big brother, a title that will stick with him for the rest of his life.  

His arrival has made this world fresh and new again.  He is my 6th nephew and will be the 13th child to call me Aunt Julie.  He is sweet newborn scent.  He is hope.  He is a little drop of God.

Imagine an ocean
and that you took a few drops from the ocean.
The drops would not be the ocean--
they would be merely drops of it,
of the same essence and substance as the ocean but not the ocean itself.
In the same way we,
who burst forth from a passionate God, 
made in God's image and likeness,
are not God. 
But we are little drops of God.
God-drops.

(first 11 lines of a poem by Edwina Gateley)