Published Works

Drawn From a Deep Well (winning essay)

The Perennial Gen (2020)
Writing often feels like I am pulling water out of a deep well. At times, the well seems like something out of Alice in Wonderland—is it truly there, or a mirage? Will I haul out an overflowing bucket today and will the well transform into the size of a teacup tomorrow?

Treasures from the Tree Maker

The Contemplative Writer (2019)
From a place deep within itself, the autumn tree bursts forth in glorious color, and shows a different face of its beauty. Colors emerge like hidden jewels, sparkling in the sun. The season is turning, and once again I contemplate the language of the Tree Maker speaking through the deciduous tree.

December Solstice (a poem)

The Contemplative Writer (2019)
Solstice darkness persists longer
than sun’s extended rays which reach
my fingertips eight minutes later
than when they first sizzled
out of their thermogenic home.

Open, Starry Spaces: A Thanksgiving Memory

The Contemplative Writer (2019)

When I was in elementary school, my classmates would speak eagerly of family gatherings with grandparents and cousins for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Treasures from the Tree Maker

The Contemplative Writer (2019)
From a place deep within itself, the autumn tree bursts forth in glorious color, and shows a different face of its beauty. Colors emerge like hidden jewels, sparkling in the sun. The season is turning, and once again I contemplate the language of the Tree Maker speaking through the deciduous tree.

Open, Starry Spaces: A Thanksgiving Memory

The Contemplative Writer (2019)

When I was in elementary school, my classmates would speak eagerly of family gatherings with grandparents and cousins for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Poem and Winning Essary

Exhale Journal (2019)
A Journal of the Breathe Writers Conference

Fault Lines

Red Tent Living (2019)

I think each person has a fault line. A crack-line under the skin. Maybe you remember the day it appeared to you, and it became visible to others. Perhaps it shows itself after an unexpected event. Like a death. Or a diagnosis, for example.

Long Night of Struggle

The Contemplative Writer (2019)

No one can see the internal dialogue while I sit at my desk and gaze out the window or while I sit at a coffee shop, quietly sipping a cup of coffee, while others bustle about, my laptop on the table with an empty screen facing me.

You Rock, Abigail

The Redbud Post (2019)
Once upon a time, there was a woman whose name was Abigail. Abigail not only was beautiful, but also very wise. Abigail was the apple of her parents’ eyes.

Jesus and Laughter

The Art of Taleh (2019)
I love to laugh. Who doesn’t like to laugh? Maybe an old scrooge, or a sour old person? Granted, any one of us embittered in the toils and trials of life may find it hard to laugh.

Dying of the Same

The Perennial Gen (2019)
I’m not quite sure what to do with this ache at times. I find emptiness facing me, like an abyss, and I feel as if I am staring into a black hole.

Refuge-e (poem)

Barren Magazine (2018)
Darkness scattered among bodies left behind.
We never knew if we were coming or going
or if anyone would come for us.
We were the lost ones.

Metallic Stars (poem)

The Remembered Arts Journal (2018)
IT’S the fourth of July when they
toss red, white, and blue beads
my way. They slip from my fingers,
but are caught by a five-year-old wonder
next to me.

Spring Journal, Four Poems

Relief Journal (2018)

Reaching Beyond Rejection to the Truth of His Love

Incourage (2018)
The feeling of being left out hit me in the pit of my stomach; once again, I felt rejected. I was blaming others for their rejection of me, but there was a deeper issue. I remember the day a friend named it in me, asking me why it seemed I wanted to run from her.

See, Say, Spell, Repeat

The Mudroom Blog (2018)
“Could you spell that?” My name. You ask about my name. Countless times. Almost every week, in fact, you ask me to repeat or spell my name.

How Pausing is Kindness (poem)

Evangelicals for Social Action (2018)
i will tell you now
how pausing is kindness.

pausing is the white space,
white space around words.
pausing is the margins on a page,
a space created around words.

Ask Me What I Don’t Know

The Redbud Post (2018)
What do we see when we look at others’ faces? We notice the outward appearance, whether we wish to or not. Skin color, eye color, clothing, and so on, are apparent features that are obvious and difficult to pretend we do not see. What we cannot see or know from the outward appearance is a person’s heart.

What We Have in Common

The Mudroom Blog (2018)
About four years ago, my son started a lawn business in the neighborhood. That was how we met one of our neighbors; we’ll call him Mr. B.

Top 10 Science Poems

Tweetspeak Poetry (2018)
There are those who, in expression of their various poetry-oriented anxieties, would say that poetry feels like rocket science. And sure, if you’ve been reading a lot of Hallmark cards and then pick up a sestina, it might feel like you’ve just been called to the blackboard and handed a piece of chalk in that physics class you always slept through.

Bridges & Tunnels

Tweetspeak Poetry (2018)
When I was 19
at the Fontana Di Trevi
I tossed in three coins
with the right hand
over the left shoulder

Wishes and Stars

Tweetspeak Poetry (2017)
close your eyes
let darkness fall upon blue seas

hold out empty hands
receive gift I would send

The Family Table

Tweetspeak Poetry (2017)
The family table is, for many, the heartbeat of the home. The ritual of setting the table offers a small piece of real estate for each person. This is your plate, because you matter. Utensils, a napkin, and cup are placed before your seat because you are loved. You belong here.

Regional Tour: The Milwaukee Art Museum

Tweetspeak Poetry (2016)
I make sure I arrive at the right time to see the Milwaukee Art Museum’s rooftop open its wings. Or are they waves?

Regional Tour: Grohmann Museum

Tweetspeak Poetry (2016)
The Grohmann Museum features the world’s largest comprehensive art collection dedicated to the evolution of human work—a gift to the Milwaukee School of Engineering (MSOE), which houses and curates the unique collection of 1, 000 paintings and sculptures from 1580 to the present that depict a variety of artistic styles chronicling the evolution of organized work.

Designed to Work: The Making of Bread and Tea

The High Calling/Patheos
Her hands form dough, which she rolls into flatbread. She makes tea, every single day, with a sprinkle of cardamom or fennel.

Release (poem)

Silver Birch Press (2015)
I am waiting for this single grain of sand—
drenched, beaten, bent— until
softened bubble pearl in my hands.

Gone Fishing

Tweetspeak Poetry (2014)
Watching waves crest and sink
Surfing down summer’s summit
They cast time-worn nets
Catch fleeting dreams before they slip and enfold
into deep waters

Find New Life: The Lesson of Second Place

The High Calling/Patheos
I make sure I arrive at the right time to see the Milwaukee Art Museum’s rooftop open its wings. Or are they waves?

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