Open Doors
The winter I was seventeen, I visited my once raucous Mennonite playmate whose ill health had transformed into a soft-spoken friend. The whites of her deep brown eyes had yellowed from the severe complications of her liver. Her family and my own gathered around her bed heaped with spinning-star quilts and sang hymns whose Pennsylvania Dutch words I did not know, but whose meaning struck my heart with such clarity, tears slid down my cheeks.
One week later, I stood beside her grave, wearing a thick black headband to hide my newly pierced ears with the fake diamond studs that stabbed the tender skin of my neck and gave me a migraine further magnified by jaw-clenching grief. I remember how the somber community huddled around her family as if their physical presence could shield them, not only from the slashing wind and sleet, but from the reality that their dochder and schweschder’s body was about to be placed into the cold hard ground.
I left for college that summer; almost eighteen years to the day I was born in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and the first person in my immediate family to attempt a higher education. As I folded my flared Lucky jeans and coiled my glittery belts into wobbling dorm drawers, I thought I was leaving my Mennonite heritage along with the broad-shouldered, hazel-eyed man whose father had attended my father’s Mennonite high school and whose last name was as difficult to spell as my first.
Three years, one death, and two lifetimes’ worth of tribulations later, I realized that I had not lost the precious attributes surrounding my plain heritage so much as I had needed to go away in order to find myself.
In the cool autumn of 2008, I married my broad-shouldered, hazel-eyed Dutchman; therefore making my last name as difficult to spell as my first. I kept wearing my Lucky jeans and layering my wrists with jewelry, but I was also drawn to a simple life reminiscent of the one I had once tried to flee. My husband and I purchased a forty-acre valley nestled at the base of softly rolling Tennessee mountains.
Upon moving into the hausmy husband built with determination and his own two hands, I began to write a fictionalized version of a story that had once been told to me. A story regarding the power of desire and the reverberating cost if that desire is left unchecked; a story that, shockingly enough, took place in an idyllic Old Order Mennonite community.
In Nashville, I was introduced to a genial, white-haired man who was as excited to hear my Dutchy last name as I had been to hear his. He had attended the same Mennonite high school as my father (the same Mennonite high school my husband’s father had attended) and, as a literary agent, he was interested to read the portion of the story that I had completed.
He read the first twenty-five thousand words while flying home from a book festival in Brazil and wanted to read more. I continued to write as my expectant belly continued to grow. Two months after the birth of our daughter, Tyndale House accepted the manuscript, as they were as excited to promote my modern adaptation of The Scarlet Letter as I had been to write it.
And so, wearing Lucky jeans (the same pair, actually), chandelier earrings, and with unkapped hair, I continue writing stories about the Pennsylvania Dutch heritage that once brought me acute embarrassment but has now become a creative outlet with no closing doors.
Thank you for joining me on this journey . . . .
(I’m taking a blogging hiatus while I work on edits for my novel. I’ll see you back here October 21st!)
Amish / Authors / debut novels / Family / Literary Agents / Mennonite heritage / Mennonnites / Novels / Plain life / Publishing / the simple life / Tydale House
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Julia Munroe Martin
What a writing (and life!) journey you've been on, Jolina — I'm so glad the doors are open so we can enjoy your stories. I can't wait to read your novel!
Jolina Petersheim
Thanks, Julia, but I should pass the gratitude onto my parents who made sure I lived an abnormal life, for which I am now so thankful!
Jessica
I cannot wait to get lost in your story!
Jolina Petersheim
Hey, Jessica! Thanks, girl. 🙂
Little Fish Girl
I can't wait to read your novel, either!
Jolina Petersheim
You're sweet, Angela. Thank you!
Jo @ To a Pretty Life
Congratulations! I can't wait to read your book. I have Dutch Mennonite heritage too (from Russia, via Saskatchewan), but I don't really know anything about it other than that my great grandpa had a falling-out with the church. According to a Mennonite friend, my daughter's crooked pinkies reflect her Mennonite ancestry.
Jolina Petersheim
Hi there, Joanne! My sister-in-law is Joanne, too, must be that Dutchy heritage. 😉 I actually just met a Russian Mennonite (from Canada, too) about two months ago. They were wheat farmers, and they haul wheat to the US–that's how he found his bride in TN. It was so intriguing. My fiction wheels were turning before I even got out the door! Thanks for visiting, and I need to check my daughter's thumbs, too.
Jo @ To a Pretty Life
There is a lot of “scope for the imagination” in my mennonite history, like how they fled over the russian border in a covered wagon while being shot at by the red army…and how their first two sons were killed by the communists, so they named their next two with the exact same names… It's all so fascinating, even though I know noting about being mennonite. I'll have to ask my grandpa for more stories.
Jolina Petersheim
Oh, my goodness! I'd say there's some “scope for the imagination” in those stories. Wow. I am kinda jealous, I won't lie….I hope you'll use some of that in your own writing! 🙂
Melissa Crytzer Fry
So excited, Jolina, to read your novel. Chomping at the bit. New title yet??? One of my best friends from college was raised Mennonite.
“I remember how the somber community huddled around her family as if their physical presence could shield them, not only from the slashing wind and sleet, but from the reality that their dochder and schweschder's body was about to be placed into the cold hard ground.” — So beautiful. I was there, at the gravesite with you…
Jolina Petersheim
Chomping at the bit; that's perfect for this story! 😉 No official titles yet, but we've narrowed it down to three. The designer is going to run with these, and I think a combo of the two will help us select it. Such a fun process!
cynthiarobertson
The community you describe so lovingly sounds so warm and supportive, Jolina. It's often the case that we need to leave home in order to learn to appreciate it.
Looking forward to reading your novel when it comes out. Have a productive break 🙂
Jolina Petersheim
It's amazing, Cynthia, how deeply I cherish that time with that Mennonite community because — as a child — I really did not like having to braid my hair and wear a jean skirt and sneakers just to fit in. If I had only known that my time there was future research, I would've certainly asked more questions! 🙂
CMSmith
Good for you, Jolina. We'll see you back here later. Wise idea.
Jolina Petersheim
Thanks! I made the edits on time. 🙂
Hallie Sawyer
That's wonderful, Jolina! I can't wait to hear more about your great news!
Jolina Petersheim
Thanks for the support, girl. It means a lot.
Xxoo
Cecilia Marie Pulliam
Congratulations, Jolina. As Stephen King said, write what you know. I am glad to hear you have come to terms with your past, embracing the good, letting go of the not so good, and blending it all with your present and future.
Your home sounds beautiful. There is a lot to be said of simplifying life, rather than trying to keep up a killer pace that leaves you drained physically, emotionally and spiritually. We all have responsibilities, but we don't have to make life so complicated we cannot breathe. Great post. God sped on your edits, and congratulations once again!
Cecilia Marie Pulliam
Sigh, obviously have not had enough coffee to do a thorough proof read – I meant to say God speed, not God sped. Although at times that wouldn't be a bad thing…. 🙂
Jolina Petersheim
Thanks, Cecilia! I completely agree that we must write about what we know. 🙂