Why I Write
On words tucked away in closets, living overseas, reading with our children and releasing our stories || February Newsletter
Welcome to Walk & Talk, my monthly newsletter to share stories, inspiration, and hope. I’m Kim Knowle-Zeller, mama, pastor, and writer. I’ve lived in West Africa and one summer hiked 500 miles across Spain, and now I call Cole Camp, MO home with my husband, two children, and dog. I love to walk, talk, and share stories. Thanks for being here!
Tucked in a closet I find a manuscript, notes, and letters to editors written by my maternal grandfather. His story never made it further than the yellow-faded type-written pages, but his desire to bear witness to life lives in me.
In second grade my teacher Mrs. Vanderlinden had our class write stories and type them on the computer. Her love of the written word lodged itself in me. Stories and poetry became a refuge, a way to experience the world. Tucked in another closet, I find a grade card with a cursive note in faded pen: I hope she continues to write over the summer because she’s very talented in that area.
At the age of 21, I flew to The Gambia, West Africa and wrote by candlelight every night for two years. I felt homesickness and an ache for the familiar, but day by day, the welcome and hospitality of my Gambian family became a rhythm of hope and joy. My journals piled up: details of laughter at night around a fire, the grin of the toddler as she followed her mama pounding coos, the bright colors on heads, babies worn on backs, the morning gossip shared at the well, the students singing and dancing, the children and their love of books. And so many stories of the missteps and growth of a young woman finding her way in the world.
One summer I walked 500 miles across Northern Spain. Through blisters, downpours, fields of poppies, pilgrims from across the world, meals shared, mountains, and tiny hamlets, I came to record my journey each night, one mile after another. Somehow, in the writing of my days, I realized putting one foot in front of the other is as holy of a prayer as I can offer.
Isaac and I made our way through the entire Dog Man series. After each book, he took pen to paper and drew his own comics. He instinctively knew that when we experience the power of other stories, we want to tell our own.
For a second grade school assignment, Charlotte was tasked with writing and drawing about her favorite book. She chose: The Beauty of Motherhood.
The morning comes, and in the quiet I wake in darkness. With coffee, pen and paper, I weave stories and plead with prayers: thank you, how long, what’s next, give me peace, why and how? As the words come one after another, and the sun begins to rise, Charlotte and Isaac wake up and find their way to my lap. Nestled in my arms, I hold them close, breathing in the scent of bedhead. I put my pen down, squeeze them tight; trusting the morning will come again — and so will my words.
The closet isn’t a place to leave a story. Our stories — my story — demands to be released. To soar and take root. The stories are ours to share with each word, each step, and each prayer.
It may not be writing for you — perhaps crafting, baking, woodworking, gardening, teaching, or preaching — whatever it is that brings you joy, I’m here to celebrate with you. I’m here to listen to how your heart sings. I want to hear what makes your spirit come alive. What is it? Hit reply and let me know.
A Few Other Words to Share
The Women of the ELCA organized four weeks prior to the annual NFL Super Bowl as a time of prayer to end human trafficking and called on women of this organization to engage in prayer. I was invited to write prayers, and hope these prayers can continue to bring awareness to this important issue.
“You have your own list of women who have impacted you over the years. And I’m sure you, too, have been that woman offering her support and encouragement to others.
Don’t neglect the power of your work is a reflection I wrote giving thanks for the women who have supported me. Who are the women who have encouraged you?
May you take courage to begin anew,
to become who you are becoming,
this and every day.
—Steve Garnaas Holmes
Why I keep turning my eyes to the present moment —
Because one day he won’t wake up, dino blanket over his head, and plop down on our bedroom floor.
Because one day she won’t wake up, sleep in her eyes, and make her way to my lap.
Because one day she won’t ask: Can our friends come to the park?
Because one day his Lego city and the plans he has for building and creating won’t take up his entire bedroom, the living room, and the kitchen table.
Because one day they won’t throw reindeer chow out for the reindeers and hurry to bed so the tooth fairy can come and claim the latest lost tooth.
Because one day I won’t be her first choice for a bike ride around town where she blazes ahead of me.
Because one day the scotch tape and construction paper will sit untouched on a shelf.
Because one day we won’t be sounding out letters, memorizing math facts, and writing around the dining room table.
Because one day I won’t be packing their lunches or slicing bread or cutting their waffles into shapes.
Because one day they won’t ask: Sleep with me.
Because one day the soundtrack of our days won’t be read alouds of Mercy Watson, Dog Man, Cat Kid, The Princess in Black, and Dory Fantasmagory.
Because one day the dining room table won't be covered with Legos, school papers, coloring sheets, and crayons.
Because one day she won’t start her sentences: Mama, can I tell you something or Mama, color with me.
Because one day we won’t raise our hands in the air to Pentatonix dance parties in the car.
Because one day we won’t have Bluey marathons or know every episode of Young Jedi and Elena of Avalor.
Because one day the living room couch cushions and blankets won’t make forts and cubbies.
Because one day his stuffed animal snake won't be wrapped around him or curled under his arms while sleeping.
Because one day rather than sitting next to me writing letters, I’ll be sending them to her as she explores the world.
Because one day rather than telling me about his Lego build plans, he’ll be creating his own future.
Because one day belongs to them to make this world a bit more hopeful and beautiful — a place brimming with possibility.
So grateful for you, friend! Be on the lookout this month for the next Walking Diary and a blessing for the beginning of Lent!
In March,
P.S. I have a favor for those of you who have read The Beauty of Motherhood. Would you be willing to write an Amazon review? They are so helpful for getting others to know about our book! Anyone can review on Amazon whether you’ve bought the book from them or not. Thank you!
It is inspiring to hear about your practice and process of writing and creative profusion. Also, I am ordering two copies of your book right now, one for me (even though I'm way past the early years of mothering!) And one for a friend who just had a baby.
Really enjoyed this, Kim, and your list at the end made me teary.🥹❤️ I don’t want a home without construction paper and scotch taped art projects in every room!