I was born in 1986 in a small town in a small hospital to small people in north central Wisconsin. I came late on the night before Halloween, and the most memorable thing I’ve been told about my birth is that the doctor came in dressed as a clown. My parents named me Lucinda Joy, a name chosen carefully for its meaning, as were the names of all eight of us children. Lucinda is of Latin origin, meaning “light” or “bringer of light.”

I guess you could say I had a sheltered childhood. As conservative Mennonites, my parents owned neither radio nor television. I spent intense days of my childhood reading, and other intense days living the lives I read about. Slipping silently around corners as an Indian chief, crouched barefoot and trembling out of sight of the slave catchers’ eyes, galloping across the yard as leader of a wild horse band.

I still love stories. Nowadays, I write them.

I currently have two books published. The first, called Anything But Simple: My Life as a Mennonite, is an intimate exploration of my family and small Mennonite community in rural Rusk County. “Mennonites are complicated,” a friend told me after reading it. Yes. Sometimes. Mennonite, daughter, sister, friend, seeker of truth, human being—all of it comes with complications. 

My second book, The Arrowhead, is based on a story my dad told me about when he was a little boy. He was a grand storyteller. I hope I’ve inherited his talent.

Until the end of 2019, I lived with my parents on their farm, in the same house my great-grandfather built eighty years ago. My seven siblings, some with children of their own, still live in or near the home community.

But on November 23, 2019, I married Ivan and moved to the rolling hills of Oakland, Maryland. If you like, read our love story on my blog. Ivan is my best friend and business manager.