writing round-up 6
a midsummer night's yeehaw
Howdy friends!
As someone who once sat in a restaurant crying about the Founding Fathers and all they accomplished, I hope my fellow American readers had a fun and maybe emotional semiquincentennial.
To you new subscribers seeing me in your email for the first time: it’s me—the one who wrote about my speech impediments! You may be surprised to find that my writing ranges from potential skull-chopping surgeries into the realm of grief, hope, faith, and motherhood, and the ways that life continues to be funny even when things are hard.
“Faith, hope, and love” may feel like a cliche found on a calligraphied piece of Hobby Lobby decor, but those words—and the God who is the fountainhead of each—form the ground that holds me up. So while there will be more silly tales to tell (in the hopper is the story of meeting my favorite boy band and acting like a dead fish), at the end of the day it’s this good God and the faith, hope, and love he’s given me that really drive my words.
To all of you, thank you for being here and welcoming me into your inbox. Here is the sixth installment of my round-up, where instead of sending each piece as its own email, I lay out a table every few months of all I’ve published lately. Peruse to your heart’s content and take a bite of whatever strikes your fancy. At the end, I’ll share some work from others that I’ve been enjoying.
These round-ups are also where I like to give a little life update. Here’s a momentous one: I had a baby! Praise God! He is healthy and happy and very, very sweet. I long to show you his precious precious precious little face, but I also don’t because the internet is a weird place. So we’ll do this side profile instead.
Last round-up I asked the question: how many children will I have this summer? While that seems odd, as a foster parent it is simply a logistical reality. For about three months there, we were told our foster daughter would move on X date. Never mind, Y date. Scratch that, Z date. Then the alphabet ran out and we sat in limbo for a few more weeks, had a baby, then finally said goodbye early June.
It’s been a wild few months, but if I were to try and tie it all up in a bow for an email newsletter that only half of you will open I’d say: our foster daughter is a gift. My son is a gift. My book-loving toddler is a gift. You are a gift. It is good to exist. If you haven’t heard it today, know that God made you and loves you. He holds you with more care, with more strength, with more love and delight than I’m holding that squishy baby above. Rest in that.
And thank you, as always, for being here! I pray the words you read would draw you further up & further in to the true home you were made for.
Gratefully,
Han
Some reflections on another foster care goodbye. It’s now the third time I’ve watched part of my heart go live the rest of her days beyond my gaze. It’s a strange and real loss.
And yet, there is a gaze they will never go beyond. There is an Artist behind all the the threads, all the weaving, every start and stop and tangle and twist. He reminds me that any thread of love—however long or short the time we’re knotted together—is never wasted.
Nearly a decade ago, I had the most vivid, otherworldly dream of my deceased mom.
We talked, we hugged, we cried, and I told her some important news. It was mysterious and beautiful and nothing like it has happened since. Here’s the story.
A lore drop that is more or less about how the two-headed snake of Big Orthodontics+Big Speech Therapy want me dead. Comically, this is now my most-read post.
“They don’t want theology, they just want antics,” said my husband.
What does Jordin Sparks’ masterpiece of a song, an abandoned car, a tweet from a future influencer, a fist fight, and a possible theophany have to do with the week that my mom died? A lot, apparently.
I had the privilege to be a part of my friend Abigail’s Hospitable Poetry series and share about a poem that feels like a friend.
to conclude: cowboys like me
We’ll end with a rapid-fire rodeo of some fellow writers whose words have encouraged me, made me think, or if I’m lucky, both. These people feel like kindred spirits—cowboys like me!
If there’s one thing I’m gonna do on maternity leave it’s sit on the couch, nurse the baby, and read and read and read. Malcolm Guite’s Galahad and the Grail and Tish Harrison Warren’s What Grows in Weary Lands stand out as two winners. I devoured Beth Brower’s The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion last year, but over the past month have been listening to the audio book version narrated by Genevieve Gaunt. IT’S A MASTERPIECE. If you love Emma you must listen to them at some point.
Feeding People by Sarah Rowell. Sarah truly feels like my long-lost cousin. I mean it as the highest compliment when saying that she and my Grandmommy and Granddaddy would be friends. Her writing is encouraging, and beautiful, and so real I can taste it.
Sharon Rhyne is another kindred spirit. Sometimes, you read someone’s writing and can picture them tucked away with their keyboard, wringing their hands and closing out the world in a quest to write the most meaningful, perfect words. Then there are people whose writing is beautiful because they’re simply living a beautiful life, and giving us a glimpse of it. Their hands are dirty because they’re out there in the world, living and loving and digging, and their words grow out of that reality. Sharon is clearly the second one. Read IVF: In Defense of Personhood, and all of the Garden Updates.
Twenty Years and Forty Years by Sarah Elizabeth Smith. Someone commented on this one, “I feel like I have been transported somewhere, reading this.” The perfect description.
7 Questions with Caitlin Estes. I loved Haley Baumeister’s interview and am excitedly awaiting the arrival of my copy of Caitlin’s new book—Woven Well: A Christian Woman's Guide to Reproductive Health, Fertility, & Wholeness
Rooted, Ruined by Mark Rico. I read this poem a few days after giving birth, in the middle of the messy foster care unknowns. It was a gift.
Read Ross Byrd’s 21 Proverbs for the Digital Age and maybe tape them to your bathroom mirror. Don’t worry, I’ve encouraged him to write a 4-part essay on each proverb!
If you made it this far, thanks for reading. It means a lot to have you along for the ride!
Congratulations on the beautiful baby!
“started drafting a novel” PRAISE GOD