Thursday, August 20, 2015

I Love Jen Hatmaker Like Brussels Sprouts

The first time I "met" Jen Hatmaker, we had just sold the farm and I was living in the Betty Draper Rental, trying to potty-train a tiny person bent on making me pay for every sin of humanity. Calvin was having his sickest year to date. And Robert had just been arrested.

She found me in a most fragile state, but not so fragile that I wasn't convinced to rotate my red henley and my oatmeal-hued (read: bland and humorless) sweatshirt-thing for thirty straight days. (I'm assuming this mutinous experiment had little to do with my near-death experience, but who can say?)

She had some kind of pull over me, and it had a small bit to do with her commitment to rogue, unprovoked cusses, but far more to do with her guts and her heart. She seemed to share my worldview of telling the truth about things, and she's crazy-wild about the Jesus who never stops rescuing her. She seemed to be the singular human in all the world who best understood the world as I was beginning to see it - that down was really up and that God wasn't playing when He said our job is to love our neighbor and be about His business of caring for the poor. Of course I fell in love with her. Yes, duh, I promoted her to Top Imaginary Bestie.

I wanted more, so I devoured Interrupted, and it was like reading my own mind for 50,000 words, which was more worthwhile and interesting than it sounds, largely because she's funnier than my own mind.

I trust her because she listens to the Holy Spirit. God has used her bold, tender heart to guide mine through both a season of jangled nerves and the one that came next, when we realized most of the world around us didn't understand our choices, but oh well. 

She's a champion for the marginalized and a cheerleader for weirdos like me (and you, no offense.)


(Nevermind about my waxy, death-hued hand.)


I'm tremendously geeked to hold her newest book in my claw hands and see how it further rearranges the emotional furniture of my heart.

I have a hunch we're all on to Jen's wonky brand of awesome, but on the off-chance you haven't ordered For the Love: Fighting for Grace in a World of Impossible Standards, well, do yourself a solid and get on it already.

And be sure to report back, as always.

Ever,
FPFG


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