For the Love: Fighting for Grace in a World of Impossible Standards

by Jen Hatmaker

The fullest parts of my life, the best memories, the most satisfying pieces of my story have always involved people. Conversely, nothing hurts worse or steals more joy than broken relationships. We can heal and hurt each other, and we do.

I’m hoping to help lead a tribe that does more healing and less hurting.

This is why we live and breathe: for the love of Jesus, for the love of our own souls, for the love of our families and people, for the love of our neighbors and this world. This is all that will last. Honestly, it is all that matters. Because as Paul basically said: We can have our junk together in a thousand areas, but if we don’t have love, we are totally bankrupt. Get this right and everything else follows. Get it wrong, and life becomes bitter, fear-based, and lonely. Dear ones, it doesn’t have to be. Love is really the most excellent way. One of the best parts of being human is other humans. It’s true, because life is hard; but people get to show up for one another, as God told us to, and we remember we are loved and seen and God is here and we are not alone. We can’t deliver folks from their pits, but we can sure get in there with them until God does. Live long enough and it becomes clear that stuff is not the stuff of life. People are. We need each other, so we probably ought to practice radical grace, because our well-flaunted opinions are cold companions when real life hits.

Balance. It’s like a unicorn; we’ve heard about it, everyone talks about it and makes airbrushed T-shirts celebrating it, it seems super rad, but we haven’t actually seen one. I’m beginning to think it isn’t a thing.

Our generation is so hamstrung with striving and guilt, we no longer recognize God’s good and perfect gifts staring us in the face. What a tragedy. What a loss. We will never get these lovely years back.

Don’t ever confuse the two, your life and your work. That’s what I have to say. The second is only a part of the first. . . . There are thousands of people out there with the same degree you have; when you get a job, there will be thousands of people doing what you want to do for a living. But you are the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk, or your life on the bus, or in the car, or at the computer. Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your heart. —ANNA QUINDLEN1

There is a biblical benchmark I now use. We will refer to this criterion for every hard question, big idea, topic, assessment of our own obedience, every “should” or “should not” and “will” or “will not” we ascribe to God, every theological sound bite. Here it is: If it isn’t also true for a poor single Christian mom in Haiti, it isn’t true. If a sermon promises health and wealth to the faithful, it isn’t true, because that theology makes God an absolute monster who only blesses rich westerners and despises Christians in Africa, India, China, South America, Russia, rural Appalachia, inner-city America, and everywhere else a sincere believer remains poor. If it isn’t also true for a poor single Christian mom in Haiti, it isn’t true. If doctrine elevates a woman’s married-with-children status as her highest calling, it isn’t true, because that omits single believers (whose status Paul considered preferable), widows, the childless by choice or fate or loss, the divorced, and the celibate gay. If these folks are second-class citizens in the kingdom because they aren’t married with children, then God just excluded millions of people from gospel work, and I guess they should just eat rocks and die. If it isn’t also true for a poor single Christian mom in Haiti, it isn’t true. Theology is either true everywhere or it isn’t true anywhere. This helps untangle us from the American God Narrative and sets God free to be God instead of the My-God-in-a-Pocket I carried for so long. It l...

This framework holds true for any believer anywhere. Worthy lives bloom under the nourishment of grace in every context, every country. Goodness, desired and implemented, is demonstrated by Christians wherever they’ve been set free.

A worthy life involves loving as loved folks do, sharing the ridiculous mercy God spoiled us with first. (It really is ridiculous.) It means restoring people, in ordinary conversations and regular encounters. A worthy life means showing up when showing up is the only thing to do.

Certainly we are gifted for specific faith work, but gifts can be ordinary stuff in the middle of real life. Your prayer gift? You can use it on random Thursdays, on the phone with a friend, in the quiet of early morning hours. Your gift of teaching? It may look like a class or career, but it could very well be over lunch, through an e-mail, or in your own home. Your special capacity for encouragement? Sister, that gift is needed everywhere, every day, for every person. This is your calling.

This makes perfect sense to our single mom in Haiti. You don’t need to wait another day to figure out your calling. You’re living it, dear one. Your gifts have a place right now, in the job you have, in your stage of life, with the people who surround you. Calling is virtually never big or famous work; that is rarely the way the kingdom comes. It shows up quietly, subversively, almost invisibly. Half the time, it is unplanned—just the stuff of life in which a precious human steps in, the good news personified. We are called to this work, and it might not seem like much, but if you play your one note and I play mine and she plays hers, together it will create a beautiful song that sounds like freedom for the captives and good news to the poor. May the broken-hearted be healed and ashes turned to beauty in our generation. God, make us worthy of Your calling.

CHAPTER 7 Tell the Truth

If we could believe we are deeply connected in the fragile places, we could drop the games. When you tell me the truth about yourself, I no longer hide from you. You become safe for me. So guess what? You are now a recipient of my truth too. I am drawn to you. Your vulnerability makes a path for my own. Your truth-telling says to me, “I will not despise, judge, or abandon you.” Ironically, it gives me the courage to be afraid, the strength to be weak.

And even if someone is nasty, recognize the safe people who guard your story. They deserve to be in your stable and be trusted with your truth. As for the others? As Scott Stratten, author of UnMarketing says: “Don’t try to win over the haters; you’re not the jackass whisperer.”2 (I will now abuse this phrase with reckless abandon.)

Thank you, Coffee. For everything. You make life possible. I don’t want to make you feel weird, but you are my soul mate. Well done.

I heard recently, “If you are worried about being a bad parent, you are probably a good one.” I wanted to believe this so badly. Am I? Am I a good mom? Because I mostly feel like I’m spitting into the wind here. Then something happened. I jumped outside my mind where the crazy lives and watched myself talking to my kids. I was so nice sometimes! I said sweet and precious things here and there! There were so many I love yous and You are very smarts and attentive Mmhmmms and Sounds awesomes and Great job on thats laced through. I watched myself be a good parent and realized I am my own worst critic and sometimes even a liar, convincing myself that nothing good is happening and it’s all my fault, or maybe Brandon’s fault, and the kids are horrid and we are a disaster. I should ignore myself more often. Why do we exaggerate our failures and ignore our successes? I would never overvalue another mother’s lows and neglect her triumphs, so why would I do that to myself? Why do any of us? We observe other parents’ strengths with 20/20 vision while our strengths are blurred. I declare your goodness as easily as I affirm my wretchedness; they are inversely proportional. I am conditioned to minimize your humanity and overemphasize mine. Whether you are a sweet mama imagining how the spicy mamas have all the fun (not true: we’re mostly breaking up fights), or a spicy mama assuming the sweet mamas have all the tenderness (they don’t: they are mostly, um, I’m not actually sure, I’ve neve...

Condemnation is a trick of the enemy, not the language of the heavens. Shame is not God’s tool, so if we are slaves to it, we’re way off the beaten path. And it is harsh out there, debilitating actually. If your inner monologue is critical, endlessly degrading, it’s time to move back to grace.

You are doing a wonderful job. Parenting is mind-numbingly hard and no one is perfect at it and we’ll all jack a thousand parts, yet somehow, against all odds, it will be enough.

Kindness. This pulls right to the front. Dad and I have lived half our lives or so, and we’ve known every type of person. The ones that shine outstanding in our memories are the kind ones. We so deeply want you to be tender toward people. Empathizing is key to a wholehearted life. I pray for your kindness more than your success, because the latter without the former is a tragedy. God measures our entire existence by only two things: how we love Him and how we love people. If you get this right, you can get a million other things wrong. And guess what? You have the best place to practice right now: public school. I can’t remember more insecure, difficult years than middle and high school. You are all a mess, but some kids have it worse, because they are so, so different—and the teen years are not safe for the different. Some of your classmates barely get out the door every day. You see them. They are picked on or mocked or completely ignored, as if they don’t even matter. They pretend they don’t care or can’t hear, but you know they do. These years will hurt for so long. First, I hope you see them. This is harder than it sounds; you have to learn to see hurt people, because they figure out how to act invisible. Kindness needs recipients. The whole world is filled with lonely and left-out and humiliated and sad kids, and seeing them is the first step. Because they are just as precious as you. If you can learn this during the Family Years, it will change your life, because yo...

We are in our forties, so we’ve learned the advantages of being true to ourselves, but you are young when “being yourself” is a slippery concept. It is so tempting to bend, to go along, to fake it. I know this. I remember. I always hated big crowds and loud parties, but I pretended to enjoy both. I wanted to be liked more than I wanted to be genuine. I wish I could go back and tell myself that it wouldn’t even matter, that my real friends liked the real me and they were the only ones who would stick.

So those are my dreams for you: Be kind. Be you. Love Jesus.

Be kind, be you, and love Jesus. Dad and I are cheering you on, Beloveds.

As we move forward in this discussion, remember this: God intensely loves our kids. He is always working for them, toward them. No matter how far off the beaten path they may or may not go, He’ll never leave them. Parenting is as much about our sanctification as theirs; it teaches us to trust God and listen humbly, to commit our greatest treasures to His safekeeping. No one wants more for our kids than God (or even knows what that “more” looks like), and He is a mighty leader. We can confidently give Him our fear, our hopes, and our kids.

Deeper still, we examine the spiritual temperature of our homes. Are we arrogant and judgmental? Do we subtly (or overtly) teach our children to suspect anyone “other”? Do we put mainly defensive spiritual tools in our kids’ hands, fostering an “against them” rather than “for them” posture? Do we emphasize behavior over character? Because good behavior won’t guarantee anything. If they don’t love Jesus and people, it matters zero if they remain virgins and don’t say the F-word. We must shepherd their hearts, not just their hemlines.

Postmoderns experience God differently than most of us did at their age. I learned apologetics and practiced defending my faith (I have all the answers and so can you). They hunger for community and justice, humility and anticonsumerism. They don’t like slick. They don’t trust a leader without a limp.

Since they question everything, they require safe spiritual environments where struggles are welcomed and discussed (I don’t have all the answers and neither do you). They must be allowed to wrestle without being shamed, or they’ll default to their open-armed peers and we will lose them.

We cannot shrug this off because this is the next generation of the church. If we drop the baton here, sociologists predict a fully post-Christian culture within two generations. Our kids need spiritual mentors, and if a new language and posture will lead them, then we better hit our knees, pray for humility, and beg God to help us raise disciples that love Him beyond our homes. We prioritize transformation over methodology, ...

Finally, let’s give them substance. When young adults between ages eighteen and thirty-five were polled nationwide and asked, “What would draw you or keep you at a church?” they listed the following four tenets: 1.) community, 2.) social justice, 3.) depth, and 4.) mentorship.3 A youth group culture geared toward entertainment is not working. Face it: We cannot out-entertain the world. If discipleship programs hinge on amusement, they’ll come now but won’t stay later. Why would they? Believe it or not, kids crave depth. They want to grapple with theology. They are malnourished from too much spiritual soda pop, and they want wine. By attempting to attract them with cultural relevance, the church accidentally became irrelevant—like when parents try to be cool. Turns out they don’t want their parents to be cool. They just want them to be parents who don’t woo their loyalty and coddle their feelings. Real parents say, “Get out of bed and do your chores.” Because they are preparing their kids to grow up one day. Let’s give them the goods. Let’s put the hard stuff in front of them. We shouldn’t patronize their intelligence because kids are absolutely capable of spiritual depth. Let’s teach them to serve and care about the world beyond their Xboxes. And we have to lead with our lives, not just our lips, because kids can smell a fake. Our sincerity is so crucial, we shouldn’t lead like this if we are unwilling to go first. Better to be entirely apathetic than blatantly hypocritica...

Nothing can happen—no tragedy, no suffering—that cannot be survived through the love of God and people. This is holy territory: a loyal friend on the other end of the line, a companion on your doorstep holding King Ranch chicken casserole because sometimes that’s all there is to do. When you say to me, “I will see you through this,” I can endure. Between God’s strength and yours, I have enough. We are not promised a pain-free life but are given the tools to survive: God and people. It is enough.

Our souls ache for real people in real homes with real kids and real lives. We may carefully curate online identities with well-chosen pictures and selective information, but doing so leaves us starving for something true. I seek only friends who bleed and sweat and laugh and cry. Don’t fear your humanity; it is your best offering.

I recently discovered that some of my “quirks” are actually introverted propensities. I had no idea! When I read Susan Cain’s Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, I felt diagnosed for the first time in my life. Experiencing sensory overload and crowd aversion (a conundrum for a public speaker), having homebody tendencies, loathing small talk, feeling social anxiety, multitasking poorly, and having an overactive conscience . . . these mark the introvert, and the full checklist applies to me. Two years ago, I confessed online to hiding in the bathroom like a weirdo (again) before speaking at a conference, and someone asked if I was an introvert. Of course not, I said. I love people! I speak in front of crowds! I have a big personality! I’m not shy! Something is just wrong with me, that’s all. A reader put Quiet in my hands and it was like looking in a mirror. Every tendency came into focus. I’d just never read the research. It was terribly liberating, because I quit trying to overcome my personality. The ugly self-talk stopped and I gave myself permission for quiet and silence and privacy. I finally acknowledged my social limits and decided there was no shame in protecting my energy since I just have a lower threshold. (My friend Sarah is a classic extrovert, and she bounds out of bed every day thinking, Is everyone already awake? Did they go to brunch without me? Did I miss a conversation? Who else can join us? Bless.) I am a high-functioning i...

Difficult People

Thank you, Texting, for ensuring that, if executed well, I’ll never have to talk on the phone again in my life. This is like a stay of execution for introverts. I’d also like to take this time to thank Emojis, for helping me express my innermost feelings via cats, crying cats, devil cats, and women dressed up as cats. You really “get” me. However, I would take a lovesick cat over talking words every day of the week. (Fist bump!)

I pretty much love all of the church. Each expression is a bit of a hot mess, but bless her, she’s our mess.

I have much hope for the church, even as she sometimes gives me indigestion. I realize many beloved readers were hurt terribly under the steeples, and a bunch left and a bunch more want to. Some of you never tried it at all, because the church is so, you know, churchy. Organizing something as mysterious and marvelous as God’s family is just hard. I can’t think of a group that requires more grace. I have a few thoughts, first for church leaders and second for church people; I am weirdly protective of both because I am both. I love the girl on the sixth row who barely got in the door, and I love the pastor who studied all week while caring for his unwieldy flock. At the end of the day, both groups are just ordinary people who struggle and sin and sometimes act courageously and sometimes act horribly. The curtain is much thinner than it appears. Here goes.

For Pete’s sake, 70 percent of you don’t have one close friend.

You guys are a mess! Which makes sense because you are human, like every person in your church. You are so incredibly human but afraid to admit it. So few of you do. Clearly, pastors struggle mightily; yet we rarely hear this from the pulpit. The average person sits in church weary and burdened, with no idea her pastor deeply understands her grief. So everyone keeps pretending.

Vulnerability is absolutely transformative and creates more trust, not less.

In other words, say the truth about how you are doing, even if your name is on the marquee. If you are hurting, say it. If you are sick, say it. If you are sinning, say it. This holy practice of confession creates wholehearted and healthy faith communities. What incredibly important theology. The path to healing feels terrifying, church leader; but this scripture is either true or it isn’t. Confession saves the truth-teller and truth-receiver, because God is liberated to move. I believe Him for this. I’ve seen it. Give a heady sermon and folks are moved, but give a vulnerable sermon and they are set free.

decide if you are making disciples or consumers.

Give shocking grace

The early church involved small, organic communities who gathered around tables, lived simple lives on mission, and loved God and neighbor. That was kind of it. The first believers assembled for renewal and teaching and dinner and togetherness. It was so basic and lovely. Everyone pulled weight, pitched in, pressed into God. The early church wasn’t fancy or entertaining, impressive or complicated, but it managed to take the gospel to the whole world.

I don’t know your feelings about church, but what if you freed up your pastors to be ordinary men and women, your church to be a simple family, and your life to be for loving God and people?

You are capable of a Spirit-filled life on mission without constant church management. Does that free you up at all? Does that help you free the church up too? You’ve got the goods: Here is your Bible, there is your neighbor, you know the prayer words, you have eyes to see your city, and the Holy Spirit dwells within you. The kingdom tools are yours already: Scripture, a smart mind, a kitchen table, capable hands, the capacity to study and learn, a heart full of Jesus, a porch, people to learn from, people to love. Honestly? Life is convoluted but the kingdom is simple. We overcomplicate the ways of Jesus. Love God, love people. Act justly, love mercy, walk humbly. Treat people as you want to be treated. If you want to be great, be a servant. It really is simple—a pure kingdom lived in ordinary ways by ordinary people. Let’s unshackle each other’s hands a bit. Our pastors and churches teach and gather us, challenge and launch us, but no church supersedes you living your beautiful, valuable life on mission. You fulfill an extraordinary role through ordinary means, and no leader or church can do this for you. There is no whole without the pieces.

If you assume an obedient life requires a thousand moving parts, a bunch of church programs, an international movement, a big fancy ministry, or a giant platform, let Jesus’ description of the kingdom relieve you: small, invisible, humble, tiny seeds, mostly hidden. Faithfulness is not easy, but it is simple. You are already able, already positioned, already valuable in your normal life on your normal street next to your normal neighbors in your normal work. The priesthood of the believer is real.

Also? Church people are regular old sinners too. If I could fix this, I would. As it turns out, the church isn’t a gathering of shiny new pennies. It lets anyone in the door! All sorts of hooligans fill the sanctuaries: kind and good ones, angry and cynical ones, mean and judgmental ones, smart and funny ones, broken and sad ones, weird and awkward ones, precious and loving ones, scared and wounded ones, brave and passionate ones, insiders and outliers, newbies and lifers and trying-one-more-timers. Just a whole bunch of human people. Every church has all these folks. It is just the hottest mess, but clearly you belong here because everyone does. Find your little faith tribe (it exists) and learn to love it with all the grace and humility you can muster. If we allow people to be human and God to be God, the church has a fighting chance. If you show up brave and true, and leaders show u...

CHAPTER 25 Dear Christians, Please Stop Being Lame

I also suspect “getting it all right” isn’t God’s highest order. The Bible constantly elevated love over knowledge, mercy over sacrifice. Knowledge is a tricky bedfellow, because it can sometimes shield us from the gospel. Doctrine is tidier terrain than flesh and blood. Surely not one human being ever stood before God having “gotten it all right,” anyway. Not one. We don’t even know what we don’t know. Our blind spots are so terribly blind. Some of the rightest rights turned out wrong. Some of the rightest theologians are on opposite sides of doctrine. Some of the rightest leaders break people in the wake of their intellect. Could the highest level of “right theology” involve loving God and people like Jesus suggested? Fear makes us terrible brothers and sisters. We needn’t be so right over one another. We should certainly treat each other like family, in any case. Our siblings in Christ don’t need another parent; they have God. (Like I tell my kids approximately every second: “If I need your help parenting, I will ask.”) The condescending way we speak to each other—correct publicly, nitpick and criticize, question and disapprove, waiving the benefit of the doubt—is just gross. It’s why so many observers pass by this family altogether. As in any family, we have matters to work out. I am not suggesting we abandon difficult conversations or ignore a brother or sister heading toward the gutter. We must teach and lead each other, but it should be faithful, loving work between...

Sister, come near and listen: You are smart and capable, strong and wise. You are an overcomer, a prized member of the body of Christ. You have so much to offer. You can gather your girlfriend tribe and raise kids together, providing the happiest childhood they ever complained about. You can crack open your Bible and preach good news for the poor. You can model faithful friendship around your table, and you can stretch your hand across oceans to mamas everywhere. You can do small work. You can do big work. You are so able in Jesus, so beloved, so permitted.

We will together. We will mother all our children and grandmother all our grandchildren. We will cheer each other on, refusing to speak doubt into our gifts. When you are scared, I will declare, “You can do this.” When you whisper a dream, I’ll holler through a bullhorn that you are brave and wonderful and important! When I am beaten down, you will remind me that I am an approved worker with no shame; we lift each other’s heads and handle truth for one another.