I love when kids sing “Jesus Loves Me.” It is such a simple testament of faith, and one I enjoyed belting out as a little girl. But somewhere in the grayness of adulthood, proclaiming that truth became impossible. What brought great joy in adolescence only elicited anxiety as an adult. I couldn’t be so bold as to say that Jesus loved a very-much-flailing person like me.
Time and time again, I have asked myself how my life ended up like this. No, it’s not as if my story embodies a horror film, but it has had its fair share of (very public) failure and suffering. As a kid, I didn’t have a firm definition of success, but I definitely didn’t envisioned it as the complete dismantling of my life in my mid-twenties.
God’s Grace This Year
I have felt like an embarrassment. A failure. A kid who’s sprinting to keep up as the crowd disappears in the distance. In the midst of that, I’ve wrestled deeply with what it means to know God and be known by Him–the key reason I made identity my focus in 2024 (i.e. A Rooted 2024).
I Hated Myself for So Long
For those who don’t know, I have a fledgling and somewhat inconsistent little business called “Isaiah 45:9”. I began making and selling this jewelry after I got out of intensive eating disorder treatment a couple years ago. It was my meager effort to discover other parts of my identity. Frankly, I wasn’t too interesting in the parts that didn’t involve pushing my body or brain to their limits, but I tried.
To my horror, I enjoyed the simplistic creativity of working with clay, and I loved getting to donate the proceeds to eating disorder recovery. So, I stuck with it. At that point, I realized I needed to name my little venture. I settled quickly on Isaiah 45:9. It’s a verse that holds deep meaning in my life. Okay, more accurately, Isaiah 45:9 is a verse has haunted me for the last five years. But in a good way! Take a look at the New Living translation of the passage:
“What sorrow awaits those who argue with their Creator. Does a clay pot argue with its maker? Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying, ‘Stop, you’re doing it wrong!’
I’ve felt like that clay pot… as I’ve navigated the depth of my pain, as I’ve faced scrutiny for my mental health struggles, and as I’ve mourned how my pain has hurt others. In response, I’ve poured countless tears into my pursuit of “fixing” my brokenness—thinking God made me wrong because I am so awful that surely I must be a mistake. This type thinking is so toxic, but it’s no exaggeration.
Those lies have bounced around in my head, and they bludgeoned enough walls to carve out my belief that, ultimately, God regrets creating me.
Where Do You Want Me?
This deep and painful belief has diminished in intensity, but it wasn’t until recently that I even realized as much. I knew I was a little more stable recently, but I was chalking it up to working through some attachment issues while simultaneously getting wildly attached to my dog. 🙂
Anyways, a few months ago, I experienced a divine moment of clarity. I was frustrated and tired and beyond ready for God to give me direction in a particular area. Where do you want me? As soon as the question left my mouth–when it’s just me and God, I totally talk out loud–I felt an odd sensation come over me. Then, I was overcome with a silent statement that came seemingly out of nowhere: “You asked where, not if.”
It was damp and the leaves under my feet made a soggy noise as I stopped my walk and took a deep breath. For the first time, I had asked God where He wanted me, not if He wanted me.
My nose felt sour with coming tears. I clenched my jaw and squeezed my eyes. Here I was, seeking direction in one area and then God blew me in a zillion spinning circles, and I can’t believe it: Jesus loves me. This I know.
That day, God revealed to me what I’d been scared to acknowledge for many months: My view of myself and of my Lord is changing.
In the subsequent months, this change has become even more apparent. My appearance is the same, but the woman I face in the mirror is not. I’m less tender than a year ago, more confident and rooted. I’d like to think that I’m also beginning to be okay with that–loosening my grip on an identity as “tough-but-fragile-Hannah-who-you-shouldn’t-pity-but-also-you-can’t-forget-because-she-needs-you-and-is-scared-of-abandonment.”
This Is Healing
I share this because I am in awe of the goodness of God; because I was scrolling through 2024 videos today and found myself in years. I recalled how each memory—electrifying or unbearable—made me question if what came next would even be worth it. In those moments, I really wanted to see hope but I could not see a thing through the thick grief I felt. By His grace alone, I would hope for one second more. And that’s how it’s been the past few years: second by minute by hour: hope.
This lightning-storm to my nervous system has battered each bruise and scar. And now… now the year is ending and my 20s are ending and I realize: I’ve never felt so alive.
I think this is healing.
So What’s Next
Like many of you, I spent the past week enjoying family time and resting—in between the chaos of the longest road trip I will ever survive.
I’m grateful that I will never forget this Christmas. I don’t think I can. Admittedly, I am a hard-core nostalgist (perhaps creating the term to define me and the folks at Hallmark), but I’m not exaggerating! It is hard to fathom how God lavished such joy on my family and I during this holiday.
It’s even harder to describe how disparate this is from many Christmases in the past. Of those I remember, most are riddled with arguments—fights I battled in my head or fights in the rooms around me. Christmas meant having to sit all day, eat food with others, deal with bad body image at Christmas Eve service, and navigate my parents’ emotions as a child in a split household. Then there are Christmases I don’t remember–ones that I am ashamed to say I was so absent from that I have to take other people‘s word for what the holiday was like. There are big gaps in my memory because my health was so poor during those years.
This lightning-storm to my nervous system has battered each bruise and scar. And now… now the year is ending and my 20s are ending and I realize: I’ve never felt so alive.
In all honesty, I find myself wavering on these details. As I’ve shared before, I don’t believe in dramatizing sickness or struggle in order to make a point. So I want to clarify that’s not what this is. This is not a “Wow, poor Hannah” or “Dang! She struggled” thing. Rather, I am sharing this story as a testimony; as a blindingly-bright vertical arrow screaming: “I DIDN’T GET FROM THERE TO HERE. IT WAS GOD, NOT ME.”
I am weak, but He is strong.
Merry Christmas, That’s All for Now…
So I’ll leave it at that and implore you to join me in praising the only One who can bring the dead back to life and make that life worth living.
I have more to reflect on in the coming weeks, but this stream of consciousness testimony is all for now. Thank you for reading these words and caring to see how God is moving in my life. Hopefully it encourages you to recognize how He is moving in your life as well!
Love,
Han
Ps. This is a more vulnerable post for me. There are many reasons for that, but one of them is to help take my standards of perfection down the notch. You’ll still find 95% of my writing to be in my relatable yet introspective voice, but I am letting myself share content like this a bit because the pursuit of “high quality” writing has shaken me from writing on a public forum in any capacity. We shall see if this helps!
A Grateful Life Lived 
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