by Jen Hatmaker on May 26th, 2015

Most home cooks have a signature move: mine is homemade pizza. (I have a few other personal faves, mostly based around curry or pickled onions/beets/radishes/anything, but my people get weird about those.) But homemade pizza? Homerun every time. Because 'Merica.

I usually post my recipes willy-nilly on Facebook only to have you send me 937 emails asking where it is two weeks later because "YOU CAN'T FIIIIIIIIIIND IT," so I decided to put this one on le blog so it can be pinned or whatever the heck.

Outside of a few fresh ingredients, you almost always have everything you need for homemade pizza. Let's do this:

by Jen Hatmaker on May 22nd, 2015

‘Twas the first week of summer and all through the land
Not a Mom was still signing folders, not even a Dad.
The backpacks were slung in the garage without care
In hopes that some Clean Out Fairy soon would be there.

The children were nestled (super late) in their beds
While visions of NO HOMEWORK danced in their heads.
Mama in her yoga pants and I in my jorts
Are scheduling summer playdates, vacations, and sports.

When out in the playroom there arose such a clatter
We yelled (from the couch) to see what was the matter.
The children were arguing, restless, and I was floored
To hear the young cherubs declare: I’M BORED.

by Jen Hatmaker on May 21st, 2015

A few weeks ago, our oldest son jacked up his truck AGAIN while “mudding” with his friends. This is maybe a Texas thing, I think. It involves teen boys, trucks, empty fields, and general frontal lobe underdevelopment. There were a handful of details I’ll omit, but we ended up getting a “story” instead of the truth.
In the inevitable confrontation, Brandon and I both played the heavy because the parenting book I read ten years ago cautioned against triangulation. But between our son’s obvious emotional distress and our relief that the “story” involved a muddy road instead of, say, drug paraphernalia, we both started losing steam midway through the lecture.
At one point too late in the game, Brandon looked sternly at our son and declared: “Do you know what a truck is for? TRANSPORTATION!” and I got the giggles so bad I had to hide in the kitchen. Once composed as presiding judge, I asked: “Do we look like two parents who are going to pay for your joyrides indefinitely?” and he looked at us so intently, as if the contours of our faces might confirm or deny the query, that Brandon almost snorted. Having exhausted our severity, we sent him to his room and dissolved in fits of laughter.
You know what I didn’t understand about parenting? No one knows what they are doing.

by Jen Hatmaker on March 6th, 2015

You guys, no joke: I just clapped my hands together and did a little squeal at my desk in my office by myself. I’m grinning from ear to ear. Cause me and a whole bunch of you are about to have the best time.
So, I have a book coming out August 18th - “For the Love: Fighting for Grace in a World of Impossible Standards.” After pulling a million pics of covers and art that I loved, going back and forth 25 times with designers, running the finalists past my Friend Test Group not once but three times (bless them), and tweaking even the smallest details down to the flourish on the F, here is the cover:

by Jen Hatmaker on February 18th, 2015

Last June, Brandon and I went to rural Canada with a whole bunch of people we didn’t know, because we do weird things. One of the guys we met was Mark Batterson, and I told Brandon one night, “There is no way he is really that nice. No one is that awesome.” (I must have been in a cynical place. LIGHTEN UP, FRANCIS.)
Anyhow, I was wrong.
Mark and his beautiful wife Lora are honest-to-goodness kind, warm, loving, amazing people leading the incredible work of National Community Church in theaters all around DC (surely my DC readers know you have a treasure in your midst). I mean, look at his face:

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