Dear Hannah
A Letter to My Mother on My 35th Birthday
So in the course of time Hannah became pregnant and gave birth to a son. She named him Samuel, saying, “Because I asked the Lord for him.”
1 Samuel 1:20 NIV
Today, I turn 35.
A few years ago in a coaching program, I was introduced to the concept of biblical avatars, which represent biblical characters whose stories feel strangely familiar to us. We all have them. People whose lives are separated from ours by thousands of years, yet somehow their lives give us language for our own.
For me, that person is Samuel.
He was a child of providence, born to a woman who wasn’t supposed to have children. He would become a prophet or seer, as he’s called in the Old Testament, and, eventually, a kingmaker, helping others realize and reach their God-given potential.
But today, I’m not thinking about Samuel as much as I’m thinking about Hannah.
I’m thinking about you.
You weren’t supposed to have children either. Yet somehow, here I am.
Your only child.
Even getting me here wasn’t easy. Your pregnancy came with complications serious enough that ending it was presented as an option.
You chose otherwise.
You chose me.
I’ve known that part of the story for years, but I’ve needed most of my life to understand the rest of it.
My childhood wasn’t simple. Your struggle with addiction eventually created circumstances that threatened whether I could remain with you.
Dad decided to bring me from New Jersey to South Carolina, where Grandma would ultimately raise me.
At eleven years old, you moved back to New Jersey.
We haven’t lived in the same state since.
For a long time, I only knew how to interpret that story through the eyes of the child who lived it. I knew what it felt like to want my mother and not have her nearby. I knew what it felt like to watch other people’s relationships with their mothers and wonder why ours couldn’t look like theirs.
If I’m honest, what began as hurt eventually became hatred.
I couldn’t understand how the same woman who fought so hard to bring me into the world could somehow become so distant from the life she fought to preserve.
For years, those two realities didn’t make sense together.
But age has a way of giving us new eyes.
And somewhere along the way, I started seeing differently.
I’ve learned that forgiveness isn’t pretending something didn’t happen or hurt. Maturity doesn’t require rewriting dysfunction as virtue. And providence doesn’t mean we see everything as good.
Instead, providence means believing that somehow, even among the things that weren’t good, God was still at work.
When I read Hannah’s story, I’m struck by how she fought desperately for the child she would eventually have to release. Samuel was her son, but she couldn’t accompany him through every chapter of his story.
Still, without her, there is no Samuel.
And without you, there is no me.
There is no little boy from New Jersey who somehow ends up being raised in South Carolina.
No call to ministry.
No preacher.
No pastor.
No Kingdom South.
For years, I thought coming to South Carolina was primarily a story about what I lost as I left my cousins behind, but now I can see what I found.
I found a grandmother who would raise me. I found the place that would cultivate my faith. I found my calling. I found the soil in which so much of who I am today would eventually grow.
None of that erases what happened, but it does redeem what it means.
At 35, I can finally see something the younger versions of me couldn’t.
You were part of the providence too.
There are parts of our story I wish had been different. There are years we can’t get back, and moments neither of us can rewrite.
But I don’t feel the need to rewrite them anymore.
Now, I can thank God for what He somehow made of them.
So on my 35th birthday, I don’t want to just celebrate the life I’ve been given; I want to thank the woman who gave it to me.
I understand now, Hannah.
Your Samuel is 35.
And I’m grateful you chose to let me live long enough to see what God would do through me.
With love,
Your son
As an Amazon Affiliate, I receive a small commission from qualifying purchases made from links on this website.
What I’m Reading:
My Virtual Summer Book Club is reading Kin. We're gathering for our second live conversation tomorrow, August 19, over Zoom, and there's still time to join us. I'll post a link below.
What I’m Listening To:
Not much has changed here. I’ve been listening to a lot of podcasts to study the craft. I'm committed to what I jokingly call the "Frankenstein approach" to learning: taking a little from many people, synthesizing it, and developing a style that's authentically my own. I’ll keep you posted on my progress.
What KS Is Up To:
This past Sunday, we concluded our summer series, KS at the Movies, which is our attempt to copy Jesus’ illustrative genius by using movies as modern-day parables.
The Week 7 message was based on the movie Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I’ll post a link to our church’s podcast, which is now on Substack as well, so you can check out the recap.
This Sunday, we’re gearing up for Family Day. A new formation-focused concept I’m introducing to cast a vision for family discipleship.