Welcome to the neighborhood, Hana, Sara, and David! Congratulations, Floyd and Mary! In the picture, three neighbor kids, freckled, blond and Velcro-sneakered, stand beneath the sign they’ve taped to our new mom and dad’s garage door.
Beneath this photo, is one of the three of us; transplants with similar blunt haircuts and coordinating seersucker outfits, sitting in the back of a brown Crown Victoria Station Wagon (later we dubbed her, Miss Vicky). The back seat has been turned down to create a kind of playpen in the rear of the car so that the three of us can sit together. There are toys everywhere. In the photo, I’m pressing a plastic phone the size of my head to my ear, my little brother looks caught, in the lens of the camera and my sister sits, holding a doll in her lap.
Looking at the photo now, I think we look a little stunned, as though we’re suspending our belief, terrified that we could wake-up at any moment to discover that all this–the toys, the smiling, teary adults–are a figment of our imaginations. But when we awake the next morning, the three of us stretched-out on mom and dad’s king-sized bed, it is all still true. (READ the rest of the chapter on my website hanahawley.com
photo by Kelcy Gatson on Unsplash
Head on over to http://www.hanahawley.com to read the latest about Hanako and Jiro’s adventures in Japan. A lot has happened since we caught up with them last. How will these changes impact their relationship? Chapters 22 and 23 are up. Click the link to read.
Hanako and Jiro in Japan
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Photo by Royji Iwata on Unsplash
Hanako despised the way their conversations entered a freefall of chaotic words and too tender feelings. The way they could pick apart each other’s sentences like birds pecking at nearly bare bones. At these moments, Hanako often felt as though she would rather die than admit she could have said or done things differently.
Read More at Hanako and Jiro in Japan on hanahawley.com
Why did it sometimes hurt so much to think that everything wasn’t for her? That the story she stepped into wasn’t always her own? Wasn’t it possible that God loved her and her friend equally? She’d always had the sneaking suspicion He played favorites.
Read the rest at hanahawley.com
Photo by Christopher Sardegna via Unsplash
I talk more about my travel to South Korea and my visit to the baby home where I was an orphan, in part two of my story on Sister Theresa on my web (www.hanahawley.com). Read an excerpt below:
Everything I see makes sense, but it feels unreal and intangible. I breathe deeper, open my eyes wider. If I could dig my bare toes into the ground, scrunch the earth between my toes and somehow immerse myself in my surroundings I would. If it wouldn’t be rude, or be weird, I would walk off by myself for an hour or two, sit in the middle of the lawn somewhere, let the past find me.
Photo by Etienne Boulanger
She is a girl playing dress-up in a nun’s habit. A rainbow-tailed unicorn, disguised as a workhorse.
She runs toward me with her arms outstretched and I am four, five, and six–my stubby legs propelling me forward until I am swathed in the dove-grey of her skirt, a child with her heart broken, a lost thing without a mom or dad. (Read the FULL STORY) at Hanahawley.com
Photo by me, Daegu, South Korea at White Lily Baby Home