Millinery in New York                                     

The Satya Twena Hat Factory stands in New York City’s Garment Center.

Satya Twena is a fashion entrepreneur and fine milliner/hatter. Through a Kickstarter project in December 2013, Satya saved one of Manhattan’s last remaining hat factories and men’s hat label Makins Hats from closing.

Photographer: Atisha Paulson/Bloomberg      

© 2014 Bloomberg Finance LP

The reason for our craving typically determines our response. Ironically, the bigger the void, the more desperately we search and the more likely we are to find substance. There’s an emptiness we must experience in order to strip ourselves of all earthly recovery. It’s a place where the only option is whatever God provides. It’s a pure place. A necessary place.
—  Brandon Hatmaker, A Mile Wide

“I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.

This was the last round of photographs before the magazine went to press and we returned to Tulsa or Biloxi or Teaneck or Coos Bay or wherever we’d come from, and we were supposed to be photographed with props to show what we wanted to be.

Betsy held an ear of corn to show she wanted to be a farmer’s wife, and Hilda held the bald, faceless head of a hatmaker’s dummy to show she wanted to design hats, and Doreen held a gold-embroidered sari to show she wanted to be a social worker in India (she didn’t really, she told me, she only wanted to get her hands on a sari).

When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn’t know.

‘Oh, sure you know,’ the photographer said.

'She wants,’ said Jay Cee wittily, 'to be everything.’

I said I wanted to be a poet.

Then they scouted about for something for me to hold.

Jay Cee suggested a book of poems, but the photographer said no, that was too obvious. It should be something that showed what inspired the poems. Finally Jay Cee undipped the single, long-stemmed paper rose from her latest hat.

The photographer fiddled with his hot white lights. 'Show how happy it makes you to write a poem.’

I stared through the frieze of rubber-plant leaves in Jay Cee’s window to the blue sky beyond. A few stagey cloud puffs were traveling from right to left. I fixed my eyes on the largest cloud, as if, when it passed out of sight, I might have the good luck to pass with it.

I felt it was very important to keep the line of my mouth level.

'Give us a smile.’

At last, obediently, like the mouth of a ventriloquist’s dummy, my own mouth started to quirk up.

'Hey,’ the photographer protested, with sudden foreboding, 'you look like you’re going to cry.’”

-Sylvia Plath, THE BELL JAR

We cannot carry the gospel to the poor & lowly while emulating the practices of the rich & powerful. We’ve been invited into a story that begins with humility & ends with glory; never the other way around. Let’s align ourselves correctly, sharing in the humble ministry of Jesus, knowing one day we’ll feast at His table in splendor.
—  Jen Hatmaker, “7”

I don’t want my kids safe and comfortable. I want them BRAVE. I don’t want to teach them to see danger under every rock, avoiding anything hard or not guaranteed or risky. They are going to encounter a very broken world soon, and if they aren’t prepared to wade into difficult territory and contend for the kingdom against obstacles and tragedies and hardships, they are going to be terrible disciples.

I don’t want to be the reason my kids choose safety over courage. I hope I never hear them say, “Mom will freak out,” or “My parents will never agree to this.” May my fear not bind their purpose here. Scared moms raise scared kids. Brave moms raise brave kids. Real disciples raise real disciples.

– Jen Hatmaker, Brave Moms Raise Brave Kids


do̘̪̟͈̭͔n'͎̹̱̣̜͇t͎͔̠͓͉͇̩ ̠̦̙e̱̞͇̦̺̣̬v̟e̮̠̟̙r͓͇͖ ̫̮̺̼̼̬͓t̪a̮̻l̘̳̯̥͉̗̙k ͎t̹o ̠̭̠m̜̙͚̫e͔̖͖͚̘̻͎ ͕̞̤̫o̥̥̲̣̗r̜̺̟ ̲̟͇̯̗͈͍m͈y͎ u͍̗̼̝̦nh̤̠͎o̤̠ly ͙͖̪͔̺͓ab̯o̼̝̙̙̠m͔̯̜i̹̯̣̞̝̘na̞͇̪t͇͎i̗̩̞o̺̤n ̝e̜̟̯̼͎v̻̝͕͍̼͙er̯ ̺͚ạ̤̲̦͎̺͙g̞͇̺̠͇̻ͅa̞in͔̝̟̪


I’m learning what it means to descend, which is so revolutionary it often leaves me gasping. I have been trying to ascend my entire life.
—  Jen Hatmaker