february field notes

a monthly chronicle of this wild, precious, & beautiful life

what i’m reading

I’m proud to announce that my 2026 reading syllabus is up to 37 reads, including the list I introduced earlier this year, 33 of which remain unread. I love this space of anticipating the coming stories while soaking in the ones I’m currently working on*, which, at the moment, includes several titles — two of which are on hold at my local library, one I’m #179 in a queue for, and one that was impulsively acquired to live, unbothered, on my desk for the time being.

in the line-up:

• Drums of Autumn*

• Wild Dark Shore

• The Last Draft: A Novelist’s Guide to Revision

• The Art of Fiction: Notes on Craft for Young Writers

• Words Like Honey*

• Habits for a Sacred Home

recently completed:

• Voyager

• Ruthless Vows

• Small Things Like These

• A Thousand Mornings

A former teacher recommended the Margins app to keep track of my booklist and reads for this year, and I kind of love it. I’m habitually losing the book titles I scratch onto little slips of spare paper, so this works really well for me! It also feels a little bit less “online,” which is nice.

what i’m creating

I hit a major milestone with my manuscript and am pursuing other avenues with it at the moment, and so I’ve shifted my “creating” focus to my home. Enter: the curtains I’ve talked about hanging for two years and that I can’t seem to get a good shot of without also capturing the mess that is my home. Alas.

I also spent some time going through and packing up old clothes and toys that don’t fit our girls anymore that I can’t bear to part with but also can no longer bear to have haphazardly balanced in a pile in the alcove next to our washing machine.

what i’m learning

I recently went down a delightfully intimidating rabbit hole after completing the first part of my manuscript and sending it out to a handful of beta readers, several of whom have read my book in MUCH different, much earlier forms. The feedback has generally been positive, with the single exception of a writer friend-of-a-friend who stopped reading at the second chapter and told me in no uncertain terms that it was both uncompelling and unpublishable.

A younger me would have probably found this a devastating blow. But since beginning to write this book, I have birthed a child with no medication, and I teach 8th grade for a living — in addition to the myriad other life experiences I’ve added to my repertoire — so instead of crumbling under the criticism that I did ask for, I sifted through their comments with a grain of salt and the audacity of a lifelong reader who knows that Lord makes good on His promises. And to the reader’s credit, they do have a few points worth considering.

So, I’ve spent most of the time I usually dedicate to writing learning about the editing, revising, querying, and publishing process — an endeavor that has been both fruitful and challenging and has been aided by the good advice that comes from the lived experiences of other writers on Substack (and in the real world) who have braved said process and come out the other side as published authors.

I’m loving it.

And to that end, I’ve added several more titles to my TBR for this year (i.e., The Last Draft and The Art of Fiction) to inform my own (re)evaluation of the work I’ve done so far. I’m also very much looking forward to working with an editor over the summer to help refine and rework before I continue drafting.

what i’m pondering

I’m not sure if it’s growing older or simply more attentiveness to my relationships, but I’ve noticed a few patterns that I’ve been holding — with a fair amount of tension — close to my heart.

1. It really is just us¹.

2. I have no control over how others see me, treat me, or engage with me.

They hurt. But I believe they’re also the place where everything is going to shift. Because if I can’t see a problem with what I’m doing or the way I’m thinking about life, if I’m not willing to adjust my perceptions based on the truth of what’s in front of me, my life runs the risk of devolving into a comfortable delusion that eventually won’t be comfortable anymore.

And if I’m being real with myself, I wasn’t called to comfort. Nowhere in Scripture does God promise me comfort and happiness.

Jeremiah 6 presents a really stunning illustration of what it looks like when we become complacent and soft, when we have spent too long making excuses for behaviors and postures and heart attitudes without any (or with very little) adherence or deference to Scripture.

Matthew Henry was a British minister born in the mid-17th century and is likely best-known for his exhaustive Biblical commentary. On Jeremiah 6, he notes that the “daughter of Zion [Israel]” has been “bred up in everything that is nice and soft. . . [and] not being accustomed to hardship, she will be less able to either resist the enemy. . . or to bear the destruction with that patience which is necessary to make it tolerable.” Of the coming destruction to be enacted by the Babylonians he writes, “It is all for their wickedness; they have brought it upon themselves; they must bear it,” having refused to “Receive the instruction given thee both by the law of God and by the prophets; be wise at length for thyself.” Henry further observes that the “case is very miserable for those from whom God’s soul is disjoined; it intimates the loss not only of their outward blessings, but of those comforts and favours which are more immediate and peculiar tokens of his love and presence.”²

The endless, in-your-face pursuit of comfort is creating an idol out of self-love and self-care, while simultaneously dismantling and disarming us for the fight that’s coming. It gives people excuses to be emotionally manipulative, to be highly offended and offendable, to shirk responsibilities, to hurt others and pretend like we’re the victims.

And don’t mistake my admonishments for judgement, because I’m just as guilty.

I think the difference is that I finally see it.

Loving my family well isn’t comfortable.

Speaking truth to friends I love dearly but know are walking in sin isn’t comfortable.

Setting boundaries with other people to protect and uphold my own family isn’t comfortable.

Having hard conversations with my husband isn’t comfortable.

Confronting my own sin isn’t comfortable.

But all of these things are making me more like Jesus, forming me in holiness, and sanctifying me for His glory. This is what it means to work out your salvation. This is the highest aim my life could possibly tread towards.

I’ve lost friends over political correctness over the last few weeks, and I’ll be honest, it stings. I don’t really have strong ties with either side of the American political spectrum, but I’ve learned in recent years how to see a spade and call it what it is because ultimately, our struggle isn’t against flesh and blood, but the authorities and rulers of the unseen world.

I’m holding those things in my heart for now while turning inward to identify and amend the places in my own soul that deviate from Scripture or that fail to honor God. I have zero control over anyone else, but I do have 100% control over myself, my thoughts, my peace, and the ways in which I move through life. What this also means is that I don’t have to rely on others for emotional stability, healing, or fulfillment — unpopular opinion: not even my husband (a truth I’ve come to so painstakingly slowly that he’s probably reading this and rolling his eyes so far back in his head that he can see his brain. I kid… kind of) — and there’s something paradoxically freeing about radical personal accountability.

I think I kind of like it here.

✒️ what are you reading, creating, learning & pondering this month?

until next month,

e

---

If you’d like to support my work but don’t want the monthly commitment, I am a big fan of coffee ☕️

1. “Us” being defined as myself, my husband, our daughters, and our labrador (in Christ, of course).

2. Henry, M. (1706). Exposition of the Old and New Testaments. Blue Letter Bible. https://www.blueletterbible.com/Comm/mhc/Jer/Jer_006.cfm