Jen Donovan Jen Donovan

The Work in Front of Me

Respectfully, I would ask that we stop interrupting women’s lives to tell them they should be leading different ones.

The Bible says that Jesus cast seven demons out of Mary Magdalene - meaning she most likely suffered from an illness not easily cured.

She contributed to Jesus’ ministry financially, so she had her own money, and there is no mention of her being married.

In other words, she did not live the typical life of a woman in that time.

I can relate.

And yet, she is the first person Jesus revealed himself to after he rose from the dead.

This in a time when women’s testimony was not permitted in a court of law because they were viewed as being lower than livestock.

Jesus instructed her to go and tell the others. She was the apostle sent to the apostles.

Ladies, you have so much more value than you’ll ever know because He placed it in you.

And that value doesn’t increase or decrease as your roles change, either at work or at home.

Imagine if Jesus yelled to Mary as she ran to share the news, “Girl, don’t forget to get maaarriieeeeddd.”

How ridiculous would that have been?

Because the message  - then and now - is about Him. Killing sin and death.

That’s it. That’s the headline.

And Mary’s willingness to be present and responsive to what He called her to is a lesson for us all.

It reminds me of when I bought my condo.

I was young. Anxious, excited, happy, scared.

And someone said, “Don’t you think you should have waited until you got married to do this?”

Man, did that ruin my moment.

And it made me feel like what I was doing wasn’t real life because I hadn’t checked another box first.

Or instead.

Would I have liked to step into other roles? You bet.

But that might be a conversation better had with the men today, many of whom seem more interested in quantity over legacy.

It can’t just be me doing all the work and dragging a guy along for the ride.

A remarkable thing about women is that we won’t wait to multiply whatever you give us.

Bring me groceries, I’ll make you a meal.

Build me a dwelling, I’ll make you a home.

Give me a story worth sharing, I’ll spread that news far and wide.

This photo was taken at one of my favorite press conferences. We made the front page of USA Today. Good Morning America even gave us a shout out.

I felt a lot of satisfaction from this effort. And I think God, like any good dad, gets a kick out of watching His kids light up and fire on all cylinders.

There are some who say I shouldn’t occupy this space. That I’m in the minority.

But while society sidelines me, God never does.

He calls me loved, chosen, valuable, and trustworthy to carry His message. In return, I do the work that’s in front me, whatever that looks like.

It could be at a job. It could be taking care of family.

It could be reminding single friends younger than me that marriage and children, however wonderful and worthy, are not actually what God looks for in the end, and then setting an example of how to walk that out, practically.

Maybe someday my life will look different. Maybe it will include a husband or a different home.

In the last few years, I’ve had cancer and the world got swallowed up in COVID.

Again, I do the work that’s in front of me.

It’s been years since this photo was taken and I still show up for God.

I bring my sickness and my singleness and the hurt I carry from the world telling me I’ve done it all wrong.

Sometimes, that feels really heavy. And I believe the lies the world has told me that I don’t have a place in it.

But then there are times I take God at his word and, like Mary Magdalene, I’m there before anyone else, waiting to see what He will trust me with next.

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Jen Donovan Jen Donovan

Eva

This is a portrait of my great-grandmother Eva.

She came to this country from Poland through a church sponsorship program in Watervliet, NY. The church would help her get acclimated to America and, in exchange, she would work in the home of one of the church members. Her family only had passage money for one person at the time, so she would travel first and then her sister would follow.

But back then the mail didn’t move as fast as it does now and as she was crossing the Atlantic, a letter was headed to her home in Poland from the host family. They were moving and would not be there to take her in.

She arrived at her destination only to find the whole house empty, except for an apron that had been left behind on the kitchen floor. Overwhelmed, she sat outside on the front steps and cried.

She was 14 years old.

Luckily, a neighbor who was a member of the same church that was sponsoring her took her in. Her sister eventually decided to stay in Poland to get married, and while they exchanged a few letters, she would never see her family again.

A few years later, she met the man who would become her husband in that church. He just so happened to be from Poland. Never doubt how God will surprise you with a little piece of home just when you’re feeling so far from it.

I’m sad to say Eva passed away before I was born. I’ll never know how she managed to get herself from Ellis Island to Watervliet without knowing any English or the fear she must have felt as she walked through that empty house.

But one thing I do know is that I am only here today because she said “what if”. Her boldness had a ripple affect through generations.

I don’t know what you’re waiting on, but I don’t wait anymore. Let this be the year you step out. Leave the familiar behind. Be the first in your family.

You’re not just saying “yes” for yourself, but for all those coming up behind you. Even the ones you may never meet.

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Jen Donovan Jen Donovan

Shoulder to Lean On

Shoulder to lean on.

Soft place to land.

Patient through my stumbling.

Familiar with my pain.

Bearing my burdens.

Cancer healer.

Tear collector.

Heart mender.

Fiercest advocate.

Defender.

Protector.

Warrior.

Shepherd.

Solid ground.

Ransom payer.

Debt canceller.

Reconciling the impossible.

Teacher.

Savior.

King.

Loyal in my wandering.

Investor in my future.

Architect of my dreams.

Masterminding my victories.

Tailor of miracles.

Harbor in the storm.

Author of my story.

Disrupting my status quo.

Bending time tables.

Interrupting best laid plans.

Silencing my doubts.

Reassuring promises.

My journey’s end.

This is Christmas.

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Jen Donovan Jen Donovan

Buy the Shoes

Taking a look (not that far back 😉) through the archives.

This was the best way I knew how to celebrate my birthday after a cancer diagnosis ushered me directly into a global pandemic.

I called Dave Bigler at Saratoga Portrait Studio and Alayne Curtiss at Make Me Fabulous took the day off, and let myself forget how rapidly my world and the world around me had come unhinged.

Sometimes we need that.

It’s not denial - it’s a healthy defiance. Celebrate big. Every chance you get.

And for the love God, just buy the shoes! ❤️👠

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Jen Donovan Jen Donovan

All I Had

I was not expecting the calm that eventually rolled in like a fog this October. ⁣

I felt muddy. Trapped. I struggled to pray, to rally, to put up a fight. ⁣

And I think that’s a mistake we all make sometimes - thinking we need to do more. ⁣

Thinking we can manifest a victory in our own strength. Thinking God is ignorant or indifferent to our plight. ⁣

Thinking it depends on us.⁣

Instead, I called to mind something I felt God put on my heart the first time around. I meditated on it for a bit, and left everything else with Him.⁣

If you’re wrestling with something you can’t see your way out of, might I suggest you stop for a moment?⁣

You weren’t meant to shoulder it. ⁣
You can’t overcome it on your own. ⁣
And there is rest to be found in letting go.⁣

Three weeks of waiting; a simple petition for help. It was all I had in me. And it was enough. ⁣

Because He is enough. ⁣
He was already on the way. ⁣

And I felt it the strongest when I gave up the fight.⁣

Matthew 12:21 - The mere sound of his name will signal hope.
⁣⁣

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Jen Donovan Jen Donovan

Wars and Rumors of Wars

Tensions are high this week. Personally. Globally. ⁣

Pending scans and anniversaries. Wars and rumors of wars.⁣

I have never been so grateful to be a child of God.⁣

I think about what it would be like to be caught in the crossfire of something I wanted nothing to do with.⁣

To live with a target on my back.⁣

To stare down the end of my life at the hands of someone who found joy in the taking.⁣

Where would the ultimate comfort come from?⁣

Not my family or friends. Not my co-workers. Not my president or my pastor.⁣

From the same place I found it when the test results did not come back all clear.⁣

Jesus.⁣

Being pursued by him has been the greatest joy. Following him, the most unexpected adventure. ⁣

He’s already in tomorrow. He’s already written the end. And he holds me securely in his hands. Through whatever happens here or halfway across the world.⁣

If you walked away, come back. If you’re on the fence, climb off. If you ever wondered if there was something more, there is. ⁣

The battles of this life will be many, but he has already won the war. ⁣

And his is the only side worth choosing.⁣

Isaiah 43:1 - Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, you are mine. ⁣

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Jen Donovan Jen Donovan

A Letter to God in the Wake of the Roe v. Wade Reversal

God, I pray my heart always breaks for what breaks yours.

63 million lives have been lost since Roe v. Wade was signed into law. I can only imagine the ache of your Father’s heart as each one toddled through your gates.

You ache for their mamas, too.

On June 24, 2022, when abortion was turned back over to the states, friends of mine in certain circles raised a banner in victory, careful not to get too loud.

Partly because the ‘victory’ is incomplete. While a step in the right direction, it merely passes the baton for others to decide.

And partly to not anger the ever-growing mobs forming in our streets and outside our churches.

The argument is that those of us who believe what you say don’t care what happens to women.

Ironically, we believe what you say because no one cares about women more than you.

When Sarah was long past the point of child birth, you opened her womb and made her the mother of nations.

When Hagar was abandoned in the desert, thinking she would have to watch her baby die, you showed up and showed her a way out.

When Ruth was widowed and outcast, you brought her to community and a man rich in life and in love.

When Abigail’s brute of a husband was about to instigate a war, you emboldened and protected her as she approached an army in the mountains to contend for her city.

When the woman caught in adultery was about to be stoned, you chased away her accusers. You knelt down next to her in the dust, not to condone what she did, but to lift her up from it.

When Mary found herself engaged and pregnant at 15, well, we all know how that story goes. Her son would become the Savior of the world.

I’m writing this today because she - and Joseph - chose the difficult path and trusted you as they walked it.

And as I’ve healed from cancer, I’ve used what I’ve seen and learned from you to encourage countless others during their own traumatic experiences.

The ripple effect of one one person choosing you over their circumstances is immeasurable.

And, finally, after sealing death up in that tomb behind you, a woman was the first person you told.

You entrust us with so much.

You find us abandoned, outcast, and caught up in the lies the world tells us.

Even so, I see story after story of your faithfulness to take on the ugliest we’ve got and make something beautiful. Something others can stake their lives on long after the last witness is there to tell about it.

My story is different from the stories of these women, but like them, you have entrusted me with much.

I will keep my heart tender where this issue is concerned, and share my resources with those who think there is no other way.

I will use my voice to speak your truth in love.

Psalm 139: 13-15

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.

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Jen Donovan Jen Donovan

Women Who Build

I’ve always been in awe of women who can seemingly bend the universe to their wills.

Married by this age, a house by this age, kids by this age. They draft a timeline, submit it for review, and the universe happily obliges.

Harnessing that kind of power to make anything fall in line with my plans on my time table has always eluded me. I submitted my plans. I had such high hopes.

Then cancer hit at 38 immediately followed by a global pandemic. I set hope aside and just tried to hold on to my health. 

But somewhere deep inside, the desire to dream is still there.

So for whatever reason you find yourself childless today - traumatic life events or just life - however you may have felt your plans got overlooked or denied -  I want you to know you still matter.

I see you. And God sees you.

Building businesses and building communities. 

Building up other women like you because you know how they feel.

Building legacy.

You may not be passing it on to little ones; you’re passing it on to everyone.

You just don’t get a day telling you how awesome you are. Keep going. Keep dreaming. Keeping making plans. 

Keep building.

Today and every day, I honor you.

Psalm 126:1

When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dreamed.

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Jen Donovan Jen Donovan

Courage Dear Heart

As the whole world rapidly came unhinged over coronavirus, I acknowledged a bittersweet victory in solitude: my final cancer treatment.

I isolated at home, went to appointments alone, and watched the world descend into chaos like I’ve never witnessed before. But I couldn’t get caught up in the chaos.

Cancer will do that to you.

In October 2019 - smack dab in the middle of Breast Cancer Awareness Month - I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

I guess you could say I have been made fully aware.

Aware of:

  • lonely waiting rooms,

  • a never-ending string of appointments,

  • statistics and data I’d prefer to unlearn,

  • feeling like I failed somehow,

  • being unable to focus,

  • a hyper aversion to cancer awareness observances,

  • wanting to relate to everyday conversations, but nodding and smiling instead because I can’t, and,

  • saying I’m fine when I’m anything but.

In the days and weeks that followed, the sentiment that echoed loudly through my new normal sounded like this:

“God will never give you any more than you can handle.”

I’m not sure where this idea came from, but it isn’t true. I will never be able to handle this.

The truth is that God will never carry me through any more than HE can handle. Sounds great. Until you remember that he handled hell.

And believe me there are moments when it feels like I’m being dragged through hell by my ankles, clawing for solid ground. How did I get here? Would all roads have led to cancer anyway? Where did I go wrong?

Other women my age are building their lives, celebrating milestones. I have the oncology center on speed dial.

It’s not supposed to be this way.

Quarantine brought with it a whole new set of stresses. I was still processing the old ones.

Any survivor will tell you the end of treatment is one of the hardest times. Everyone around you moves on, assuming you are done, but you’re never really done. And it’s at the end of a marathon that runners collapse, not at the starting line.

I had come to the other side of the hardest thing I ever faced, and now I faced isolation and I didn’t know for how long. The one thing I needed most - human interaction - was not an option and while I craved freedom and a return to normalcy, I wanted to do it carefully.

Having friends in the medical world, I heard all the first-hand accounts. People barely surviving coronavirus. People who “recovered”, but whose symptoms never really went away. People dying alone.

They were all healthier than me.

Cancer brings with it tremendous feelings of isolation and leaves behind a few parting gifts of its own. I wasn’t looking for more.

About a month into quarantine, someone I knew passed away from breast cancer, her death relegated to footnote status because of a global pandemic. I remember talking and laughing with her. She was just here a minute ago.

It could have been me.

And then there were those whose passing from cancer did not come quietly. One right after the other, only a month apart, they steamrolled over me.

Kelly Preston.

Chadwick Boseman.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

I wept over each one.

I felt bound to their stories, if only because I glimpsed in part what they walked through in full. I had the conversations about it, was surrounded by it on all sides.

Why were they no longer here when they did so much good, and had good still left to do? Survivor’s guilt is a heavy load to bear. “You need to move on,” people say. “There are worse things,” they say.

Dr. David Ryan, Chief of Hematology and Oncology at Massachusetts General Hospital and author of Living With Cancer, summed it up quite well when he said,

“People who’ve had cancer are acutely aware that life could always be taken away from them. You’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop in a way that people who haven’t had cancer can ignore.”

In one swift blow, and then what felt like a million subsequent ones, I found myself in those days utterly scooped out and hollow.

But…

If you and I were having coffee, I would tell you about all the times that God showed up in the middle of my hell. Not tiptoeing timidly through the back, but storming boldly through the front door, keys in hand, like he owned the place.

He cut me loose, gathered me up in his arms, and said, “C’mon, I’ve got this. I’ve got you, too.”

He chased down cancer with the wrath of a warrior, but he knelt beside me with the gentleness of a dad caring for his sick kid.

And I believe he saved me.

He didn’t just sympathize with my story; he lowered himself into my story. I was never alone.

Times when my faith would swell and I would swear to God that I would walk whatever path he laid out in front of me - as if he somehow needed me to get myself together. And times when my anger and confusion rendered me silent and distant - as if that could make him leave.

He is solid ground for me, cancer, coronavirus, and all my contradictions.

There is no quick fix or easy way out. No counting the times I’ve cried myself to sleep. But there is courage for the road I will travel in the midst of the tears.

I don’t remember the last time my faith was dressed in its Sunday best. I’ve needed to dig deep and get my hands dirty.

Real faith is messy. It’s heavy and it’s hard to carry - but so was the cross. It sometimes doesn’t fit or feel good. It’s gone miles without a road sign or a rest stop. But it keeps going.

Real faith fights.

It also recognizes a time for letting go of how you assumed things would be, and instead wringing the good from what is.

Because in the darkest times, when I can’t see in front of me and the bottom keeps falling out beneath me, I call to mind that the object of my faith - what I’m anchored to - is concrete.

He sees the end from the beginning.

He cares for me without interruption.

He clamped shut the jaws of death.

And even when I can’t hang on, he doesn’t loosen his grip.

To my fellow survivors: I know. I get it now. I stand with you. There is much work to be done. Where God has mended me, I will use that strength to serve you any way I can. And now I’m after those who don’t know, to be a voice of warning and prevention to any who will listen.

To ladies everywhere: I know what it’s like to feel your heart shatter to dust. To watch the world move on while you’re left sitting with what’s happened, not knowing how you’ll get through it or what is waiting for you on the other side. To watch fear move in and make itself right at home. If any of this sounds familiar, please reach out to me. Our experiences may be very different, but chances are I can relate to what you’re feeling. Let’s get coffee or get on the phone. I want to hear your story.

To my family and friends: Whether it was a meal, a cup of tea, a prayer, holding space, or just holding me, you showed up in so many wonderful ways, loaning me your pets, your homes, your offices, your cooking skills, your hearts, yourselves. Thank you for being the hands and feet of Jesus. Some of you didn’t even know it.

To my God: Who am I that you would move on my behalf? You were waiting in this place long before I ever arrived, preparing me to walk through it in ways only you could have. Divine crossroads most people will never know about. As shocked as I was, none of this caught you off guard. You are always fully aware because, thankfully, I have your undivided attention. I sensed your hand on this every step of the way.

And just as I was searching for the most radical reset, you shut the whole world down.

Don’t think I didn’t notice.

Thank you for carrying me. Thank you for hearing what my tears say when I don’t have the words. Thank you for handling hell when I could not.

All honor and gratitude for the constant of you when nothing else makes sense.

Job 19:23-25

Oh that my words were recorded, that they were written on a scroll, that they were inscribed with an iron tool on lead or engraved in rock forever! I know that my redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand on the earth.

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