Sally Read is the award-winning editor of Word on Fire’s “100 Great Catholic Poems,” and author of four of her own poetry collections. Her most recent, and the first since her conversion from atheism to Catholicism, “Dawn of this Hunger,” was fruit of her time as poet in residence at the Hermitage of the Three Holy Hierarchs. Sally’s poetry has been recorded for the UK’s Poetry Archive, and her writing, in both poetry and prose, has appeared in numerous publications and anthologies including, The Times Literary Supplement, The Picador Book of Love Poems, and Forward’s Poems of the Decade.  Her poetry has also featured on BBC Radio, and episodes of her Radio Maria England show, “Poetry for the Season”, are available on Spotify. Sally is also the author of two memoirs, Night’s Bright Darkness, and The Mary Pages, and the meditation to her daughter, Annunciation, a Call to Faith in a Broken World. Her first children’s book, Bell and the Joyful Mysteries, is published by Word on Fire in 2026, and her poetry guide, The Secrets to Reading Poetry: Unlocking the Language of God, will follow later in the year.

More about Sally, and her online poetry school, can be found at www.sallyread.net

Substack:

Instagram: @sallyreadwriter

There is something special about standing in a room full of Catholic artists. We were a group of men and women of varying ages, sizes, and talents. More than that, we were a group of people who deeply love God and firmly believe in the power of beauty.

That’s the energy that I felt buzzing in the air the whole time: the Holy Spirit flying through the flames that sparked with every testimony and discussion. There was fire in every person’s heart as they talked about the way they painted or wrote for the glory of God.

I can’t possibly write about every insight I gained in this one newsletter, but I’ll share some tidbits that struck me the most:

The gift we’ve been given is more than a gift: it is a responsibility. Those with a gift a responsible for developing that gift and sharing it in a way that God calls them to. There may be pain and solitude in the work of an artist, but we must pursue beauty through our work if that is what God wants of us.

Not everyone has artistic talent and we need to fight for that again.

And one of my favorite quotes written by Flannery O’Connor…

I am still digesting everything and making sense of my notes, but this is what I have internalized so far. Needless to say, this weekend has inspired me to push on in my writing journey. I hope you will keep me company along the way!

Through Christ,

Stephanie Petters

By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Two sayings of the Holy Scriptures beat
Like pulses in the Church's brow and breast;
And by them we find rest in our unrest
And, heart deep in salt-tears, do yet entreat
God's fellowship as if on heavenly seat.
The first is JESUS WEPT,—whereon is prest
Full many a sobbing face that drops its best
And sweetest waters on the record sweet:
And one is where the Christ, denied and scorned
LOOKED UPON PETER. Oh, to render plain
By help of having loved a little and mourned,
That look of sovran love and sovran pain
Which HE, who could not sin yet suffered, turned
On him who could reject but not sustain !

Lent is coming faster than I can even blink! I thought that maybe, if I started talking about it now, it wouldn’t come as a total shock when I’m walking around on Ash Wednesday with a black cross on my forehead.

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed deciding how to contemplate Christ’s suffering during Lent. The Church is rich with resources it’s almost hard to choose what to dive into. When I picked up Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s collection of poetry this weekend, I came across this poem. In a year of big transitions and projects for my family, I’ve realized that my Lenten contemplation can be just two simple phrases:

Jesus wept.

Looked upon Peter.

Two moments of divine empathy and suffering are pulses in the life of the Church.

Lord, you weep for the suffering of the world. I see you weeping and looking at me. I have failed so many times to follow you faithfully, but you still gaze at me lovingly, waiting for me. I don’t have much to say, but here I am.

I invite you to reflect on these two phrases with me as we prepare for Lent. How do they settle in your heart? What does God want to reveal to you through these simple yet profound phrases?

And I promise, the happy spring poetry will come soon. I’m itching to write about those, but everything comes in their own time!

Through Christ,

Stephanie Petters

Where to find Zamora’s work

• Instagram: @liliswritings

• TikTok: @liliswritings_

Happy Feast of the Epiphany! Recently I came across the online archive of an old book, Gems from Catholic Poets, published in 1859. There were so many beautiful poems, but this one particularly struck me since we finished Advent and are now also wrapping up the Christmas season:

Hope on.

These past few months I have felt a particular weight of pain for those around me. It seems that there is endless news of suffering (miscarriages, sudden deaths, life-changing medical diagnoses, etc.). We had to cancel our Christmas plans because of the Type A flu that is sweeping across the country; it felt fitting to just slow down and remember that hope does not end on Christmas day. While we rejoice from remembering the birth of our Savior, we are never asked to stop hoping. We spent this past year celebrating the Church’s jubilee as “pilgrims of hope.” Even though it is now a new year, we carry that same virtue with us on our journeys.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the season that we commemorate Christ’s birth. He is born in the winter, and yet the flowers don’t bloom at his arrival. The wind still carries its cold bite, and the bare trees still tremble. We are still asked to walk through our own winters, but now we have the light of Christ near us to remind us we are not alone in our suffering. Spring will come, but we must hope on.

Now that Christmas is coming to a close, we march on toward Lent. May we all carry hope in our hearts!

Of Wood and Word Happenings

I hope 2026 has had it’s joyful moments for you all! It has already been a busy year for me. Some big things will be happening in the spring:

• My husband is officially getting out of the Navy, and we will be moving to Charlotte, North Carolina as civilians! While I have loved living in Alabama and will be sad to leave our town, I’m so excited to see what NC has in store for us.

• I will be launching a Kickstarter campaign for my next book in April, which is National Poetry Month! In order to prepare for such a fun month, I will be posting some interviews here with fellow Christian poets about their work. And of course, be on the lookout for more info that will be coming very soon about my book!

I’m so looking forward to sharing more here again; happy reading!

Through Christ,

Stephanie Petters

Thomas Merton (1915-1968) was a French convert who entered the Abbey of Gesthemani in Kentucky. As a Trappist monk he wrote more than 60 books and hundreds of poems, making him one of the most influential Catholic writers of the twentieth century. While he is considered a controversial figure because of his interest in Buddhism toward the end of his life, we can still gain much wisdom and inspiration from his autobiography.

While flipping through the pages, I was struck by Merton’s description of a family he briefly lived with in a rural, French town. This first passage describes the wife:

Imagine being described in this way to someone. Like a bird. The Catholic Church throughout its history has used various species of birds for holy symbolism. It is only fitting, then, that someone living in the light of Christ would be described as the very animal that is used time and time again to describe Christ.

What made this woman so holy? See the next excerpt, in which Merton describes her family:

As someone who gets quite easily distracted by everything this world tries to offer, this particular passage struck me. Why does something so simple feel so difficult? Can holiness really be this simple? Evil does everything in its power to make this life of simplicity feel unattainable. Yet living in simplicity leaves room for infectious love and joy. Merton proves so with his own feelings toward this family:

Echoing the words of Saint Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians, Merton explains his willingness to reciprocate love toward the Privats. Because of their love for God and their pursuit of a simple life, their holiness naturally exuded in the love they showed others. This type of love attracts others and pulls them in, impacting their hearts whether they realize it or not.

It’s time we take a look at our lives and reflect: is the way I’m living my life attracting others to love more deeply and live more simply?

By Anne Porter

Some of the leaves

Are falling early

But there are glinting

Dragonflies

Hornets in windfalls

And a brown honeybee

Searching about

In the surviving roses

The summer birds

Are just beginning

Their autumn journeys

We watch

Their clustered flocks

Unraveling in the sky

And always rising

Until they trail away

As small as gnats

And higher than the sun

We watch them out of sight

The air

Is drained of summer

We’re left behind

With apple-scented nights

With carillons of crickets

With planets bright

As the Nativity

And this new air

Whose coolness is itself

A kind of fragrance

And now the earth

Breathes out the unearthly blossoms

Of the autumn crocus

Around the toolshed door.

I will admit I have had this poem saved in my drafts folder for a month, so now it is officially fall. But that does not mean the remnants of summer have not entirely left! The sun is taking longer to rise, but it still inspires beads of sweat at noon. The evenings sometimes feel cooler, but sometimes the mosquitos come out to play (in a very rude way). Our world is still in transition with the seasons.

Our society has faced a lot of emotions this past month, mainly confusion and sadness, sometimes anger. We may all have different opinions and ways of coping with the times, but I think we can all agree that recent events have caused a shift in the culture.

Like the seasons of nature, our world is in transition. I can only pray that this transition brings about the light of God in a powerful way. I appreciate that world events are lining up with the movement into the colder months, which may feel dark to some but feel more intimate to me. It’s a time when we stay warm in our homes, maybe sipping hot tea by a fire with the ones we love. The season invites me to slow down and turn inward: toward God and my family.

How do you view this transition into fall? Do you feel it’s influence on how you are living day to day?

I’m Hosting an Event at LegendHaven 2025!

Hey friends! I’m excited to share that I’ll be at LegendHaven, the friendliest fiction convention in the world! You should come! It's an all-day weekend in October, Sat 18- Sun 19, for authors and story lovers.

I'll be live on the 19th for two back-to-back events listed below.

🐲 What’s LegendHaven? #legendhaven

If you love books, storytelling, and hanging out with the creators behind your favorite characters, you've got to join me there. LegendHaven is packed with meetups, AMAs, live chats, contests, and found fellowship.

Think panels, readings, AMAs, exclusive content, fan rewards, raffles, story previews, and author hangouts.

It's all online, and yes, you don't even need your camera. You can GIF-reply or chat all day.

🎤 Here's what I’m hosting at LegendHaven:

📚 The EPIC Influence of Poetry in Fiction: From Beowulf to Lord of the Rings, poetry has played a big role in connecting humans through storytelling. We’ll chat about the ancient history of epic poetry for storytelling and how this evolved through the centuries.

I will also be one of the part of a panel where we will discuss “The Future of Fantasy.” The future of fantasy isn’t just dragons and dark lords. Let’s explore the currents shaping fantasy today: grimdark, cozy, escapism, mythics, epics. How can fantasy help us reclaim a hopeful vision of the world?

📍 How to Join Me at LegendHaven

1. Follow me on [Social Media Link] and join my email list.

2. Get your weekend con pass at legendhaven.com

3. Mark your calendar to join my session on October 19th!

4. Explore the events, drop a comment, and bring your fun to our meetup.

Can’t wait to see you there!

By Francis Thompson

At the Cross thy station keeping
With the mournful Mother weeping,
Thou, unto the sinless Son,
Weepest for thy sinful one.
Blood and water from His side
Gush; in thee the streams divide:
From thine eyes the one doth start,
But the other from thy heart.

Mary, for thy sinner, see,
To her Sinless mourns with thee:
Could that Son the son not heed,
For whom two such mothers plead?
So thy child had baptism twice,
And the whitest from thine eyes.

The floods lift up, lift up their voice,
With a many-watered noise!
Down the centuries fall those sweet
Sobbing waters to our feet,
And our laden air still keeps
Murmur of a Saint that weeps.

Teach us but, to grace our prayers,
Such divinity of tears,—
Earth should be lustrate again
With contrition of that rain:
Till celestial floods o'er-rise
The high tops of Paradise.

At the Cross thy station keeping
With the mournful Mother weeping

Yesterday was the feast day of Saint Augustine, a man whose heart was transformed by the prayers of his mother, Saint Monica. Saint Monica carried a cross in her heart as she fervently prayed for the conversion of her son. Like the Virgin Mary, she carried sorrow in her heart and wept. Though her sorrow was heavy, she did not carry it alone.

Since the tragedy that occurred in Minneapolis, I’ve been thinking of the mothers. The ones who may now be weeping for their children like Saint Monica did. The other mothers in Christ’s Body who weep because they can’t imagine the pain and loss.

And our laden air still keeps
Murmur of a Saint that weeps.

In the Body of Christ, no one is alone in their pain. Even the saints above leave a lasting impact in the crosses they carried. They understand the sorrow that they carried till heaven.

May we lean into the pain and find Christ there. There is a divinity in tears that are offered to God. Our world may be purified through these tears so long as we direct them toward the One who saves.

I am praying for everyone involved in this tragedy, and please know that I am also praying for whatever sorrow you carry in your own heart. We all have our own cross to carry, and none of us need to hold the weight of it alone.

Through Christ,

Stephanie Petters

By Jessica Powers

God is today.

He is not yesterday.

He is not tomorrow.

God is the dawn, wakening earth to life;

the first morning ever,

shining with infinite innocence; a revelation

older than all beginning, younger than youth.

God is the noon, blinding the eye of the mind

with the blaze of truth.

God is the sunset, casting over creation

a color of glory

as He withdraws into mysteries of light.

God is today.

He is not yesterday.

He is not tomorrow.

He is never night.

God is today.

When I was writing more consistently a few months ago, I bookmarked this poem to save for later. I think the Holy Spirit knew that I would find it again when I needed to hear it the most. This summer has had it’s fun and relaxing moments, but I find myself dragging as it slowly comes to a close. I’m exhausted and uninspired nowadays, to be honest. I spend most of my time trying to heal my children from minor health issues while also taking care of myself. I’ve let my phone take over while prayer slips. I just feel like a mess.

This past Sunday, our priest called us to a better prayer life. He went so far as to say “At least be honest with God. Just say, ‘I don’t want to talk to you, Lord.’ You need to start somewhere.” This hit deep for me because I realized, I feel so deep in my mess that I don’t even want to talk to God.

But God is not the mistakes or missed opportunities of yesterday. He’s not focused on the goals I keep setting for myself tomorrow that usually fall through. He is this very moment, now. I’ve decided to look to Him in this exact moment and start somewhere.

Lord, I don’t “feel” like talking to you right now, but I know you are all around me in this moment, gently calling me higher. Give me the desire and strength to pursue you today.

If this resonates with you, know that you are not alone. And if you are feeling stronger in your prayer life right now, I hope this poem is just a simple reminder that God is with you!

I wanted to let you know that my priest prescribed me a three-day social media fast (which I’m honestly relieved about because it gives me some accountability). I’ll be signed off of Substack and all other social media platforms for that allotted time. We’ll chat in a few days!

By Anne Porter

Their salt wet life erased, eroded, only

The shells of snails lie on the sand,

Their color darkens toward the whorl’s conclusion,

The center is nearly black. Even the fragments

Faithfully observe their tribal custom

Of involution; the motionless whirlpool

Is clearly written on the broken shield.

The two jointed petals of a small

Tooth-white clamshell stand ajar, and mimic

The opening of wings or of a songbook;

Leaves that a minute and obscure

Death sprung open in a depth of sea;

Held in one’s hand, they still present

The light obedient gesture that let go of time.

And close to these frail, scattered, and abandoned

Carvings which were the armor and the art

Of dark blind jellies that the fish have eaten,

The big Atlantic cumulates and pours,

Flashes, is felled, and streaks among the pebbles

With wildfire foam.

*This newsletter was written back in May but never sent, and now it feels even more relatable now that a fever is running through my family! Here is the article as it was written in May due to exhaustion*

I’ve lived the majority of my life near the water; many days were spent on my uncle’s boat with the vast sea around me, daring me to sail its waves. When I chose to more faithfully follow Jesus in college, it was easy to lean into the words of St. Therese: the world is thy ship, not thy home. Young and wide-eyed, through both the hard and exciting times, my own spiritual journey felt like a voyage through the ocean blue: some days smooth as glass, some with turbulent waves, but all of it bringing me closer to home in one epic tale.

In this season of motherhood, my days feel both louder and quieter. Toddlers run throughout the house with laughs that bounce off the walls. My baby cries every two hours in the night, craving my comfort. All of this noise, contained within my simple home, seems far from an epic tale. I often find myself sitting in my rocking chair, wrapped in the darkness as my eyes fight to stay open. These days, I feel less like I’m sailing the seas and more like I’m sitting on the ocean floor with its deceased snails and clams.

Death sprung open in a depth of sea.

This season of dwelling in the depths is as beautiful and critical as sailing the surface. What if God is the whole of the sea… even the dark, mysterious abyss? Consider the sea lilies, the creatures that have passed on but their shell carvings remain in the sand. They may not exist as they once did, but their shells remain embraced in the movements of the sea.

The Big Atlantic cumulates and pours.

In these seasons of motherhood, versions of me are dying and making way for something new. Through it all, the Holy Spirit dances like the current. The Holy Spirit sees our pain and still rejoices as we become the version of ourselves God wants us to be. He wants to wash His graces over us like the Big Atlantic. They hold the power to transform me, if only I allow this to take place.

The light obedient gesture that let go of time.

I’ve spent many moments wishing for an easier path to heaven, but such a thing does not exist. God calls me to spend time lying in the sand with a posture of surrender. The soul of me remains as I feel the wildfire foam working around me. I am holier than I was when I felt the breeze in my hair, and I will continue for all my days to grow in holiness. Through every moment of my motherhood, I am changing. Maybe one day I will feel the thrill of sailing the surface again, but for now I accept my hidden yet still magical season of embracing the depths.

When I come out of this season, I will rise refined like the pebbles…

Streaked with wildfire foam.

By Anne Porter

Our poems

Are like the wart-hogs

In the zoo

It’s hard to say

Why there should be such creatures

But once our life gets into them

As sometimes happens

Our poems

Turn into living things

And there’s no arguing

With living things

They are

The way they are

Our poems

May be rough

Or delicate

Little

Or great

But always

They have inside them

A confluence of cries

And secret languages

And always

They are improvident

And free

They keep

A kind of Sabbath

Our poems are like the wart-hogs

When I came across this poem, this made me pause and chuckle. What do you mean my words are like wart-hogs?! They’re not the prettiest creatures! Even so, Anne Porter turns this idea into beautiful imagery.

They keep a kind of Sabbath.

There is a certain sacredness in everything around us, especially within us. You could look at the “poems” in this work and consider it a metaphor for our own selves. We are all different, and none of us are perfect. We all have our special qualities as well as our flaws.

We are the way that we are. God loves us for it and despite it.

He is the author of the confluence of cries and secret languages within us. How can we show our best selves to the world today, even in our wart-hogedness?

Deidre Braley is a poet, essayist, and editor. Her debut poetry chapbook, "The Shape I Take," was published by Bottlecap Press in December 2023. Her poetry has been featured in the literary journal The Way Back to Ourselves, and her poem "Do Not Preach" was the winner of their 2023 Storytellers Contest. She has also been published in The Truly Co., Vessels of Light Journal, Prosetrics, and Maine Women's Magazine, among others. Her weekly Substack and corresponding podcast, The Second Cup, offers theology and poetry for real-life people. Deidre lives in Maine with her husband, three children, and one grumpy Chinese Crested Powderpuff.

Lessons from a Tree

You can’t blow a tree down

with your breath

he said, from the back

of the car

as the world beyond the window

blurred into blues and greens and grays.

And we began to talk

about the way

trees have roots

like fingers

that dig and stretch into the dark

secret called

Earth until they

come across

another

whose fingers are exploring

terra incognita, too.

And when their knuckles twist—

married there, in the hidden

underworld—

they become stronger still,

impervious to the gusts

aboveground

so that the wind from a billion

breaths

is just a breeze in their branches.

In the contemplative

pause

of a four-year-old’s brain

I reach back

and work my fingers

into his small, sweaty fist.

Interview with Deidre Braley

What inspired you to write the poem?

One night, a terrible windstorm ravaged our town. On our drive the next morning, my then four-year-old son and I exclaimed over all the damage. Branches were strewn all over the road. Telephone lines were down. Lawns were littered with children's toys, broken fences, even a trampoline in the odd place here and there. There were plenty of damaged trees, too, but for the most part, they remained standing while so much else had succumbed to the storm. As my son astutely noted from his carseat, "You can't blow a tree down with your breath." In other words—a tree is very strong. It is hard to bring down. We kept talking and remarking on the landscape, but inwardly, my mind began a new dialogue about the metaphor at play here.

What does this poem mean to you?

All the time, I am gaining a deeper understanding about what kind of strength is available to us through community. In the most difficult seasons of my life, I have been utterly carried along by friends and family who have fed me, prayed for me, guided me, encouraged me. As someone who used to pride myself for being super self-sufficient, I am now intimately aware of the fact that we are designed to carry one another—and sometimes to be carried. There is beauty in this system, even when it's a complicated one. As a mother, I want my children to know that they too are interconnected with others, and to embrace it. I want them to understand that there is unique strength to be found in relationship with others, and that it's worth the long, slow growth it takes to build it.

How does your faith impact your poetry?

I believe that everything boils down to the state of our souls—that all of our lives we are learning to be both holy and human. My poetry usually reflects that in some form or fashion, because I guess that's what you'd call my "Roman Empire."

Why is it important for people to read poetry? What can they take away from it?

As I like to say, "poetry is for rebels." It is for the people who see things a little differently, or at least who want to. It is for the ones who suspect that there is more to life than what they can see at face value. It is for those underwhelmed by other genres and their black-and-white ways for talking about the things that really matter. Poetry has the ability to capture essence, and feeling, and instinct, and verve. It is not just flowery, rhyming phrases that are archaic and difficult to understand (at least not the good stuff). It is something that meets you directly in your humanity and transports you somewhere holy—that is, set apart from standard convention.

Thank you for your work, Deidre!

In honor of National Poetry Month, we are featuring poets that are inspired to write because of their faith!

Rose of Sharon is a Catholic author, educator, and poet who shares truth, beauty, goodness, and joy through her writing. She cherishes daily encounters with the Creator and crafting words to honor those embraces. She believes in the powerful connection between poetry and prayer and is most grateful to the Holy Spirit, who prompts her to pause throughout the day to recognize God’s light of love in the world. Rose of Sharon has published Offerings, A Book of Poetry, a collection of nature and faith-based poems.

Swaddle

Swaddle our poor souls, dear Mother

Wrap them good and tight

Alongside Jesus, may we lay

Deep into the night

Divine assistance we so need

Lest we flail away

Enfold us in your charity, snugly, so we stay.

Interview With Rose of Sharon

What inspired you to write the poem?

Once, in confession, a holy priest gave me an unusual penance. He told me to sit in a rocking chair and wrap myself in a blanket. He said to imagine the blanket is God’s love, and to rock and meditate on how much my heavenly Father loves me.

This penance naturally carried into my rosary reflection of the Nativity, where Mary, filled with motherly love, swaddled Jesus in the chill of the night. The love our Heavenly Mother has for Jesus extends to us, too! The Holy Spirit sent the image of Mary swaddling me, and I felt the spark to write this acrostic prayer poem.

What does this poem mean to you?

To me, it means I have security wrapped in the linen cloth of God’s profound love. The image of Mary swaddling me is most comforting.

I resonate with the theme of how she lovingly intercedes for us, bringing us close to her son, Jesus.

The prayer poem also reminds me that I can't do this on my own. I need divine assistance lest I “flail away” from God’s will.

How does your faith impact your poetry?

I draw inspiration from my faith when crafting my poems. The following passages from section 2500 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church are a source of motivation when I write.

The beauty of creation and the beauty of the truth of [man’s] religious tradition

complete one another and nourish the soul. Truth, beauty, and goodness are

inseparable, like the divine Persons.

The practice of goodness is accompanied by spontaneous spiritual joy and moral

beauty.”

In every poem I write, I strive to share what I, and the rest of the world, crave: the truth, beauty, goodness, and joy that is found only in God.

Why is it important for people to read poetry? What can they take away from it?

I think it is important for people to read poetry because, much like prayer, it invites introspection and reflection. Good Christian poetry is sacred art. It presents truth, beauty, goodness, and joy in a concise and artistic way that draws the reader into contemplation of the theme presented.

Whether they realize it or not, those who read poetry will take away a deeper understanding of not only themselves but also the Great Creator and his creation. Poetry helps us to transcend the ordinary and embrace the divine in everyday life, just as a good prayer life does.

Thank you for your work, Rose of Sharon!

By Gerard Manley Hopkins

Pure fasted faces draw unto this feast:
God comes all sweetness to your Lenten lips.
You striped in secret with breath-taking whips,
Those crooked rough-scored chequers may be pieced
To crosses meant for Jesu's; you whom the East
With draught of thin and pursuant cold so nips
Breathe Easter now; you serged fellowships,
You vigil-keepers with low flames decreased,

God shall o'er-brim the measures you have spent
With oil of gladness, for sackcloth and frieze
And the ever-fretting shirt of punishment
Give myrrhy-threaded golden folds of ease.
Your scarce-sheathed bones are weary of being bent:
Lo, God shall strengthen all the feeble knees.

Comes all sweetness to your Lenten lips…

Breathe Easter now.

Christ is risen! Lent is officially over and, with it, the mourning of his death. This is the season of celebration, so God calls us to end our fasting and draw unto the feast like bees draw to flowers for nectar.

Easter is within us because God has forever won salvation for us. Easter is more than just a season; it’s an attitude. Even when days still feel like the tomb, we can seek the abundance of graces God provides and ask Him to help us breathe Easter.

I know I want to spend this season embracing the joy even in hard times so that others can feel inspired. I pray that God inspires you too!

Happy National Poetry Month!

We are in the last two weeks of National Poetry Month, so we’re going out with a bang! Each remaining week I will be featuring a Christian poet’s work here in the newsletter. Stay tuned for this week’s guest!

Pray for the soul of Pope Francis

I’ve seen many opinions of this pope over the years, but at the end of the day he led the Church for over a decade. He will be missed, and we are called to pray both for his soul and the election of a new pope.

Would you consider leaving a book review?

If you have purchased my book, Fools for Heaven, would you consider leaving a review? It would help me out so much! Plus if you do leave a review, send me a message and I’ll make sure to mail you a handwritten poem :)

Through Christ,

Stephanie Petters

In college I took a creative writing course with a professor who I admire for being such a keen observer of the world; this was a skill she always wanted to teach her students. At the beginning of every class, she would ask us to share one thing that we observed that week; a detail in the world that struck us as interesting, and possibly worth writing about, in the moment. She would write all these details down on the whiteboard as each person shared them: a broken traffic light, the way a man walked with his dog through the park, a cinnamon roll that had extra frosting, etc. Our assignment of finding something, even the tiniest detail, trained our eyes to be open to our surroundings.

In our world, there is always an opportunity to be amazed. Even in the midst of chaos.

This is a habit I want to keep growing in, and I would love for us to grow in it together. Together, let’s bring back the art of noticing.

I’m going to start a weekly chat within the Substack app called “Weekly Gems.”

Why gems? The International Gem Society broadly defines gems as:

This perfectly describes the moments that God wants us to pay attention to… the moments make us pause and feel the beauty of God’s creation. A piece of heaven.

These moments and their beauty last within us as we carry them on the journey to heaven. They are created here in the earth, waiting for us to notice them, like gems.

I will be starting the first “Weekly Gems” chat next Thursday. In the meantime, I encourage you to begin noticing what might be a gem in your life: A funny moment shared between mother and son, a quote from a book or song, the way the rain fell today or the hat that a man in a coffee shop wore today. The sky is the limit; just think of what makes you pause and smile! Or even what makes you cry… whatever strikes your heart.

I look forward to chatting with you more personally in one week!

Through Christ,

Stephanie Petters

By William Cowper

The Saviour, what a noble flame
Was kindled in his breast,
When hasting to Jerusalem,
He march'd before the rest.

Good will to men, and zeal for God,
His every thought engross;
He longs to be baptized with blood,
He pants to reach the cross!

With all His suffering full in view,
And woes to us unknown,
Forth to the task His spirit flew,
'Twas love that urged Him on.

Lord, we return Thee what we can:
Our hearts shall sound abroad,
Salvation to the dying Man,
And to the rising God!

And while Thy bleeding glories here
Engage our wondering eyes,
We learn our lighter cross to bear,
And hasten to the skies.

He pants to reach the cross.

That is how desperately Jesus desired our salvation, even knowing the full scope of suffering he would face to achieve this. In his humanness, Jesus felt agony in the garden just thinking about what he knew what pain he would have to overcome.

Agony: anguish, torture, extreme mental or physical suffering. In Jesus’s case, the suffering was both mental and physical; the torture of what was to come caused him to sweat blood.

‘Twas love that urged Him on.

Sometimes I forget the gravity of my faith and what Jesus really has done for us. When I reflect on the events of the Passion, it’s humbling to remember that Jesus did it because he loves me. And he loves you too. He deeply and fiercely loves all of us.

If you’re struggling to dive into Lent like me, let’s use this poem as the first step toward carrying our crosses and meeting our lover in his suffering, because that is where we will eventually find the joy of the resurrection.

Of Wood and Word Happenings

I am back from my month-long road trip, so the listing for my book is back on my website! You can find Fools for Heaven here.

The book is also available on Amazon once again! If you already own a copy of it, would you please consider leaving a review? It would help me so much :)

Also, I just want to give a shoutout to my dear business friend, Kate Frantz. She is the owner of Thy Olive Tree and started a Substack newsletter called Catholic Business Buddy which is helpful for any author running their business!

If you’re looking to fill Easter baskets with beautiful Catholic books, check out her marketplace! And consider purchasing my book too ;)

That’s all for now. Cheers to a fruitful Lent!

Through Christ,

Stephanie Petters

By Saint Teresa of Avila

I gave it all, relinquished it all,

and in this way, I bartered:

my Love belongs to me,

and I belong to Him.

When the sweet Hunter

shot me and left me wounded,

when my soul lay panting

in those tender arms,

to balance out the cost

of a new life, I took this trade:

my love belongs to me,

and I belong to Him.

He pierced me with an arrow

smeared with the poison of love,

and my soul succumbed,

to be one with its Creator.

Now, I don’t want another—

to my God, I have surrendered:

my Love belongs to me,

and I belong to Him.

Each year Valentine’s Day reminds us of one fundamental truth: everyone wants to be celebrated. Everyone wants to be loved.

It’s the reason why people plan elaborate gifts, dates, and parties around this time of year. It’s why people send themselves flowers when there is no one else to send them. The reason for hugs and kisses, or tears shed over lost loved ones.

Whether we have someone to celebrate Valentine’s Day with or not, we always have God. In this poem, Saint Teresa of Avila describes a moment of ecstasy that she experienced with Love Himself. It was a moment more intoxicating than a woman’s climax during physical intimacy.

This is what God, the sweet hunter, wants for us. He never stops pursuing us for our love. Even when we forget to prioritize Him or blatantly ignore Him, He is always pursuing and waiting for us to turn around so He can shoot us with His arrow of Love.

Looking at my life in this season, I’ve ignored God too much.

I find myself often asking in prayer, “Lord, help me love you more.”

I want to love God the way Saint Teresa loved Him.

I don’t want another—

to my God, I have surrendered:

my Love belongs to me,

and I belong to Him.

Of Wood and Word Happenings:

I’m hitting the road soon!! I’ve created a list of all the areas I’ll be traveling to. If you live in one of these areas and would like to purchase my children’s book, Fools for Heaven, I’d love to personally deliver it to you.

This saves you money on shipping, and it will give me a chance to get to know you! Just comment here or send me a personal message to reserve your copy.

If you do not live in any of these areas, you have the chance to purchase on my website until February 19th. After that I will pause my listing until I return home.

As always, thank you for all your support :) happy reading!

Through Christ,

Stephanie Petters

Because my love is simple as a window
And knows no shame of original dust,
I longed all night, (when I was visible) for dawn my death:
When I would marry day, my Holy Spirit:
And die by transubstantiation into light.

For light, my lover, steals my life in secret.
I vanish into day, and leave no shadow
But the geometry of my cross,
Whose frame and structure are the strength
By which I die, but only to the earth,
And am uplifted to the sky my life.

When I became the substance of my lover,
(Being obedient, sinless glass)
I love all things that need my lover's life,
And live to give my newborn Morning to your quiet rooms,
-Your rooms, that would be tombs,
Or vaults of night, and death, and terror,
Fill with the clarity of living Heaven,
Shine with the rays of God's Jerusalem:
O shine, bright Sions!

Because I die by brightness and the Holy Spirit,
The sun rejoices in your jail, my kneeling Christian,
(Where even now you weep and grin
To learn, from my simplicity, the strength of faith).

Therefore do not be troubled at the judgements of the thunder,
Stay still and pray, still stay, my other son,
And do not fear the armies and black ramparts
Of the advancing and retreating rains:
I'll let no lightning kill your room's white order.

Although it is the day's last hour,
Look with no fear:
For the torn storm lets in, at the world's rim,
Three streaming rays as straight as Jacob's ladder:

And you shall see the sun, my Son, my Substance,
Come to convince the world of the day's end, and of the night,
Smile to the lovers of the day in smiles of blood;
For though my love, He'll be their Brother,
My light - the Lamb of their Apocalypse.

Since we began this month celebrating the feast of Mary, Mother of God, it felt appropriate to close January by reflecting on a poem about her.

So many people have started the new year in a way that they didn’t wish: sickness is running rampant, politics continue to divide people, and victims are still recovering from natural disasters. I have many friends who have had recent hospital visits. All of it is hard, and it can put a damper on the excitement of a new year.

If this sounds like you, I hope this poem gives you the same consolation it gives me.

The sun rejoices in your jail, my kneeling Christian,
(Where even now you weep and grin
To learn, from my simplicity, the strength of faith).

The paradox of weeping and grinning is a familiar one in the Christian world. Even with faith we are allowed to feel our emotions. It’s okay to grieve something or process pain. And yet we have the joy of knowing that there is Love looking down and the promise of heaven waiting. Joy: not a state of happiness, but the deep sense of turning toward God’s love in suffering.

The Virgin Mary knows this better than anyone. It is my life to die, like glass, by light. Throughout her time on Earth she allowed God to enter her even in suffering.

So if you are having a rough start to the new year, I hope Mary is a comfort to you. I know that when I look at a window now, I will always be reminded of Mary’s docility and God’s eternal light.

Through Christ,

Stephanie Petters

By GK Chesterton

If trees were tall and grasses short,
As in some crazy tale,
If here and there a sea were blue
Beyond the breaking pale,

If a fixed fire hung in the air
To warm me one day through,
If deep green hair grew on great hills,
I know what I should do.
In dark I lie; dreaming that there
Are great eyes cold or kind,
And twisted streets and silent doors,
And living men behind.

Let storm clouds come: better an hour,
And leave to weep and fight,
Than all the ages I have ruled
The empires of the night.

I think that if they gave me leave
Within the world to stand,
I would be good through all the day
I spent in fairyland.
They should not hear a word from me
Of selfishness or scorn,
If only I could find the door,
If only I were born.

I’ve always seen January as the month for the babies since I associate it with the annual March for Life in DC. Now that I have a newborn to take care of, the topic of babies seems even more prevalent. This is a short reflection, but I think the poem speaks for itself very poignantly.

GK Chesterton gives us the powerful perspective of an unborn baby who dreams of living outside the womb.

If only I could find the door. Lines like this force us to think about all the babies who are either waiting to be born or will never be born. This month, let us pray in a special way for all the unborn babies who desire one of the greatest goods on Earth: life.

And for anyone who has been impacted by the fires of California, we are definitely praying for you too.

Of Wood and Word Happenings

Today’s newsletter is a short one because I’m enjoying the coziness of staying inside with my family while fake snow falls around us. Yes, it’s 34 degrees in this part of AL and the rain is still falling as rain (although we can see small piles of snow which must have been left in the early morning on the roofs of houses around us!).

I’ll be here reading a bunch of poetry and working on some fun projects. Till next time!

Through Christ,

Stephanie Petters

The Child that played with moon and sun… is playing with a little hay.

It’s been a while since I’ve written here. The last stretch of my pregnancy was exhausting, but it led me to the joy of our youngest little boy born right before Halloween. Since then, I’ve been enjoying every moment that those tiny fingers wrap around mine.

I find it interesting to journey through this season with a newborn. I’m preparing for God’s arrival as a baby while taking care of a baby. Our God who is all-knowing and all-powerful came in the simplest and most vulnerable of ways. When we celebrate Christmas, we are celebrating this seemingly mundane arrival. In this season God reminds us that He is always inviting us to meet Him in this simplicity.

Leading up to Christmas, I put down all things writing and business because I found Jesus in the vulnerability of my newborn. This Advent I didn’t pour my time into any devotionals because I was meeting God in every diaper change, bath, and contact nap. It filled me with so much peace and joy that I hope to now channel into my writing as I pick it back up.

I know I’ve been in and out of this part of my life, but once again I thank you for sticking around. This time I’m not making any ambitious goals of how present I’ll be here. I’m just taking it a day at a time and enjoying myself. Let us be the wise men and keep seeking God!

Through Christ,

Stephanie Petters