Seventeen years ago, I was consumed with people’s needs. As a public school ESL teacher, I gave my students confidence to speak, met with my families in their homes, taught English classes that spanned the generations, and won grants for bilingual literature.

Fifteen years ago, I taught Sunday school, played keys on the worship team, served snacks for events, and looked for those who were unable to help themselves.

Thirteen years ago, we loved on the homeless in our community, fed our neighbor kids who requested to call us Mom and Dad (we gently declined❤️‍🩹), found larger resources so we could help meet even larger needs, and gave our things away.

Twelve years ago, a new feeling started growing—a feeling of resentment at the needy, resentment at their lack of gratitude, resentment at those who wouldn’t help, and resentment that we were seemingly the only ones who cared enough to do anything.

Eleven years ago, I broke. I was lost in a spiral of anxiety. I had said my first real no, and it had not been well received. I had multiple broken relationships and felt every Sunday the death sting of a hate-filled glare that carried the truth of 1 John 3:15.1

Ten years ago, I filled a journal with real-life scenarios to practice this new B word (boundaries). I cried every day.

Eight years ago, the Lord revealed the pride underneath all my service and the constant lies I told as a people-pleaser. My horizontal sin was because of my vertical sin. Cue a fresh round of tears.

Seven years ago, I received a trigger that sent me into eleven days of panic attacks. My small group offered to pray for me but also said, Please go to the doctor! My doctor referred me to a counselor, and three sessions later, I had new tools and a calmer heart. (The fear of regression was real, but this, this was a minor bump in the proverbial road.)

Five years ago, my words came pouring out. The three-hour version of my story became one hour became thirty minutes.

And then the poems came.

I had found thirty poems in my journals from that season and within two months time had added one hundred more. I passed what seemed to me like a manuscript on to twenty-five generous friends.

Four years ago, I pitched my book to Moody Publishers, who then asked for a formal proposal. In the end, they declined, but the process left me with an idea of an event. With poetry. And music.

Three years ago, I wrote one song to be placed at the end of every chapter.

Two years ago, I published An Ocean Without and shared selections of the poems and songs with about seventy-five friends and family. And then shared them at a library. And another. And at a farmer’s market. And then a church. And another.

One year ago, I was invited to share my story at a church in Wisconsin. And another church locally.

Last week, I got to share it again with another local seventy friends and family.

This week, I received an email with a church’s interest—as well as an email with a church’s decline. (‘Tis the nature of the beast, folks.)

This fall, I’ve been invited to share it at a church in Ohio.

What a gift. Our stories are the most intimate things we can give to others. They do not simply share our personal experiences, but rather they showcase the humanity we hold in common. And they engage the heart while waking up the mind.

I cannot even believe that the person I was a decade ago is not the person I am today. I was happy with the direction of my life and was not looking for change. I was a good person2. Who had terrible boundaries. And I found out the hard way that—

I look forward to sharing a video trailer of the An Ocean Without event, Lord willing, in my next post. It may even represent some of your own story. 3

The Cultivate Retreat: Rooted Edition

Two weekends ago, 60+ faithful creatives gathered in Greenville, SC, for nourishment and refreshment in our writing lives. We didn’t know just how deeply our souls would be touched, how many tears we would spill, and how greatly our hearts would keep expanding at the sight of each new but familiar face. The community at The Way Back to Ourselves is so rich, so intentional that most of our attendees had already interacted in virtual ways, which made meeting in person all the sweeter.

When Kimberly shared that the theme for this retreat would be “Rooted,” I knew The Village Poet had something to say. And I knew it needed to be said with another person from this Way Back Village. So for the last few months, Edward and I have been working on a spoken word duet that we called “The Rooted Village Poet.” But we couldn’t actually practice until we were in the room together. And man, once we rehearsed it for the first time, all fears dissipated. We had something to say! Getting to perform it for our group that opening night was a highlight of the weekend for me. We included Scripture, Tolkien, children’s literature, and a Greek folk tale, and the audience was with us. They whooped and cheered and generously engaged as we shared our very hearts with them (it’s as close to rap as this girl will get—and I need it in my life🎤).

Two years ago at the Cultivate Retreat, we sang a song Hannah and I had written. This year, Chelsea Fraser had a song about belonging that was exactly what we needed. My friends Melissa and Emily and Hannah are such examples to me of using their gifts to make others’ shine, and it was my great pleasure to help Chelsea’s song absolutely sparkle.

Ben Palpant’s session was an absolute highlight for me. His message was so vulnerable and raw that tears just kept streaming down my face; he offered us himself and his self was received. When I grow up, I wanna be like you, Ben.

I do blame Mariana Mosli, though, for opening the floodgates during her session prior to Ben’s. She asked us to consider what it would be like to be in disagreement with a person and only ask them questions—questions not intended to judge or even guide but questions that come from curiosity, questions that bring clarity and understanding. Then she had us do an exercise that I had no idea would be so difficult—we had to partner with someone in the room and share something we were wrestling with, struggling with, uncertain about. The other person could only respond using questions. Not advice, not me-too’s, not platitudes—just questions. This exercise has stayed with me in many conversations these last ten days, and I imagine I will have many more opportunities to practice this kind of caring for another person.

On my flight there, I sat next to a delightful woman named Jeanie, and as we were sharing about our upcoming weekends, I shared about my book An Ocean Without, which led us into a conversation about people-pleasing and boundaries, which led to bigger emotions and eventually tears. “I think God had you sit next to me because I needed to hear what you had to say,” she announced as we were landing. I found a copy of the book in my bag and gave it to her. May it be a blessing to her as she considers her own story. What an encouraging way to start the weekend!

And then on the way home, I ran into a woman that I nannied for when I was in middle or high school. What a happy reunion! She even surprised me by saying I had recently been mentioned in their family group chat because of a particular snack I used to make the kids that apparently lives on😅 We kept each other company until the plane finally took off after midnight🥱, and I got to share the story of God’s work in my life once more—beautiful, heartfelt bookends to a beautiful, heartfelt weekend.

An Ocean Without Performance

On July 15th from 6-8pm at Hope Church in Kalamazoo, I’ll have the opportunity to share An Ocean Without in its fullest form—a woven evening of poetry, music, and the story of God’s faithfulness through people-pleasing, codependency, anxiety, and learning to live within the good limits He gives us. I’ve become convinced that stories often reach places that advice alone cannot. They invite us to see ourselves honestly, to consider something anew, to hope again, and to remember that God is still at work in ordinary lives.

We’ll also be recording portions of the evening so that churches and community groups considering this event can get a glimpse of what it’s like before inviting me to share with their own people.

If you think this evening might encourage you—or someone you love—I would be honored to have you there. And if your church or another group might benefit from this message, I’d love to start that conversation too.

Here’s the link to the event; I hope to see you there.

This post has a story, some ways I am practicing using my gifts in the flesh, a few house portraits and podcasts, a highlight from another Village Poet, and TWO VERY IMPORTANT INVITATIONS. Please read—or skip, if you must—to the end!

I am an editor. Senior Editor for The Way Back to Ourselves. I edit individual poems and full manuscripts. It is work that I love.

You know how you can be really good at something but your kids have no idea so then they need help with something, perhaps the exact something that is your area of expertise but they don’t know to ask you and even if they did, they may not ask anyway because you are their Mooooooom? Me too.

My nine-year-old was writing a book this spring. About a bear and a squirrel becoming friends but still having fights (he may be working out a brotherly relationship, ahem). And he recalled that I had given tips to his sister when she was writing a story, so he asked me these glorious words: “Mom, would you edit my book?”

Let my worlds collide.

I had every intention of doing it. Soon. Super soon. Just as soon as I finish…well, a few hundred tasks in front of me.

He waited patiently. For daaaays. I kept meaning to get to it. But the Tyranny of the Urgent kept winning in my task list. After a few days of prioritizing the people who pay me or the tasks that absolutely cannot wait and are very important thankyouverymuch, I recognized what was happening. My son was being pushed aside in favor of My Work.

But as I am always telling others, if you can’t use your gifts to serve the people right in front of you, you have no business trying to serve “the world” at large.

Now, I’m all for kids learning to wait, parents not being an on-demand service; it’s important to me that my kids see me as human—with limitations—too. But it’s equally important that they see their own place of honor and priority in my life.

The next morning, I woke up early—and edited the book. It was pure delight. And when he saw the notes in his Google doc that day, his eyes lit up. The work he had done was important! And good! And worthy to be edited! He dove straight into those edits and loved his story all the more.

So did I.

Spring Happenings

One of my editing clients lives in Florida but came up to Michigan to walk at her graduation. So naturally, we got coffee! Hi, Kayla! (Here’s her Substack; check her out!)

I ran into an old college friend in Indiana (I’m looking at you, Steph!). She’s homeschooling through a program called Classical Conversations. We have CC here, and I’ve been guest-poet-ing with their high school juniors four times a year for the last three years. And I had the opportunity to bring The Village Poet to their (awesome!) class in Indiana! What was particularly special about this class is that I knew several of them from 8-10 years ago when we lived there. They’ve grown a bit since then.

I have a whole packet of poems that I bring with me that walk through different reasons to write a poem, different formats, and even two poems in three different stages of editing from rough draft to final.

Podcasts

I’ve gotten to be on three podcasts:

1. With fellow Way Backer Edward all about village poet-ing

2. With Michigan-based Dawn where I got to read a poem about a tree and share its story

3. With Editor Amy (will be posted soon) where we talked about ways outside of social media to share your creative work.

House Portraits

I’ve had the honor of painting two house portraits in the last two months. This work is always stretching for me and always profound for the receiver. So much of life happens in your home. To have it memorialized through watercolor is to commemorate a lifetime of memories.

I received a text from one of my clients (hi, Alison!) last night. The house I painted for her grandparents when they were moved to an assisted living facility (I shared it in my last newsletter—the one that tried to get lost in the mail) stayed with them until his death. Every person who visited noticed the house and had an opportunity to reminisce the life that had been lived there. Today, the painting is joining the family at the funeral home as they say goodbye to a life well lived.

This painting below is for a similar reason—the elderly man died a few months ago and his wife just moved into an assisted living facility.

This house below was in honor of a 50th wedding anniversary. What do you get the person who has everything? A house portrait makes a great gift!

Around the Village

The part of the show where we give you in-the-flesh inspiration to use your gifts in your local community.

by Megan Willome

I was thrilled when my artist friend, Nan Henke, asked if I wanted to do a combined poetry-painting show at a local gallery. It would be fun to create in tandem and to stretch myself. What I did not expect was that this opportunity would allow me to introduce myself to my community as a poet.

Poetry is a quiet pursuit, and until this collaboration, most people didn’t know it’s my main thing. Plus, I live in a small town, and we all get used to knowing people in the limited ways we know them: you’re a church friend, you’re a gym friend, you’re a parent friend from my kids’ school. Now, thanks to the cute cards we print for each show and hand out as invitations to our various friends from our various spaces, they say things like, “Wow! You’re a poet? That’s weird, but kinda cool!”

Poetry can be intimidating. Some of my friends might be too shy to read one of my poems online or in a book, but they’ll come to the show, for friendship’s sake. Once they’re at the gallery, Nan’s art — focused on our little burg’s landscapes, our trees, our critters — they’re drawn in, maybe even enough to read one of my poems mounted on the wall.

After our latest show, on tiny wildflowers, two different friends snapped photos of tiny wildflowers (aka weeds) in their yards and sent them to me, saying, “Look what you made me notice!”

This morning, Nan texted me a new painting: a bee in a sunflower. It’s for our third collaboration, a spring show called The Birds & The Bees: love poems. I can’t wait to tell people about it, to have them come to First Friday Art Walk and look and maybe even read.

Two Invitations

1. The Way Back to Ourselves is hosting our third annual retreat in Greenville, SC June 19-21. We have a few tickets left, so if you’ve been thinking about it, now is the time! We will have a free Community Dinner, a Makers’ Market open to all who attend, a Rabbit Room keynote speaker (Ben Palpant!), a morning guided prayer walk, times of worship (including a song written by one of our very own), and just so so much more. If you consider yourself a writer…or wish you did, you belong here!

2. On July 15, I will be performing An Ocean Without complete with poems and songs in Kalamazoo, MI. You can find more info here. I’ve been desiring to offer at least one more in this area for all the friends who have not had a chance to see it. I also continually find myself in need of a “promo trailer” for this event to help churches who don’t know me determine if it’s a good fit for them. So I’ll have a videographer and photographer there to record the whole thing! I’m hoping this will be a full house, so your RSVP would be helpful!

If you made it to the end, you’re a hero. Grateful for you as a reader and a friend. Always. Now, let’s go love on our villages!

What was lost has been found!

Late last week, I received the most horrible news from the most wonderful person. The custom watercolor house portrait I had painted in honor of her grandparents’ 65 years of living in their home—the one I had shipped out a month ago—had not yet arrived.

My heart sunk. I stopped getting tracking on my packages because it costs so much more and has never been actually needed. I went to the post office to inquire if there was perhaps a spot hidden in the back corner for packages that had some kind of error with them. You probably already know what they said. Desperation really can make a person hope for anything. I sent out a few SOS texts to friends asking for prayer. If God cares for lost coins and misplaced USB drives (ask me how I know), I know he cares for this. He knows exactly where it is. Then, I put it out of my mind (to enjoy my kids’ enchanting musical adaptation of Anastasia) until today, when I planned to start over. I could use practice on those skies, after all.

Then, I received the message I had hoped for and couldn’t bear to hope for all at once:

IT ARRIVED! My eyes welled with tears. In part, for the hours of my life I had just received back, but also in a greater part for the insignificance of it all. In the grand scheme of eternity, a lost painting is certainly not the end. And yet, God cared for me even in this. It reminded me of this verse from when God cared for the Israelites in their slavery:

“God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob. God saw the people of Israel—and God knew.”

Of course, God doesn’t have a covenant with me to help me keep track of my artwork. (Though, apparently, it’s an area I could use assistance in.) But I know this is true: God hears us; he remembers all that he has promised; he sees us; and he knows.

So would you take a moment to rejoice with me? What was lost has been found! And now can be enjoyed as it was intended for.

Of course, this is in no way what I intended to share with you today. It’s just what happened to be bubbling up and over.

Sheet Music

You may recall a song I wrote for Jonathan Auxier’s Peter Nimble, a middle grade fantasy about a blind boy who becomes the world’s greatest thief, somewhat Oliver Twist-esque…but more fantastical.

One of my students asked if I had the piano music for it. I didn’t. Because, you know, I made it up. But that means that all those notes were in my head and could maybe, just maybe, find their way out onto the page. I worked on it, sent it around to a few piano teachers and students, and turned it into an upper-beginner/lower-intermediate piece that was an instant hit. The numbers tell where your fingers should be (1=thumb, 5=pinky). I offer it to you here. I have never done this before. Please print it out and give it a try—and let me know what you think!

Okay, technically this is also NOT what I was planning today. Words, man. I shared a few words at our spring program this weekend and started my little speech with: “Because I am a woman of many words, I wrote these ones down to keep me on track. You’re welcome.”

Apparently, I didn’t make an outline before I came here today.

What I really came here to tell you today:

There are seasons when you can feel the invitation to come back to yourself.
To your voice.
To your creative work.
To what is steady and true.
To strengthen the root system beneath your creativity and your faith.

This summer, The Way Back to Ourselves community is hosting an opportunity that feels deeply aligned with this invitation to build strong spiritual roots and grow rich creative fruit that beautifies the Kingdom.

Cultivate 2026: ROOTED is an in-person creative retreat taking place in Greenville, South Carolina, from Friday, June 19 to Sunday, June 21, at First Presbyterian Church. I’m part of the planning team, and it’s been shaped with a lot of intention around what it means to live, create, and lead from a place that is grounded and nourished.

Over the course of the weekend, we’ll be joined by Stephen Roach of The Breath and the Clay, musician and author Amanda Held Opelt, and Ben Palpant, author of An Axe for the Frozen Sea with Rabbit Room Press, along with a group of thoughtful teachers and guides within the greater TWBTO community, Solum Press, and Clayjar Review. There will be space for teaching, writing, prayer, and conversation, as well as room to slow down and listen more closely to what is unfolding in your own life and work.

My offering in particular includes some spoken word inspiration, leading us in worship, and a guided workshop helping you grow your work within your own communities (you will be pleasantly surprised at what you discover).

Some other special features of the retreat include:

• Makers’ Market on Friday and Saturday (an invite to participate will be emailed on May 15 to all registered attendees; there are only 20 spots—make sure you’re signed up before then to claim yours!).

• Special accommodations, decompression space, and sensory bags for those with both visible and invisible disabilities.

• FREE community dinner around a shared table on Friday evening after official programming.

• Optional guided Saturday morning meditation in a nearby park.

• FREE professional headshots that you can access after the retreat for your own use.

There are fewer than 30 seats remaining due to space limitations, so if something in you is already leaning toward this, we encourage you to register here today.

We would be honored to share this space with you and come beside you as you answer God’s call to create and become more rooted in your life and community.

Register for Cultivate here!

Writers have writerly friends that they feel constantly proud of (and occasionally intimidated by). Please celebrate the birth of these new books from my friends with me!

• Courageous Divorce by Alisha Roth: a tender book about an unexpected divorce by a friend and fellow church member from my young mom-ing days

• God Is For Me: A Biblical Character Study of God’s Heart for the Sexually Harmed by Lisa Radcliffe: Lisa and I met at a women’s conference we both spoke at. She disarmed me with her hilarity and then broke my heart with her story.

• Under the Samán Tree by Rosa Gilbert: a precious poetry book about belonging to two countries, two cultures. It enlightened me and inspired me, and I can’t wait to hug her for real at the Cultivate Retreat.

• Prodigal Daughter by Deborah Rutherford: I’ve just received this heartfelt poetry memoir and can’t wait to start it. Deborah is a treasure, and I get to share space with her as well at the upcoming Cultivate Retreat. (See, you really want to join us, don’t you. The FOMO’s hitting pretty hard, eh?)

I’m off to take a kid to band practice, get further in a book I’m writing an endorsement for, finalize parts for a Christmas choir medley, and hopefully sneak in a walk. That’s not too much to ask of one afternoon, is it?

Your friendly Village Poet,

Last month, I shared that my song tied with an AI submission for a local writing opportunity. It sparked a lively discussion via comments, emails, personal texts, and face-to-face conversations these last 30+ days. Shew. It turns out I’m not the only one trying to discern the proper use of mechanical intelligence1 within education and the arts. I had the opportunity to speak to three different high school groups during that time as well, and those students had much to offer to the conversation. I thought they would be for the new technology—that my angst over it would show my age—but wow, did they bless me with their thoughtfulness, their level-headedness, and their own concerns.

A few things rose to the top that I’d like to offer for your consideration.

Things to Consider Before Using AI

1. The overuse of AI will further feelings of isolation. If you’ve ever needed help designing a book cover, creating a logo, writing a script, mastering a song, editing a novel, brainstorming ideas, listing pros and cons, or any other number of things, you used to have to find a real person. Now, with the click of a button, you can make a fairly-decent-above-mediocre product that does the trick. Awkward, putting-yourself-out-there conversation avoided. Money saved. Self-sufficient image boosted. Isn’t this great? No, I contend it is not. If I have no needs—or can ask the machine to meet all my needs—then I have no need of community. So we think. Of course, our communities are more than simply the tasks we ask of them. But if I never go for that walk with a friend to think through a dilemma (looking at you, SB) or never make myself vulnerable to another person’s no or never delay my gratification by waiting for someone’s reply, I will never know what community I am missing.

2. AI is best when used for learning rather than doing. This was a key takeaway from my high schoolers. When we use tools to help us learn, to help us do things for ourselves, to help us better ourselves, those tools are useful to humanity. (And isn’t this the dichotomy that we saw happen within YouTube itself—so many DIY videos versus so much time-suck.) When we use tools to do things entirely for us, we lose. I used AI to help further my brainstorming of a topic once. It was so thorough that the next time, I just gave it my topic and had it brainstorm for me. It was so easy. Why would I ever take the time to think through some difficult topic on my own when my AI of choice can do it in seconds? One of my writerly friends said she asked AI to edit a paragraph for her. It did a great job, and she instantly felt the pull to never have to edit again! But she intuitively knew that if she gave her writing over to AI, she would lose her voice. So the next time, she asked it a specific question: how to make a specific aspect of her writing better. “Don’t do it for me; help me understand what it’s missing.” This is using a tool to make you better.

3. When we give our mental processes to AI, we lose the power to use our minds. We find ourselves at the intersection of laziness and productivity. We want to do the least amount of work that produces the largest result. We do this by having modern appliances (God bless dishwashers and washing machines); we do this by driving vehicles (though, rather than our lives being easier, we now can do more things and go farther and find ourselves in need of the next aid of, say, teleportation). But those are physical acts, and perhaps it is a good use of technology to help us not have to spend all of our physical energies on mundane tasks. (Katy Bowman2 writes about such things as the importance of stirring and the act of rolling down windows and what humans lose when they automate all of their physical processes through her many books and her Substack. I read several of these when my kids were little and we were developing our own family culture around movement and the outdoors.) But what happens when we give our thinking powers over to a machine? What happens when we don’t participate in the acts of considering and pondering and wondering? What happens when we ask something else to do that work for us? We lose the ability to do such thinking for ourselves. We lose the ability to discern whether the information placed before us is accurate or is aligned with our belief system or is indeed thorough. And for those of us in the writing world, we will eventually lose our voice. This is why all AI-generated wording sounds the same. (See article below for AI “tells.”)

4. When we rush the process—the act of creating—simply to have a finished product, we become like those building the Tower of Babel, who live in a frenzy of reaching the top. We say, I have no limits. In essence, we say, I am god. My husband made a linoleum print of a rabbit riding on a turtle3 with the Latin phrase festina lente carved around the edge. The phrase means make haste, slowly. Or as Pa Ingalls said about the railway workers, “They’re never in a hurry, and they’re never standing still.”

   

   Let the task take the time it takes. The end result is not the only aim when working on a project. Often, the way you get there is just as important. Take your time. Make some mistakes. Enlist the help of someone who has a skill you don’t. This is not admitting defeat; this is admitting your own God-given limitations.4 And that is good.

5. As a Village Poet, I implore writers and artists to use their gifts within their own communities first. But maybe our villages need their own reminder to look within themselves before seeking the celebrity—or the machine. Sure, sometimes someone couldn’t possibly be asked to do one more thing. But most often, that person will feel blessed that you considered them, that you thought they had something of value to contribute to your life or community. So have courage. Put your need out there. Look at someone you know. And ask.

Links for Your Perusal

• Phylicia Masonheimer recently posted her company’s AI policy. It was poignant and practical. Read it here.

• Do you ever wonder if something was written by AI? You don’t need a special tool. This article lists the main “tells” of AI. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. (And as an editor, I see it.)

• This article was written by a homeschool dad in the vein of C.S. Lewis’ “Learning in Wartime.” It’s poetic and fiery and should be shared. I mentioned it in my previous post and commend it to you again now.

• This one was also included in last month’s essay and is an encouraging reminder of all that humanity has to offer—that a machine never could.

Ways I Am Turning Toward My Community

1. Top left: sharing face-to-face time with other writers and artists by attending TWBTO Cultivate Retreat in SC in June5

2. Top right: creating an 80-square-foot paper mosaic of a beachy sunset with a group of students to be used as a photo booth backdrop

3. Bottom left: painting a commissioned watercolor house portrait6 for an elderly couple who just moved away from their home of 65 years

4. Bottom right: hosting an Easter Seder meal with neighbors, celebrating all the ways Jesus fulfills the Passover

In Closing

I have more personal updates to share related to writing and editing and performing, have more songs on my YouTube channel, have notated one of my kids’ songs for some upper beginner piano level, have podcast interviews to share, a cute story about my son’s first editing needs, stories from other fellow Village Poets to inspire us by, new books from friends, and so much more. But breakfast calls and kids are thumping down the stairs and this is enough for today.7

6

Regarding the watercolor house portrait: I love to paint these. They are so personal, each painting filled with such memory. If you or someone you love has recently moved or wants to remember a grandparent’s house or any number of reasons, please either reach out to order via message, or you can order through my Etsy shop. Please enjoy this step-by-step process of the painting:

The night before the group vote on the song, I learned that two other songs had been submitted. (How exciting to know that there were other songwriters in our midsts!) And that both had been generated using AI. (I took back my previous excitement.)

My stomach flipped. How can I possibly beat a machine? An engine that knows everything? I know nearly nothing in comparison! I cannot produce by myself something as high of quality. I cannot use instruments or tools I’ve never even heard of. I have no access to a voice other than my own and my children’s, and certainly no one else was offering to help.

When the votes were tallied, my song tied with one of the AI songs. A conciliatory prize indeed. The group will keep trying to find a song to represent them. In the meantime, I pivoted and wrote a poem expressing the ache that had settled into my heart. Not the ache of losing to humanity; I’m well-versed in that. Rather, the ache of losing our humanity.

It is Charlotte Mason herself who challenged me about the chief end of education.

“The question is not ‘how much does the youth know?’ when he has finished his education but ‘how much does he care?’ And about how many orders of things does he care? In fact, how large is the room in which he finds his feet set? And, therefore, how full is the life he has before him?”

To be human is to learn to care. This is something we will always hold over any machine.

I originally ended the poem with “will never,” but I’m not sure that is true. It actually might happen. In many ways, it is happening. But will it work? Will it be effective? At very least, in the creative arts, no.

Daniel Bair wrote an excellent article on this topic that I commend to you. He concludes it with this paragraph:

“Therefore, let us not recoil before a ‘greater mind’ nor yield to the lure of intellectual sloth. Rather, let us pursue learning with humility and delight, confident that the formation of a single human soul is a matter of far more moment than the speed or scale of any device. For if we judge all excellence by the magnitude of its output, we shall scarcely venture a thing at all. But if we remember that our humanity itself is shaped in part by the slow labor of discovering truth, goodness, and beauty, then we shall continue reading, writing, and thinking with abandon in that pursuit. In so doing, we may yet find that the concerns cast by the shadow of our new contrivance only bring out with more radiant clarity the irreducible worth of our own small but steadfast lamps of learning.”

Are there one million great reads about the implications of relying on AI at this very moment? Then let’s make that one million and one. Cuz I have one more to share with you from Freya India in her essay “You Have to Be Human”:

“AI has to churn out the observations and opinions of other people, of a world it has never touched or experienced. You don’t have to do the same. So go outside, say yes to things, be scared and excited and uncomfortable. Feel your hands shake before you speak, your legs ache after a long day, your face flush when asking her out. Experience it all, the real world with all your senses, the fear of getting lost, the relief of finding your way, the hands of another person. Look people in the eye and learn about the world from living in it.”

Around the Village

This seems like the right time to showcase what others are doing around their villages. To know that hearts and souls are being poured out for the sake of those around them. Enter Deidre Braley. Writer of all things ordinary and whimsical. She’s an editor, author, poet, and friend. We get to share a house at an upcoming writer’s retreat, and I simply cannot wait!

Here’s what she had to say when I asked for her experience using her creative writing gifts within her local community:

How are you entering into the creative arts of your local community?
Please reach out; I would love to use your words to encourage my readers.

More Songs for Kids

I’ve continued writing songs based on the books our group of 100 students has been reading. Our November book was Daughter of the Mountains by Louise Rankin. It follows a girl on an adventure that involves a prophecy, a robbery, and a journey down the mountains and into another country.

This song is based on a Tibetan folk tune and is a back-and-forth between the young girl Momo and the women of the book who are looking out for her. And it is my great joy to feature my then-10-year-old daughter’s voice as the voice of Momo.

It feels necessary that I tell you what that that shiny blob is her golden dog.

Click here to watch on YouTube.

From This Village Poet

For me, I got to share the message of The Village Poet with a local elementary school and later a middle school. This included sharing poetry and an original song, as well as words carefully crafted to inspire these young people to be a Village Painter and Village Babysitter and Village Mechanic and Village Encourager (and!). It is a message I hope they are taking action towards even today.

A friend told me my book meant so much to her that she framed it (it: the book!) open to her favorite poem.

Remember that song I wrote for congregational worship based on the book of Ephesians…only to find out that it’s definitely a song more for kids than grownups? Well, I went around to a couple Sunday School classrooms introducing the kids to the song and came up with some motions for the chorus; it’s the catchiest part!

I’ve got a watercolor house portrait in the works, 80 square feet of a paper mosaic for a photo booth that was finished last night (though after studying the picture, I have oooooone final tweak left to make…probably), and joy of all joys, a church in Ohio that has invited me to come share the message of An Ocean Without with their congregation in October.

I am asking the Lord for one more performance opportunity in the Southwest Michigan area this summer; could I come to your church?

OH. AND P.S. JONATHAN AUXIER HEARD MY PETER NIMBLE SONG AND REPLIED THAT HE LOVED IT. MY FAN GIRL TANK OVERFLOWS.

I spend some of this week reflecting. This year, I invited my children to take a more active role, giving them age-appropriate questions and promising them a hot drink out with their mama to discuss it afterwards. They did and we did, and I feel like I know them in deeper ways because we were willing to take this time. Ah, to know and be known.

Our wedding anniversary is in the Week Between the Years as well, so it’s a perfect time to pause and consider if we are living our lives the way we claim to value, if we are headed in a direction we can be proud of, where we have seen God grow us, where we have struggled…you’ve reflected before; you get my drift.

If you’d like to use the questions we used, I have them in a Google doc; click the link below. There are 3 sets of questions, each front and back—the first I used for ages 9-10, the second for ages 13-15, and the third for a married couple. Use these questions as they are, or pick and choose the ones that apply to your family!

Reflections & Intentions

A Creative 2025 for This Village Poet

I also spent time reflecting on my own year creatively, and I’d like to list out a few things that stood out to me. You know how you do really small work, every single day, and you feel like you’re never making any headway? Yeah. Me too. This list tells me that the little work is adding up!

So here goes. In 2025, I…

• lead 10 poetry workshops, 2 watercolor workshops, and 1 pressed flower art workshop.

• performed my poetry and music 11 times (almost all as paid gigs, which we little people know is a big deal).

• was commissioned to complete 4 custom watercolor house portraits.

• sold my art at 3 craft shows.

• spoke at 2 conferences.

• was interviewed on 2 podcasts.

• wrote and recorded 21 songs (!).

• learned how to 1) play the melodica, 2) play actual songs on the harmonica, 3) notate original music for a choir (and the choir performed it just last Sunday!!).

• was promoted to Senior Editor for The Way Back to Ourselves, started consulting with , and currently have 3 writers I am supporting.

• got coffee with, went on a walk with, or had a phone call with 23 writer friends (extrovert who?).

• sang on our church’s worship team 28 times.

• and for some random fun facts, I judged 2 poetry contests, got a tattoo using my husband’s art, purchased recording equipment, and helped paint at 3 friend’s actual houses (not watercolor lol).

Two of Those Songs

I keep wanting to tell you about the songs I am writing, but they are coming too fast for me to share in my once-a-month-or-less format. Maybe I’ll catch up one day, but you can always keep up by subscribing to my YouTube channel here:

Sarah's YouTube Channel

I feel particularly proud of this first song because it’s the first one I did completely on my own, without my dearest Hannah holding my hand. I will need her forever and always obvs, but I’m practicing some toddling without her and am not falling down too hard.

The Road

“The Road” started as a poem for my poetry book. It ended up getting nixed from the book (wah) and finding its way to the bottom of my hasn’t-been-used-but-i-love-it-too-much-to-fully-delete-it pile. I stumbled upon it this summer when I was digging around in the pile, and as I read it, I suddenly remembered that I had written a little tune for it! It came back instantly, and I sent it to Hannah who immediately affirmed that this is something and wrote part of a chorus to fit between the verses. Ah, the sweet gift of collaboration. It’s a folky tune with beautiful harmonies and a deep cello that keeps it grounded. It’s only missing a harmonica, which I feel like would have to make an appearance if it ever were to be performed live.

I’ll let its YouTube description tell you about it:

Listen to "The Road"

Light in the Darkness

“Why haven’t you written us a Christmas choir song yet, Sarah?” Choir Director Emily complained to me last year. I fumbled around for an answer. Maybe something to do with I’ve never written for a choir before and I’ve never written a Christmas song before and I know nothing of the male voice and a few other minor hesitations that rose to the top. And yet here we are, with a poem turned choral arrangement. It has another Hannah fingerprint in its ending, if you must know.

I have a nice YouTube recording of it below, but singing it live with a 20-person choir last Sunday quickly became the biggest highlight of my entire year. What joy! What triumph! What delight! I’ve submitted it to a larger choir in our area in hopes that they might consider singing it next year. If so, I’ll have to learn or collaborate in order to write parts for the orchestra. May God make it so! I hope it blesses you, too.

Listen to "Light in the Darkness"

In the Words of Poetry

Allison is a dear friend whose words span continents to reach me—and now, you. She is musical and poetic, thinks deeply, and wrote these words as a gift. I continue to reference them in moments when I wonder if any of it matters. It, in fact, does.

The Village Poet

A poem by Allison Giles
For Sarah Steele

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

O village poet,
Our chanticleer—
Awaken us to
this morning,
Calling us from our slumber
To see the beauty
In a shared meal
A walk to school
Or commute to work:
A thousand shining souls
Reflecting the Father
(whether they know it or not)
And moving about
Their daily dance
On this brown dirt,
	Raising children,
		Waking,
			Sleeping,
		Working,
	Walking and
Running to eternity.

Around the Village

by Deborah Rutherford

I was whining to myself (and God) about not getting to go to exciting out-of-town conferences.

This was on the cusp of me stalling about visiting a writer I knew online, who was having her book signing 20 minutes from my house. “No more excuses,” I said, and I went.

That turned into a wonderful friendship and multiplied beyond my wildest dreams. This was author Whitney Akin, who then stepped out of her comfort zone to work with author Amanda Hayhurst to arrange a dinner for 30 Christian Atlanta Women writers. That’s when I discovered how many of us there are. Five of us live nearby, and we started meeting for coffee.

Then, inspired by Sarah Steele’s call to be embodied in our communities, I prayed about where. The local library came to mind. I reached out and proposed a workshop, getting three of us local authors to lead it. It coincided with the library’s local author expo, featuring a plethora of authors of all genres. In 2026, I will give a full-length workshop again at the library on “How to Write A Devotional Book.”

My town doesn’t have an indie—let alone Christian—bookstore, but we do have the Heirloom Market Co. When I saw they carried religious books, I reached out about carrying my book there. I just signed my first wholesale vendor contract! I am in talks to do a live event there.

In my 1990s spoken-word days in Los Angeles, I hosted events featuring performers at a coffee house. My new dream is to do this with Christian performers, as well as a local writing workshop retreat. It’s amazing what can happen when we say yes to God. What I consider small or insignificant, in His hands, is more than I could ever imagine.

As you come out of your sugar coma and down off your present-induced high, I hope you will take some time to reflect. I suspect you have done more than you realize. Perhaps life has been harder than you expected…and you survived. Perhaps it has been a more successful year than you expected…and you didn’t even know until you stopped to count up the moments.

In any case, remember that the village right around you is filled with people who need your gift, and chances are great that you need theirs. You don’t have to look too far.

Life as a Village Poet is full. Is fulfilling. Using my words to guide and inspire students, to create songs both heart-felt and silly, to consider deeply the direction a community should go, to say here’s something real that I made; might it bless you? These are all gifts.

I was privileged to speak and lead worship at a women’s retreat a few weekends ago. My friend Hannah and I have written a few songs for congregational worship (that our church actually sings, no less!), and as I was preparing these sets, I considered adding one or both to the rotation. But I needed to check my heart first. Would it be self-serving to lead worship and include my own songs? Would it be saying, of all the worship songs in existence, these two are clearly in the top?

Old Sarah’s heart would have felt the pride and superiority of having written something that others used.

But as I placed myself before the Lord, telling him I never need to use these songs again—that if the temptation of pride is too great, I want nothing of it—I sensed a clear answer.

If I truly believe these songs are gifts from God, typed and strummed and plunked out, however inadequately, and if I truly believe that their message is true and is worthy of singing, and if I truly believe that we are to share what God has given us with those in our physical lives and not just in the seemingly-safer digital world, then I must offer these songs to these women. If Hannah and I don’t offer them, no one will. God gave them to us, and if we don’t use them, we will have buried the good gift that came from him.

God has something to say about that in the Parable of the Talents. He actually has rather harsh things to say to those of us who are burying our gifts under the guise of humility or deference or straight-up shame. Sit with that for a moment. That it is wrong for you to withhold the gift you have been given. I say this not to heap shame where shame abounds but to give you the super boost that you need to begin!

As I prepared to do my first poetry and music performance in March 2024, I was singing around my house and walked past a mirror and was suddenly struck with a great moment of horror. I was asking people to come look at and listen to me for 90 minutes. Me, with the ordinary face. Me, with the church-choir-but-no-AGT-solo-act voice. I studied my face in that mirror and was suddenly transported back to middle school when I first realized that my face was not, in fact, symmetrical. I had tried to learn how to smile more on one side of my mouth to help even it out, but it had never succeeded. I sang another note into that mirror and watched as a tear rolled down my face. Who do you think you are? I sank to the floor, overcome with fear and shame, and wept. I guess I would have to cancel the event. I must have read God wrong. He surely wants more beautiful, more polished vessels.

And then a burning bush came into my mind. God had just called Moses to do the biggest work of his life. A work that would change a people forever. And Moses couldn’t believe the call.

He said, Who am I? and God replied, I am with you.

Moses said, What if others ask who sent me? and God replied, I AM WHO I AM.

Moses said, What if they won’t believe me? and God met him even there and used the very ordinary staff that was in his hand to prove his never-ending, over-all-creation power.

And then Moses said the very thing I was speaking to the Lord in that moment: I’m just not that good. I’m not good at talking. I’m slow, and I get nervous and stuck. Sometimes I ramble and then no one knows what I’m talking about. My words are so ordinary; who could possibly hear them and be changed? And God, indignant that Moses was maligning his very own creation, said,

Who placed a mouth on humans? Who makes a person mute or deaf, seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now go! I will help you speak and I will teach you what to say.

I continued to weep, because I knew that God was calling me to do this thing and I knew that I was just not good enough. Not eloquent enough. Not poised or polished or prepared enough. And yet, my God is. He made this mouth and this face and this voice and these hands, and he was not asking me to do this alone.

I know what it is to serve in my own flesh, to attempt things in my own power. I wrote a whole book about that.

But to serve and give out of love for God (not fear of self or man) gave me access to a power and assurance I had never before walked in.

So I told my story through poems and songs in March 2024 and have told it again and again as other churches and libraries and individuals have allowed me.

And a few weekends ago, when I was wrestling with using those songs for our corporate times of worship, I didn’t break down and cry. I just said, Okay, Lord, I will do it. Thank you for this gift; I will use it.

Around the Village

I’m starting a new segment of The Village Poet, where I desire to showcase how other Village Poets are using their gifts in their local communities.

At the Cultivate Retreat with The Way Back to Ourselves this past June, I shared a survey I had taken of the attendees. I had asked the question, How are you using your words or art in your local community? At the end of my presentation, I shared not one, not two, but three slides filled with a few of their answers, and I want to share those slides with you here. Be inspired! Don’t be jealous of how gifted other people are. Be encouraged that these are ordinary gifts being used in ordinary ways, and somehow God turns them into something extraordinary.

If you’re inspired by this list to put your own beautifully ordinary gift into your community, consider partnering with us at The Way Back to Ourselves for more encouragement. We gather in the flesh annually (find the next one here), and you will be changed. But don’t wait until next summer; get ready to read our fall journal To the Mountains! coming in the next few weeks!

Two New Songs

I would like to end by sharing with you two new songs. They’re both written for kids.

Let Us Walk!

The first is from the book of Ephesians. One of our pastors asked if Hannah and I would be up to writing a song set in Ephesians as a sort of theme song for our upcoming sermon series. We were honored by the request, and as we mused and pondered and studied the book, a little phrase came to me: So let us walk, walk, walk in a manner that is worthy, worthy of the calling of God! I played with it, had my kids listen, and sent a voice memo to Hannah. The children loved it, though they said it had VBS vibes (I was not offended), and Hannah equally enjoyed it, though she wondered if it was actually better-suited for kids. If both of my primary critiques say the same thing, then it’s probably true.

And thus, “Let Us Walk!” came to be. It’s all acapella and stomps, snaps, and claps. So while we won’t be singing it during the church service any time soon (but can you imagine the grownups doing motions to the chorus?!), do let me know if any kids in your life give it a listen!

Listen here!

These Words Are On Fire

The second song is from Books in Harmony Vol 2. This year’s homeschool co-op books are all based in different countries. (You might recall that last year, I gave myself the challenge to write a poetic reflection of each book we read. The poems eventually turned into the songs from Books in Harmony Vol 1.) Though I love writing music to pair with the poems, this year, I felt compelled to find a folk song from that country, as a way of honoring authentic, artistic work already done, and then pairing that tune with words specifically for the book we read.

This year’s first book was called Words on Fire by the gifted Jennifer Nielsen and is about a young girl in Lithuania during a time when they were at war with Russia. When Russia banned the Lithuanian language and started burning their books, the infamous book carriers arose, sneaking into neighboring countries to purchase books in their heart language and smuggling them back into Lithuania to be used in underground classrooms around the country. To say it was inspiring is an understatement.

The tune I found is called Winged Hussars and is about a time when Lithuania and Poland joined forces in a war (how terribly authentic to our book!). I put my own words based on the book to it, and 10 of our homeschooling mamas sang it in front of our 100 kiddos.

Give it a listen!

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Everything costs money.

Claiming a booth at a local market (small fee); selling goods in local shops (50% of every sale); renting a facility to host an event (large fee); using Zoom for consultations without the 40-minute restart problem (IYKYK); and now that I’ve exceeded the 500 mark, even sending an email will come with a fee. Frankly, it’s a fee I just am not ready to pay.

And so, I have moved to Substack.

My email newsletter has historically been updates on my poetry, songwriting, and watercolor work, which has made me shy away from Substack as these are more personal and less universal topics. I speak to you, the individual, from me another individual. I am not attempting to gather a large following or to have deeply intimate conversations in this digital world.

I want my biggest work to be where my body is—in my house, in my neighborhood, in my church, in my community. I want to be known as someone who has time for others in the flesh. Who isn’t so busy trying to live outside of her body that she misses the ones right next to her.

And yet…

I do love to have conversations with people outside of my living room, people I can’t run into on my daily walks—poets and painters and songwriters who are serving their own villages that I may never see but have much to learn from.

I have loved sending a monthly (ish) email that directly communicates with people who have encountered my words or art who desire to stay connected. I can’t bear the thought of abandoning the emails altogether, and our budget can’t bear the thought of supporting another thing.

So here I am.

Why The Village Poet?

At a conference several years ago, I met a kindred spirit named Laura Lundgren. I was still in the musing stage about the village-ness of our callings, and it turns out, she had been as well. Shortly after, she sent me an essay she had written back in 2019. Here’s an excerpt:

Seeing the mass of women writers, I realized my writing was easily duplicated. I don’t have a particularly interesting testimony that would make me a leading voice on a certain topic. I don’t have a degree or a book or a specialty subject that I write about regularly. I’m just another woman with an internet connection and a head full of words.

Instead of seeing that as a reason to stop, though, I began to see it as a reason to rejoice. What if God has placed women all over the world with a hunger for Scripture and a passion for clear communication? What if every church needs a writer like that? What if, instead of competing with other women writers or seeking a larger platform for my writing, I became the “village poet” for my friends and neighbors and began to see other writers as my peers and friends?

Read Laura's essay here.

I was INSPIRED. When I left social media for my writing in December 2023, I wrote a poem called “The Village Poet” and promptly typed a copy to send to Laura, grateful for her peripheral influence in my life.

Later, Laura and I were texting, and I mentioned how God was still using those words she had written all those years ago in the lives of the many people I have since encountered and that even though she wasn’t formally writing anymore, she should still be encouraged. She replied with the fiery grace of a writer that she was still writing, that in fact, the words she had composed supporting more paper options for teachers in their small school had inspired and motivated the powers that be to see their need and do something about it, that all writing is worthwhile writing, especially writing that is bringing about change, and that even if that change is just in her own heart, IT IS STILL GOOD.

I stood corrected.

So I am here, but I’m mostly HERE.

I look forward to sharing the things I am doing in my community. I’ve got poetry talks with local high schoolers, songwriting endeavors for our homeschool co-op (first song last Friday; can’t wait to share the story behind the song!), songwriting for our church (wrote my first song for a choir to sing, and Lord willing, more congregational music to come), speaking at writers’ and women’s conferences, artisan markets with meaningful conversations, published poetry, podcast interviews, and who knows what else the Lord will bring my way?

I desire to share these things because they are a beautiful work God has given me to do, and the creative process culminates in sharing—if I never share, it will be like taking this good work and burying it in the sand.