Welcome!

Though this blog is no longer active, for over a decade I shared weekly reviews of excellent children’s books here. So this site is a full library of books worth exploring.

If you’re new here, I encourage you to Browse the Library, where you can search for books by age, genre, format, season, and so much more! You can also look through the Bookshop for recommendations, or you can pick up a copy of Wild Things and Castles in the Sky, a collection of essays all about books, books, and more children’s books. (I helped co-edit this, and I think you’ll enjoy it.)

You could also visit the About page to learn more about why I started this blog, and what I think makes a book worth sharing. And you can read all about the Big Story right here. It’s the only reason I do any of this.

If you’re interested in what I’m up to now, please join me at the The Setting, my free Substack publication. I’m still recommending good books over there, but I’m sharing a few other things these days as well.

Thanks so much for stopping by!

The Time Has Come

When my daughters were small, I felt it acutely: my life was no longer my own.

Theologically speaking, of course, it was never my own, but when I was in my twenties and newly married it was easy to believe that maybe it was my own, at least a little. But then came our eldest daughter, sweet-tempered and unaccustomed to the bright, loud world, and with her came the realization that no matter what happened, I would never not be her mother again.

My life was not my own: it had become bound up with hers. My days were, in those early years, oriented around her feedings, naps, and diaper changes. And I loved it—despite feeling little draw toward children before having my own, I was surprised to find that I loved both pregnancy and having a newborn. Yet I was so deep in the sea of sudden motherhood that I didn’t stop often to ponder the waters surrounding me. In fact, I didn’t stop often at all.

Now, the days are different. I have hours during the school days where I do sort of get to plan things my way. I’m no longer hedged in by nursing or nap schedules. And yet—that daughter needs a brace for her sprained thumb, and this daughter needs to get picked up early for driver’s ed. Another will need my help with her homework later, and the other can’t find her ballet tights anywhere. Also, the cats are out of food.

My life still isn’t my own, and there’s a richness and beauty to that.

If I was fully submerged during those early years, I feel tossed about now, never quite sure when I’ll enjoy a stretch of calm waters and when I’ll be sent spinning from school to the doctor’s office to the radiologist to super-quick-dinner-prep-and-consumption to ballet class to gymnastics to home, where I’ll sort of puddle and say, “Whew!”

Until someone sidles up to me sweetly and asks, “Mom, can we talk?”

This is a season of holding the door open; of not committing to too many things even though, as one friend has said, having all your kids in school and no day job seems to ignite a neon sign above you proclaiming, “ASK ME.” As in, ask me to volunteer for/contribute to/organize that thing.

I love this season with my daughters, too: everyone is old enough to do pretty much everything, and for a few more years, at least, we’re all still home together. These years feel swift in more ways than one: they keep me moving from one thing to the next faster than feels comfortable for a meditative homebody like me, and yet they’re also slipping by so quickly.

So, I find that I’m always looking for places to lighten the load—I want to savor these years and to be able to say yes to more of those last-minute “ASK ME” to pitch in and help moments. And here’s where this is going and what it has to do with book reviews: for the past year or so I’ve experimented with posting new reviews both to this blog and to my new Substack, The Setting. And it turns out that Substack is great—I really, really enjoy the format, and I hope you do, too! It feels so hospitable to me, and on the administrative side, it’s a lot easier to get a post published, from start to finish, on Substack than it has been over here on the blog. It also turns out that trying to keep up both the blog and the Substack is trickier than I’d hoped it would be.

So I’ve decided—at last—that the time has come to (alas!) retire this blog.

But what does this mean? This blog will still be here—it hosts almost eleven years’ worth of reviews, so I hope it can still be a library of good books that you can rummage through when looking for those just-right titles. But I won’t be posting any new reviews here—those will be over on Substack. If you’d like to receive those (as well as my occasional essays and other nonsense) directly to your email , you can subscribe for free right here.

This blog has been such a delight to me over the years, and I’m certainly sad to step back from it further. But I do hope you’ll join me on Substack, where the book recommendations still flow freely and the format suits this stage of life more comfortably.

And for those who have been reading for years, I can’t thank you enough. I try to thank you often, but it’s never really enough: thank you.

Emily of Deep Valley

I am acutely aware that I am, by this point, clearly abusing the whole idea of summer re-runs, but bear with me: September is a time when all systems are running at full steam here, and I’m barely keeping up with the back-to-school sign-ups (why are there so many), the new routines, the Things My Daughters Need (again, why are there so many), etc. So I’ll ask for one more week before I resume writing new reviews.

But! Where better to close than with a little Maud Hart Lovelace? I mentioned earlier that my daughter and I spent a week in Maud’s Mankato, Minnesota, this summer—the hometown behind her fictional Deep Valley—and I couldn’t resist sharing this post with you, which is not just for Emily of Deep Valley but for all of Lovelace’s Deep Valley books. Which make excellent school-year pleasure reading, by the way. May you love them as much as we do!


When I finally picked up Mitali Perkins’s lauded Steeped in Stories, I was delighted to find that six of the seven children’s books she lists as her favorites were my favorites, too. But best of all, the seventh—Emily of Deep Valley—was a book so brand new to me that I’d never even heard of it. I’d read the first few Betsy-Tacy books when my girls were very small, but apart from that, I knew nothing about Maud Hart Lovelace’s work. And I’d certainly never read Emily of Deep Valley.

That, my friends, has been remedied—and swiftly!

Perhaps it’s too simplistic to refer to Maud Hart Lovelace as a “Minnesotan L.M. Montgomery,” but that’s the most concise way I can think of to send all you Anne of Green Gables fans out in search of this book immediately. I’ll start there: if you love L.M. Montgomery’s books, look up Maud Hart Lovelace post haste!

Emily of Deep Valley, by Maud Hart Lovelace | Little Book, Big Story

She’s best known for her Betsy-Tacy books, but what I didn’t realize is that the Betsy-Tacy series, much like Montgomery’s Anne series, follows its characters into adulthood. Emily of Deep Valley is the stand-alone story of Emily Webster, a girl just graduating high school a few years after Betsy and Tacy. She feels on the outside of her friends, who are all heading off to college while Emily stays home to care for her grandfather.

This is a story rich in themes of sacrifice and love, one that challenges readers to stop looking over the fence at the next green field and start cultivating the soil they’re standing in. Emily keenly feels the boundaries placed about her, and yet she learns to flourish there—ultimately getting to know and care for a community of Syrian refugees that many in her town have overlooked.

Emily of Deep Valley is a sweet story, yes, but its roots go deep: Lovelace asks meaningful questions about race and relationships (Emily’s first love interest is most emphatically Not a Keeper) and true friendship. And it’s one that will send readers—in our house, at least—into the rest of Lovelace’s books, eager to read them all.


Emily of Deep Valley
Maud Hart Lovelace (1950)

Prayers of a Parent

This week’s summer rerun was originally published in September of 2021. Since I wrote it, several good books for and about teens have been published, and while I haven’t read them all, I’m encouraged by the wisdom and study going into them.


When our first child was a baby, I did not have to look hard to find parenting advice. Strangers offered it unsolicited; moms at church were eager to share their hard-won wisdom. And the books were everywhere: whether I was learning how to introduce my daughter to solids or troubleshooting potty training, I never struggled to find a manual meant to walk me through it.

But as my girls have grown older, the topical resources have grown thin. I’ve found books on homeschooling, sure, but books on raising teenagers? Not so many. Most of the Christian books I’ve found about adolescence onward have to do with body-related topics, like puberty or purity. I’ve found few willing to offer us a grace-filled, big-picture view of how to faithfully parent our daughters through these last years together at home.

Maybe, my husband and I speculated, everyone’s eager to write about those early years because they seem fairly cut-and-dried compared to these later years. When our daughters were little, parenting felt like planting seeds in neat rows. Weeds cropped up in the garden, sure, and slugs ate a handful of seedlings the minute they emerged—but those remaining sprouts of faith and obedience were full of possibility. We planted and plucked up new weeds and anticipated the harvest.

Prayers of a Parent, by Kathleen Nielson | Little Book, Big Story

Now that our daughters are older, tending the garden takes more deliberate labor. It is enjoyable work—if we follow the garden metaphor, it is work I gladly volunteer for summer after summer—but it is demanding: we hunt for pests, trellis vines, and stand beneath the midsummer sun, watering each bed by hand. At the peak of summer, the plants don’t always look like they’re flourishing. Many times, we give into the temptation to sit on the porch with a book rather than work in the garden. Now that the growing season is in full swing, the tender weedlings we missed last week now tower over our crops, their roots so gnarled and knotted that removing them takes an effort of almost surgical precision.1

As we move from one phase of parenting to another, we’re finding that we need skills we hadn’t needed before, that parenting takes less “training” and more talking (and a lot more listening). And that our daughters differ so wildly from one another that a book whose guidance helped one would almost certainly be useless for the next.

So I notice that I rely less on parenting books now than I do on prayer.

Prayers of a Parent, by Kathleen Nielson | Little Book, Big Story

Kathleen Nielson clearly gets this. Her Prayers of a Parent series consists of four volumes aimed at four different stages of a parent’s career: young children, teens, young adults, and adult children. These are slender books filled with prayers for specific topics or issues our children may face or that we may be called on to shepherd them through. Her prayers are beautifully written, poetic even, and each one is anchored in Scripture and accompanied by a short reading. And each volume deals with issues specific to each season of parenting, an approach I find heartening, because it acknowledges what I’ve long suspected: parenting doesn’t really end, it just changes.

I have wondered sometimes if the reason it’s hard to find books on parenting older children is that this stage seems to rest so heavily on relationship: our relationship with our children, their relationship with God, and our relationship with him as well. And so I think Kathleen Nielson is onto something here. Any approach we take to raising older children has to begin with a deep and trusting relationship with our Father. That is where all parenting starts, but as our children grow, we feel that more acutely. We may tend the garden, but he is, ultimately, the one who causes the growth. He is the one who causes our children to flourish. Nielson’s prayers remind me of that each morning, as they lift my eyes from my own concerns for my kids and focus my vision again on the one who loves us all.

Prayers of a Parent, by Kathleen Nielson | Little Book, Big Story

Prayers of a Parent (series)
Kathleen Nielson


  1. I’ve noticed that anything I write that I find at all clever was inevitably flavored by something else I read long ago. In this case, I was well into my gardening metaphor and feeling pretty great about it when I remembered that Kelly Keller had written a beautiful piece that already ran along these lines. I heartily recommend it! ↩︎

Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm

This week’s summer rerun was first published in November of 2021—the first year all four of my daughters entered school.


That first week of September, I dropped all four of my children off at school and drove home in an empty minivan. Ordinarily, an empty minivan is a treat: a chance to put on a podcast or some music I want to listen to, or to stop for coffee and not share with anyone. But that day, I paused at a four-way stop and thought, Oh. This is normal now. This is every school morning. I didn’t put on a podcast.

What I did was spend that morning at the beach. I spread a picnic blanket on a boulder right at the water’s edge, set out my notebook, Bible, and cup of coffee, and spent the whole morning watching the water, the clouds, the sea birds. Since my eldest daughter was born, thirteen years ago, I’ve always had a small daughter with me during the day. We homeschooled for a time, and they were all there, all the time; during quarantine, we were all together, all the time. And now, during the school days, I am on my own.

I figured I’d be ambivalent about this—both very sad and also, as a staunch introvert who has never minded spending time alone, very excited. And as I sat on that boulder until my coffee was gone, reading and watching the gulls, I felt both of those things: a deep sense of grief over the season behind us (oh, but it was sweet), and a thrumming excitement for the one before us.

Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm, by Alice & Martin Provensen | Little Book, Big Story

That afternoon, I picked up all four girls from school—the littlest looking disheveled, as only a brand-new kindergartner can—and back at home we ate blackberry almond muffins as they told me everything. All at once. They got a day’s worth of conversation into a slim forty-five minutes, and I soaked it all in. The eighth grader had homework (“Already!” she groaned); the fifth grader, also an introvert, had quiet things to tend to in her room. But I grabbed the littlest girls and Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm, and the three of us squeezed into the hammock in the backyard for a good, long read-aloud.

Let me tell you: if you need to build a happy memory with your kids, I’m not sure you can do better than Our Animal Friends. It has everything! Copious illustrations of animals—all shapes and kinds—with their personalities distilled brilliantly into a few short words; humor (“Willow is not interested in umbrella plants”); and even, by the end, a moment of poignant sadness for “the animals that were.” Alice and Martin Provensen have created a book that is hospitable, and through it, they welcomed us into Maple Hill Farm and gave us a connection to the lives lived there. Their illustrations are warm and fun and so . . . pleasant is the word I want, I think. There is something comfortable about them.

Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm, by Alice & Martin Provensen | Little Book, Big Story

Later I found each of the older girls curled up with this book in turn. They are now in the season of algebra and orthodontia, but their reviews were glowing, which gives me hope: even as the currents of our days begin to distinguish themselves into separate threads, we can still share this. We can still laugh at the antics of Big Shot the Rooster and admire Willow’s placid beauty. This picture book reminds us that we haven’t outgrown picture books yet.


Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm
Alice and Martin Provensen (1974)