As Whitney suggests, these fears are not the exclusive domain of eager Christian teens, but are part of the broader adolescent experience; many young people are viscerally aware of all the ways they feel they aren’t measuring up. Whitney’s anthology sees poetry as one avenue where adolescents—and even adults—might experience liberation from the hurtful designations others place on them, or that readers might place on themselves.

The anthology seeks to capture eight essential human experiences: seeking, loneliness, attitude, rage, longing, shame, sadness, and belonging. Each section opens with an introduction by Whitney, which helps contextualize the poems that follow and make them more approachable for readers of all ages. Her reflections also further peel back the underpinnings of the anthology—underpinnings we might call spiritual or theological. 

Take, for instance, Whitney’s introduction to the anthology’s final section, “Belonging,” which states: “You are already enough, these poets say. You belong. You belong to our beautiful, broken, bewildering, wondrous world.” By priming her readers to look for these validations, Whitney predisposes them to approach the poems in a certain way—reading for community and for affirmation of one’s belonging and the beauty and wonder of the world. 

Of course, the real meat of the anthology comes in the individual poems, which represent a compelling array of styles and perspectives.

“self-portraiture” by Fariha Róisín thoroughly captures the spiritual goals outlined in Whitney’s introductions. The poet states “my greed for love, / for my own perfection, / reeks of desperation, / but it is me and i am holy / in my unholiness, so / wonderfully messy, / that I can’t help but begin to win myself over.” The idea of winning one’s self over—despite or maybe because of one’s imperfections—is a compelling spiritual concept. For me, it recalls the insight I first encountered in feminist theology: that, often, pride should not be considered the primary sin (particularly for women, those in other marginalized groups, and those marginalized along the lines of both gender and other identity markers). If we excise it too completely, we might instead sin through denigration of the self that God created.

“Holy / in my unholiness,” the words of a Muslim poet, are words we might hold up as a worthy interfaith declaration—one I’d be happy to hear any of the youth with whom I work declare about themselves (selves made in God’s image, and selves that are both, to borrow a Lutheran framing, simultaneously sinners and saints). 

“Survival Guide” by Joy Ladin similarly encourages readers to embrace themselves. The poem declares: “No matter how old you are, / it helps to be young / when you’re coming to life, // to be unfinished, a mysterious statement.” It insists we “Learn to love the awkward silence / you are going to be.” The idea of being in process is resonant with the adolescent experience, the human experience in general, and the Christian idea of sanctification—growing in holiness over time. Instead of resisting the “embarrassment of life,” or the reality of being incomplete, Ladin’s poem suggests that we ought to lean into this reality.

Angélica María Aguilera’s “in critique of modesty” joins these other selections to confront the ways teenage girls in particular are encouraged towards self-diminishment or self-denigration. Critiques of modesty are especially important for Christians to heed, since Christian uplifting of modesty and humility as virtues has often been done selectively and harmfully. Responding to assertions that she should be more modest, Aguilera writes: “I want to yell the way belligerent American men/ do…. I want nationalism for being /…. I want shirts with my own face on them… / …. I want schools to make children recite an allegiance to me each morning.” The poem ends with the desire “to be seen everywhere // unafraid.” This poem evokes bravery and a desire for visibility—particularly in those readers who feel pressured to stay in the shadows. Bravery is a resource that God might cultivate in us—that angels might call forth from us!—and that is often required to fulfill God’s purposes in the world. The desire to be seen, in contrast, is not one we might immediately identify as Christian, but it is one that Jesus fulfills throughout the Gospels—whether he’s spotting Zaccheaus up in a tree, seeing Nathanael under a tree before they meet, or recognizing truths about the woman at the well that others did not.