In the quiet moments when life feels heavy, when the answers do not come easily and our hearts are tired, we instinctively turn inward. We search for meaning, for healing, for a way to hold everything we feel. Some of us pray. Some of us write. In addition, some of us discover that the two are really just different expressions of the same deep longing—to connect with something greater, something holy, and something whole.
In A Journey of Faith and Reflection, Elisabeth Anne Frewin invites readers into a space where prayer and poetry flow seamlessly together. Her words are deeply personal, drawn from a life lived with faith, hardship, and hope. She writes not to impress, but to express. Not to preach, but to reach—across the page, across experiences, across pain—to offer comfort, understanding, and a shared sense of divine presence.
Why Poetry? Why Prayer?
Poetry and prayer both begin in the heart. They are shaped by what we feel more than what we know. They are where we go when normal speech does not quite cut it. When Elisabeth writes, her words are like a soft breath in a loud world. Her poems are not just literary exercises—they are spiritual lifelines. They echo questions we have all asked: Why is this happening? Where is God in this? Can He really hear me? In addition, through these questions, her writing becomes a sanctuary. A place where pain is processed and peace is slowly, quietly restored.
In her poem “Healing”, Elisabeth writes:
“Frayed at the edges, stitches coming loose; / my life is like a broken tapestry, half done…”
How often have we felt that way? Unraveled. Messy. Beyond repair. Yet her next lines do not dwell in despair. Instead, they move toward restoration—toward the hope that what is broken can be mended. That what feels hopeless can still be held together by divine hands. That is the power of words. That is the power of prayer.
A Personal Faith, Expressed with Honesty
There is a beautiful vulnerability in Elisabeth’s poetry. She does not shy away from sorrow or confusion. She admits when she feels lonely, when she feels like a burden, when she questions her purpose. In “So Little in Return”, she writes:
“I ask a lot, I know, / I do so little in return. So?”
A line lands with weight— because we have all felt it. That guilt of asking God for help again and again, wondering if we have offered enough in return. Elisabeth does not offer theological resolutions here. She simply offers herself. Her honesty. Her heart. In addition, in that honesty, we find healing. Because sometimes what we need most is not the “right” answer, but the shared recognition that we are not alone in our questions.
Prayer as Poetry, Poetry as Prayer
Many of Elisabeth’s writings blur the line between a poem and a prayer. Some are structured, rhythmic, and lyrical. Others are short, direct, almost whispered. However, in all of them, there is intention—an openness to encounter the sacred.
Take her poem “My Prayer”, which reads more like a quiet moment of surrender:
“May God / Grant me / His Grace / His Peace … I’ll wait / On Him / Forevermore.”
No big words. No complicated phrasing. Just a simple, honest plea. It is the kind of prayer that might come in the middle of the night, in a hospital waiting room, or during a long walk when we can no longer carry everything alone. Her writing reminds us that prayer does not need to be perfect. It just needs to be real.
A Space for Reflection
Reading Elisabeth’s poetry is not like reading a textbook. It does not demand your intellect as much as your presence. It asks you to slow down. To listen. To feel. This is especially important in a world that moves fast. We are often encouraged to get over things quickly, to move on, and to power through. However, healing does not work like that. Neither does faith.
Elisabeth offers an alternative rhythm—one shaped by scripture, prayer, poetry, and stillness. Her work invites us to sit with our emotions, to bring them before God, and to trust that He is big enough to hold them all.
Encouraging Us to Find Our Own Words
One of the quiet gifts of this book is that it does not just encourage reading—it invites response. Elisabeth’s vulnerability opens the door for others to express their own experiences, their own prayers, and their own poetry.
You do not have to be a writer to do this. You do not need the “right” words. You just need to start. Even if it is messy. Even if it is just one line.
Faith Isn’t Always Loud
Elisabeth’s work is a reminder that spirituality does not always have to be loud or showy. Sometimes, the deepest faith is lived quietly—written in journal pages, whispered through poems, carried in small prayers throughout the day.
This kind of faith does not always seek answers. It seeks presence. Comfort. Understanding. In addition, sometimes, that is more than enough.
Letting God Meet You in the Margins
You may not find faith in a cathedral or during a perfect church service. However, you might find it in a poem about missing your family. You might feel it while reading about someone else’s fear, and realizing it mirrors your own. You might recognize it in a quiet prayer written decades ago by a woman you have never met—but who feels like a friend.
That is what makes A Journey of Faith and Reflection so moving. It is not a book that tells you what to think. A book makes space for you to feel, to question, and to heal.
It is a reminder that God can meet us in the margins—in the poetry, in the pauses, in the personal pages where we dare to be honest.
There’s Power in Putting it on the Page
Whether you are in a joyful season or a hard one, Elisabeth’s words remind us of something vital: that healing often starts when we name what hurts. When we write it down. When we speak it aloud. When we bring it before God in our own words. Prayer and poetry are not separate paths. They are different ways of walking toward the same hope.