The Ten Books I Missed the Most

Weekly Notes

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It’s been a long year. Not just because of constant sickness, house renovations, financial uncertainty, and the political circus in our nation’s capital.

No, it’s been a long year because 60 boxes of our beloved books have spent the past 12 months sitting in our basement, gathering dust (and mildew).

Yes, there are vastly bigger and sadder problems in life (including my own). You are perfectly within your rights to weep the world’s smallest tears for me. Nevertheless, I have missed my books. They are the tools of my trade. They also are my friends, whose wisdom helps me do the work I do and navigate my way through life.

When we first moved into our new home a year ago, we brought 90 boxes of books with us, thinking they would stay in boxes for a few months at the most, just until we’d finished fixing up the family room and turning the sunroom (the one with no heat, sketchy wiring, and uninsulated brick walls) into a proper library. But then, in short order, unanticipated problems with the house emerged and Beautycounter went under, which meant the library fell to the bottom of the priority list. It remains there to this day.

Some books—mostly fiction—did come out in the summer, when we finished our family room. A few more made an appearance last spring, when I temporarily had a little study in the attic. But in June, for various reasons, I had to abandon that study, and my theology books went back in the boxes. Since then, I have done my writing in whatever room contractors and children weren’t occupying. If a need for a particular book arose, I headed down to the basement and dug through dozens of boxes, stacking and restacking them as I went, until I found the object of my hunt (which I didn’t always manage to do).

It has been … less than ideal.

Last month, however, we finally completed the lead abatement work in the room we had decided would be my office. Two weeks ago, we got the Ikea bookshelves we had purchased for my office assembled (the Ikea shelves from my old office in Pittsburgh were too decrepit to make another move). Then, one week ago, at long last, my wonderful books went on to their shelves.

Not all our books are on the shelves, mind you. I only have so much room in this office, so about 40 boxes of books remain in the basement. But my most beloved, most important, most used books are now with me as I type, and I couldn’t be happier.

So, this week, instead of doing a Q&A, I thought we could celebrate this much anticipated reunion by taking a little walk through my office bookshelves, as I share with you the 10 books about faith or culture to which I have most missed having access.

A quick note before I begin: Two books are not on this list because I never was apart from them. My Bible and both my copies of John Paul II’s Theology of the Body (the 1997 version from Paulist Press and the 2007, Michael Waldstein edited version) have spent the last 12 months going wherever my computer has gone. They actually entered the house in in a box marked “Essential.” Also in the box were tax documents, passports, and other critical family papers. So, that tells you where those books rank. Now, for the rest.

1. The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis

To say I love C.S. Lewis or that I am a fan of C.S. Lewis doesn’t nearly capture the relationship I have with the man. For the past 30 years, he has been one of the most influential mentors in my life, with his books and letters profoundly shaping who I am, both as a Christian and a writer. The very top shelf in my library is my C.S. Lewis shelf. It contains 37 of his books, including some of his critical literary scholarship, as well as every collection of his letters I have been able to find. I’ve read them all many times. To have all those books out of boxes is a joy. And picking any one of them as the most essential of the lot is a near impossible task. But, if I must pick, I pick The Screwtape Letters.

For those of you who haven’t read it yet, The Screwtape Letters is a fictionalized series of letters written in the voice of a senior demon (Screwtape) to a junior demon (Wormwood) about Wormwood’s attempts to lead one particular soul to Hell. The methods Screwtape encourages Wormwood to employ aren’t flashy. There are no heads spinning, seances, or bizarre shows of strength. Instead, Wormwood advises Screwtape to work through the mundane moments of normal days to tempt a man towards ordinary vices—lust, greed, gluttony, avarice, anger, pride, and more. Lewis’ understanding of human nature is profound. So is his grasp of practical spiritual wisdom—the kind dispensed for centuries by the Fathers and Doctors of the Church. If you read one book, in your entire life, about spiritual warfare, make it The Screwtape Letters. It should be essential reading for every Christian. I also would bet good money that it will do more to help you avoid any temptations the devil throws at you, than 1000 podcasts featuring celebrity exorcists.

2. Theology and Sanity by Frank Sheed

When I returned to the Catholic Church 24 years ago, this was the first book a trusted friend placed in my hands. He knew I was frustrated with how little I knew about Catholic theology, despite having grown up Catholic, and how eager I was to make up ground. Theology and Sanity made that possible.

The author, Frank Sheed, was one of the early twentieth century’s greatest apologists. He also was one of the Church’s most important publishers. Some of you know him from his book, To Know Christ Jesus, and the book study we did on that in 2022, but if you thumb through any shelf of Catholic classics published between the 1920s and early 1970s, you’ll likely come across the imprint of Sheed & Ward, the publishing house run by Sheed and his wife, Maisie Ward. When it came to publishing, Sheed specialized in recruiting some of the most popular writers of his day: Chesterton, Belloc, Waugh, Knox, and more. When it came to writing, Sheed’s specialty was explaining theology to non-theologians.

He puts that gift to use in Theology and Sanity, which is something of a handbook on theological fundamentals, including the nature of religion, the Trinity, redemption, the Kingdom, the Church, and free will. Sheed’s theology is impeccable and his writing precise and clear. One serious, close reading of this book is as good as any course in Catholic fundamental theology you can find. If I were a seminary professor (or dean of a theology school), this book would be required reading for every student in my charge.

3. The Fulfillment of All Desire: A Guidebook for the Journey to God Based on the Wisdom of the Saints by Ralph Martin

I own and have read every one of the spiritual classics Ralph Martin discusses in The Fulfillment of All Desire: Saint Teresa of Avila’s The Interior Castle and Autobiography, Saint Catherine of Siena’s Dialogue, Saint Therese of Lisieux’ Story of a Soul, Saint Francis DeSales’ Introduction to the Devout Life, Saint John of the Cross’s Dark Night of the Soul, Saint Bernard of Clairvaux’ On the Song of Songs, and Saint Augustine’s Confessions. But The Fulfillment of All Desire does something none of those books can do on their own. It connects all of them, making it possible for the reader to see the common thread running through the writings of the great spiritual doctors.

In that, the book both clarifies and illuminates the Church’s teaching on the various spiritual stages of spiritual growth, making it more understandable and coherent for the average layman. The neatness of how Martin systemizes the wisdom of the saints also helps me, as a writer, pass that teaching on. (And of course, it’s always handy to have the very best quotes from those spiritual greats all in the same place.) Anyhow, if you want to become more familiar with the journey to holiness, walk the way of the saints, grow closer to Christ in prayer, (and know what people mean when they toss around phrases like “the Dark Night of the Soul” and “the Dark Night of the Senses” or the “Purgative, Illuminative, and Unitive Ways”), The Fulfillment of All Desire will help.

4. Woman by Edith Stein

Saint Edith Stein was a brilliant women. As a doctoral student at the University of Fribourg, she became the graduate assistant of Edmund Husserl, the father of phenomenology. She also was a holy woman. When she encountered Saint Teresa of Avila’s autobiography, she courageously became a Catholic, leaving behind the agnosticism of her youth and the Judaism of her childhood. Eventually, she became a Carmelite nun and a martyr in World War II. In between conversion and martyrdom, however, she spoke and wrote frequently on “The Woman Question.” Those talks and essays are now bound together in Volume Two of her Collected Works: Woman. Stein’s writing would later have a profound influence on Pope Saint John Paul II.

Her work stands beautifully on its own, though, bringing wisdom and light to questions we’re still asking today—questions about women and work, the feminine vocation, the nature of women, and women’s education. Along with John Paul II’s papal documents on women (Mulieris Dignitatem, Letter to Women, Evangelium Vitae, Familiaris Consortio, etc.), Stein’s Woman is the best place to start if you want to understand how to think like a Catholic about women’s place in the world, Church, and home.

5. The Spirit of the Liturgy by Pope Benedict XVI (nee Joseph Ratzinger)

I don’t like writing about liturgy. I don’t like talking about liturgy. But I do love the liturgy. I love the liturgy of the Catholic Church, in all its many forms, and I love the liturgical nature of life and the human heart. We were made for liturgy, and Pope Benedict’s masterpiece, The Spirit of the Liturgy, helps explain why that is. He also explains why liturgical innovations can be so destructive and sketches a helpful framework for understanding why some forms of liturgy are more fitting for Christian worship than others. This book is not a deep dive into the mechanics of various liturgical rites. It does not get into the weeds of liturgical minutiae like so many conversations on social media today do. But it does beautifully explain the nature and importance of liturgy—the spirit of it—and clarifies the Catholic vision of what liturgy should be. Whenever I do find myself having to write about the liturgy, The Spirit of the Liturgy is the first place I go.

6. The Habit of Being by Flannery O’Connor

This is not a book about theology or history or spirituality. It’s a book about work. And art. And vocation. Most of all, it’s a book about a woman, and how exhausting, consuming, and challenging she found writing for a living to be. Which is why it has encouraged me more than just about any book on this list, even though it’s not even a book in the sense that the other books here are. Rather, The Habit of Being is a collection of various letters Flannery O’Connor wrote to friends, fans, and editors between 1948 and 1964. The letters are funny, thoughtful, and insightful. They help make sense of Flannery the woman and Flannery the writer. They also blessedly never fail to make me feel seen and encouraged in my work. In times of high stress, this book is my comfort read. It’s like having a chat with an old friend who has been there, done that, and completely gets it all. Someday, I hope I can thank O’Connor for this gift face to face in heaven. Until then, just saying prayers for her soul and rereading The Habit of Being over and over again will have to do.

7. The Supper of the Lamb: A Culinary Reflection by Robert Farrar Capon

Yes, I also wrote a book that goes by this name, but Robert Farrar Capon’s book is no children’s book. Rather, it is a stunning reflection on God’s gracious generosity and the wonder of creation, all in the context of preparing a meal. I first read Capon’s book in 2002 or 2003. I was in graduate school at the time and still only a year or two into my recovery from anorexia and disordered eating habits. I had spent that time thinking and praying about the connection between food and the Eucharist, all while feeling utterly alone in my thoughts. There were just no good books out there on the topic to affirm me or guide me.

Then, I came across The Supper of the Lamb. It was one of those glorious, “Oh, you too!” moments that C.S. Lewis talks about in The Four Loves, where a lasting friendship is formed over a shared love. Capon was an Episcopalian priest who died in 2013 and never knew me from Adam, but I consider him a friend just the same. His insights into what food teaches us about God’s love expanded and deepened my own, encouraging me to keep following the path my thoughts were leading me down and enriching both my thinking and my cooking. I am so grateful to him for that … and for forever changing the way I look at onions.

8. The Rise of Christianity: How the Obscure Marginal Jesus Movement Became the Dominant Religious Force in the Western World in a Few Centuries by Rodney Stark

How’s that for a subtitle? It does a lot of my work for me, giving you the gist of the book in a nutshell. The one thing it doesn’t do, however, is convey how much wonderful data there is in the book: data about Roman men, women, children, and babies; data about marriages and abortions and abandonment in the first centuries after Christ; and data about how the Christian witness in the Roman world converted an empire.

The Rise of Christianity is a classic book, written by a well-respected sociologist who vacillated between agnosticism and Protestantism for most of his life. Perhaps because of its authors less than robust faith, it disinterestedly demonstrates the difference it makes to whole cultures when Christians actually live what we believe. Whether you are interested in questions of evangelization or history, The Rise of Christianity is invaluable for understanding (and writing about) conversion, discipleship, evangelization, the early Church, and the world into which Jesus was born. This is why, after almost 20 years of use, my copy is barely holding together. It has been thumbed through, underlined, and marked up so many times now, that I doubt it is long for this world.

9. The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays of Wendell Berry by Wendell Berry

I love Wendell Berry’s fiction more than I do his non-fiction. Few novels from the second half of the twentieth century can compare to the quiet depth of Jayber Crowe, and few men have ever written a woman so well as Berry wrote the titular character in Hannah Coulter. That being said, I do still enjoy Berry’s musings on land, community, and culture. Some of the best of those musings are featured in The Art of the Commonplace, which is a collection of essays on agrarianism, economics, feminism, and community. Berry’s work has helped shape the direction of both my husband’s life and my own and is something of a touchstone for us when we think about what we want our home to be, so if you’ve never read Berry’s non-fiction before, The Art of the Commonplace is one of the best ways to get a taste of it. (For fiction, start with the aforementioned Jayber Crowe or Hannah Coulter).

10. A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanaucken

When I was a starry-eyed, 21-year-old, infatuated with a moody blonde soccer player who liked thinking deep thoughts about God, I thought this story of conversion and loss was the most romantic thing I’d ever read. The soccer player gave it to me as a gift in the summer between our junior and senior year of college, and I read it cover to cover in one day. The letters it included to Vanaucken (Van) from C.S. Lewis were beautiful, and the love story between Van and wife Davy seemed like a dream.

Three decades later, the letters from C.S. Lewis remain wonderful. Those particular letters still shape how I think about God and reality. Van and Davy’s love story, however, seems more like a cautionary tale about how unaddressed wounds and fears can lead couples to turn in on themselves and refuse to bear the fruit they’re meant to bear, both of which can lead to the destruction of love and marriage. Van and Davy were spared that fate by a severe mercy—hence the title of the book—but their story remains instructive … and eminently quotable. If I were teaching a course on marriage prep or working with young couples discerning marriage, I would 100 percent want to lead them in a discussion of A Severe Mercy.

(As a semi-unrelated aside, Vanaucken later converted to Catholicism, a fact I knew nothing of when I first read the book as a Protestant. A Catholic friend who did know that, however, and who knew how much I loved A Severe Mercy, handed me a copy of VanAucken’s second book, Under the Mercy, which includes essays on his conversion, and that, as much as anything, started me on my path back to Rome).

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Five Fast Things

1. Between the Stapleton’s six children and our three, there has been much, much, much puking these last few weeks—so much so that for the second time this month, we couldn’t manage to record an episode of Visitation Sessions. We are so sorry. But January will be January. In case you missed it, though, last week’s episode on prepping, planning, and the end of the world, was one of my all-time favorite podcasts we’ve produced. Check it out if you haven’t yet (and if you have, share it with a friend).

2. If you are a parent, chances are close to 100 percent that you have read Goodnight Moon approximately 143,496 times. Maybe more. Accordingly, you may think you know everything there is to know about the book. But this fascinating Substack article about Goodnight Moon from

Looking at Picture Books

, will probably convince you otherwise.

3. Along a similar line, if you’re looking for a compelling and tragic biography, look no further than In the Great Green Room, which looks at the life of Goodnight Moon’s author, Margaret Wise Brown.

4. In the midst of all the puking, we watched The Wild Robot with the kids, and were so impressed. It’s both beautiful and insightful, with important lessons about what it means to be a person. It is definitely worth putting on your family movie night roster.

5. One of the biggest sacrifices we made in moving back to Steubenville was leaving all my beloved Indian restaurants behind. I have been missing curries something fierce, so when I saw this recipe for a beef curry (a fairly unusual combination), I decided to give it a try. I modified it fairly significantly (see below) to increase the nutritional value and to make it palatable for the kids. It was still quite spicy, though, so I served theirs with Greek yogurt. Other than that, it was amazing. We have a heck of a lot of ground beef in our freezer (thanks to the quarter cow we bought in the fall), so I plan on making this many times more this winter. (I also plan on going down and eating the leftovers for lunch as soon as I hit send on this newsletter).

Here is the original recipe.

I made the following modifications, all of which I recommend.

1. Doubled the recipe. That gave us enough for Chris, me, three small children, and the 23-year-old male grad student who lives with us and eats his weight at dinner. There were enough leftovers for my lunch.

2. Halved the cayenne.

3. Added two cans of chickpeas (stirred in with the coconut milk).

4. Used a whole can of coconut milk (I did not need a half can taking up room in my fridge).

5. Used one less cup chicken broth.

6. Stirred in five ounces of fresh spinach five minutes before serving (just long enough for it to wilt).

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   Let’s Meet in Person This Spring!

   After a nearly five-year, baby-induced hiatus from public speaking, I am once again taking on a limited number of speaking engagements. If you’re near one of my upcoming talks this spring, I would love to meet you in person. And if you’re interested in bringing me in to speak to your group, feel free to email me with the date, size, theme, and location of the event, and I can send you information.

   May 3, Buffalo Catholic Women’s Conference, Buffalo, NY

   May 8, The Canadian March for Life Rose Dinner Gala, Ontario, Canada

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   In Case You Missed It

   “Thin & Thinner: On Influencers, Diets, Food, and Me,” Parts 1 and 2 (Full Subscribers Only)

   “Picky (Grown Up) Eaters, Saying No, Reading Books, and To Bury or Not To Bury,” (Free for All)

   “On Catholic Jobs, Breast Implants, and Books (lots of books),” (Free for All)