I’ve noticed something.

The writers who stay with you…

aren’t always the loudest.

They aren’t always the most impressive.

But there’s something about their words.

They feel like a hand on your shoulder.

Like someone has been there.

The greatest writers don’t just tell better stories.

They make the stories better…

because they lived them first.

And you can feel that.

You can feel when a sentence didn’t come from a dictionary…

but from a life.

Some words only arrive after you’ve lost something.

After you’ve waited.

After you’ve been disappointed in ways you didn’t have language for.

After you’ve sat with God in silence,

because even prayer felt too heavy.

That’s where the real writing comes from.

Not from trying.

Not from performing.

But from becoming.

There are chapters in our lives we wouldn’t choose.

We don’t call them inspiration.

We call them hard.

We call them lonely.

We call them unfair.

But later…

they become the places where tenderness grows.

And the writer changes.

Not because they learned more.

But because they felt more.

Because life pressed on them…

and instead of closing up,

something opened.

That’s why certain stories don’t just sound beautiful.

They carry something.

They carry the weight of someone who has walked through fire

and still believes in light.

So if you’re in a season where you feel unfinished…

where the words aren’t coming easily…

maybe it’s because you’re still living the story.

Maybe God is still writing in you

before He writes through you.

The greatest writers don’t just create stories.

They become them first.

And somehow…

that makes the words holy.

Until next time,