Dear Journal Buddies,
I would always say that writing is liberating. When your heart feels heavy, and it seems like no one is there for you, just write. Write to God—surely, He listens.
When I was younger, I often wondered: Does He really listen? Do the letters I write somehow “reach” Him? Does He ever get tired of reading them? Maybe He even gets frustrated with my unpolished grammar, my uneven sentences, or the corny way I put things. Does He still appreciate them anyway?
Sometimes, I write unsent letters to people who frustrate me. I pour all my anger and irritation onto the page, and then I crumble the paper or throw it away. Somehow, I feel lighter after that.
There were times I wrote love letters, only to burn them afterward. Oh, foolish heart! I laugh about it now, thinking about how the younger me was just longing for attention. When I reread those love letters today, I can’t help but cringe. A part of me feels embarrassed, wondering, What if someone saw them? It’s as if I want to delete those memories, as though I’d given false hopes to my younger self.
Buried in my notebooks are words filled with longing "my future love letters"—whispers of hope that someone might truly be "the one" for me. But now, I sometimes wonder if I was also giving false hopes to the younger ladies out there, painting a picture of a love I wasn’t sure would ever come .Some days, I just want to forget them, to let go of those fragile dreams. Perhaps, I tell myself, it won’t come. Yet, there’s a part of me that still holds on, even if only quietly, to the hope I wrote about back then.
Other letters I’ve written are about my hopes and dreams. Whenever I felt hopeless or lost, words seemed to flow out of me. On some days, I’d lose myself in writing, scribbling late into the night as ideas tumbled over each other just like today. On other days, no words came at all.
I write best when I’m alone, after a long walk or after my quiet time. I love silently observing the world around me. Sometimes, I feel emotions so strong that I can’t keep them bottled up. Writing becomes my release. Of course, some of what I’ve written was impulsive, driven by raw feelings—foolish, embarrassing, even regrettable. I’ve often thought: This couldn’t bring healing or hope to anyone if they read it.
But as I’ve grown older, I’ve fallen more deeply in love with writing. It’s my escape—from the noise of the world, from burdens, from expectations. Writing lifts the weight of loneliness off my chest.
There are days, though, when I lose my spark. I wonder, Why write? Who would want to read this? Does it even matter? During those moments, writing feels purposeless, meaningless—just words that no one would care to read or understand.
Yet, somehow, God always restores my hope and reignites my passion. It’s in the moments when someone reads my work and tells me they feel lighter, their burdens eased. When someone says my words brought them peace or gave them a reason to hold on when they were ready to give up.
Writing is freeing because it lets me be vulnerable, process emotions, and connect with others—even if just through words on a page. Writing is my way of letting go, giving hope, and finding healing—for myself and for those who read.
And to the one who loves to write, who plays with unrhyming words, who has a chaotic mind and a fearful heart, who always quietly sits in the back row, unnoticed, unseen—God sees you.
To the one who doubts their purpose in writing, who wonders if their words will ever mean something to someone else, who has moments of losing the spark and questioning, "Why should I write? Will anyone care to read these words? Will anyone find meaning and hope?" Let me remind you—your words matter. When you ask Him to anoint them and choose to dwell fully in His presence, your words reflect His light, His love, and His grace. Writing isn’t just about the words on the page; it’s about letting His presence flow through you, allowing Him to speak through you.
You may think your voice is too soft, that the world is too loud to hear you, but even a faint whisper can echo in a silent heart. Even a broken story can bring healing to someone who feels the same way.
So, to the one sitting in the back row, to the one scribbling quietly when no one’s looking, to the one pouring their soul into a page—keep writing. Write when it hurts. Write when it heals. Write when no one seems to notice, because the One who gave you this gift notices.
Your words are not just for others; they are a reflection of His grace in you. And as you continue to write, you’ll see how even the most chaotic mind and the most fearful heart can create beauty that points to Him.
You are not alone in this. So write, dear writer. For your words—your prayerful, honest, chaotic words—He can turn into a gift to the world.
Cheering for you,
Merrelya
