Journal Entry: Why I Need to Write?
Sometimes I wonder why You made me a writer. Why not let me dance to express joy or paint to release pain? Why do I need to use words? Why do I need to speak through writing instead of just keeping everything inside—locked away in a place no one can see?
Why do I feel this constant pull to share what I’m feeling? Why can’t I just leave my thoughts unspoken, hidden and untouched?
Writing can be exhausting. Sometimes it even hurts. There are moments when the emotions feel too heavy to carry, and yet they spill out through my fingers. Where do all these feelings come from? Why do I seem to hear every cry, see every sorrow, feel every ache—not just mine but others’? And when I’m the one who needs lifting, why do I feel called to carry others through my words?
I don’t consider myself the best writer. Honestly, my writing doesn’t always flow. Sometimes it drifts. But if there's one thing I do believe, it’s that I can be someone’s safe space. That somehow, my words can reach someone else’s heart and give them rest. Maybe it’s because I feel so deeply—the pain, the loss, the loneliness, the unheard voices.
I still think about that little girl I used to be. The one who felt forgotten. The one who was left behind, unnoticed. She still surfaces sometimes. But now, by God’s grace, she’s better than she used to be but still she’s a constant work in progress.
It’s late as I write this. The crickets are strangely quiet tonight. The silence pulls away my blanket like a gentle nudge, telling me that the heaviness inside needs to be written out. Translated. Maybe these late-night thoughts won’t matter to most. But still, there’s hope inside me. A small, stubborn hope that my words will reach someone who needs them—someone who’s hanging on, someone overwhelmed with fear, someone longing for healing and restoration.
I don’t write because I have it all together. I write because I know what it feels like to fall apart. I want to be that quiet presence—through a blog post, a journal page, or a book—that tells someone, “I’ve been there, too. You’re not alone.”
There was a time I asked God, “Why do I have to write?” He didn’t answer in a loud or obvious way. But He sent people—readers of my messy poems, friends who supported my blog, strangers who bought my first book. I remember them. They were His answer.
Now, there are thousands who’ve read my work. That still feels unreal to say. But I keep writing because I still can. Because there’s still something in me that wants to reach out.
I remember those days in the church office. I had nowhere else to go. I cried while writing Your Safe Haven. Every word felt like peeling back my pain. I was jobless, broke, ashamed to go home, and feeling useless. But it was in that lowest point that I found Him again—not just as my Master, but as my Refuge. My Safe Haven.
Jesus saw me. He sat with me in the silence and the grief. He didn’t need to say anything. He just knew. He understood rejection. He understood being overlooked. And yet, He overcame. And in Him, so will I.
So yes, I still write. Not because it’s always easy, but because it’s the way He’s given me to connect and to remind others: you’re not alone.
So if something is nudging you to write, write. The stirring inside you might just be God’s gentle push—His way of telling you, “This matters. Share it. Testify”
And trust that it will find the soul who needs it most. 💛
