Why I Write

Why do I write?

The question stares at me tonight. The span of time since I’ve written stretches far back into days, weeks, months even. A pulsing emptiness, the great void of silence. It asks, why should I attempt to bridge it? Why pick it back up? After all, there are plenty of other things to do. I could be studying. Or earning money. Or cleaning house. Or doing something, tangible, physical, real even. It warns me to back away from the canyon, to settle back into the normal life.

Because it’s hard to live the writer life. Making words is like giving birth–I don’t know how it works. It takes concentration, focus, and an undistractedness I rarely have.

So why do I write?

Because every word I write stands as a silent protest to this most chaotic world…

Why I Write.png

Because there is hurt–so much hurt–in this world. Because I know there is yet healing. That’s why I write. I write for the young woman I’ve counseled, needing to grieve and scream at God, and yet thinks she can’t. I write for her. I write for the teenager who has questions, frantically searching to see if God makes sense, if He’s big enough, and if anyone else even cares. I write for him. I write for the girl all alone, doing the small faithful things again and again every day, but who’s tired, frustrated, burnt out, and wondering if her fight is even worth it. I write to tell her it is.

I write because I have seen firsthand the great battles of this world. I’ve walked along them, numbering the casualties. And I refuse to let there be more if I can help it. I’ve seen the hurt, wounded and bleeding in the quiet corners of our Christian circles, and I refuse to sit back and leave them in silence. I refuse to close my eyes to our taboo subjects, porn and lust and our brokenness. I am wading in, elbow deep in the mire, to hold out hope. Here it is, good and true and beautiful. Come and see.

I write because words go where I can’t, and help where I can’t. It’s like the radio behind enemy lines, a beacon of hope, a reminder that you are not alone. I may not be able to sit beside you, to love and counsel you. But words can. And so I write, even when my words are faltering and not quite right. I send them. I send them, desperately hoping and praying that He sends the right ones to you.

I write, because every word I say stands as silent protest to this most chaotic world.

I write because there is ugliness–so much ugliness–in this world. Everything is hatred and spewing and fire. On every side we are surrounded by shouting and loud and cannons. But maybe there’s a better way.

Maybe goodness can be found in the small. Maybe truth is quiet. If I can capture, just for a moment, the beauty of a moment, perhaps in a way I’ve captured a glimpse of Eden. Of the way things were supposed to be. Or maybe not Eden, maybe more truly I’ve caught a glimpse of Zion, the beauty to come. It’s easy to become caught up in the swirling rush of wars and riots and yells of now. But we live in the now-but-not-yet. And perhaps, in the little moments, Not-Yet comes closer. I write so that perhaps we can see its beauty together.

I write, because every word I say stands as silent protest to this most chaotic world

Because there can be confusion–so much confusion–in my mind. So often my heart is a roiling, boiling mess of confusion and emotion and hurt. My life can be too. So I write to understand. I write to rope my furious fears and organize them, to see them for the mist and smoke they truly are.

I am made in the image of Him who took formless emptiness, and spoke. Who saw darkness and chaos, and sent the Word. God’s answer to chaos was to speak, to create, to send the Word. Perhaps in a way I can reflect that.

If I am to make goodness, if I am to show beauty, then I must do it through words. If I am to make God look great, then perhaps I can do it in a way that echoes His. In a sense, when I take my confusion and make it cohesive, am I not obeying His word to fill and subdue? Taking emptiness, and filling it with truth. Taking riot, and bringing it into His will.

I write, because every word I say stands as silent protest to this most chaotic world.

Why do I write? To send hope. To see beauty. To show myself truth.

You have your own why do I. Maybe it’s writing, or painting, or dancing, or accounting, or teaching children or flying airplanes or studying calculus or making coffee. We each have our days when we wonder if it’s worth it. But we keep on.

Why do we? To love others. To love goodness. To love God.

May everything we do stand as a call to this most chaotic world.


3 thoughts on “Why I Write

  1. Hi Belle,
    Thank you for this post! I always enjoy reading your articles so much! You are such a good writer and I love seeing how you use your gift to point others to Jesus.
    How has your summer been? Are you planning on going to Nationals this year? Kara qualified for Nationals so I’m excited to be going with her and Mom but Kristin and Dad are going to stay home.
    Hope you’re doing well!
    “Yes, LORD, walking in the way of your laws, we wait for you; your name and renown are the desire of our hearts.” ~Isaiah 26:8

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This is beautiful, Belle, and much of it echos my own “why.”

    It’s good to slow down and evaluate our “whys” every so often. To give us something to remind ourselves of each time we sit down to do or even each day we get up to be. Thanks for sharing this with us.

    Liked by 1 person

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