Some things are learned by staying.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been reflecting on writing—why I write, why I keep writing, and now what writing gives me—and what it doesn’t. At heart, this is a series about faith, endurance, learning to stay present when life refuses tidy answers, and discovering the kind of hope that can still hold.

WHAT WRITING GIVES ME—AND WHAT IT DOESN’T

This final piece is simpler.

You can replace “writing” with whatever word describes what you do, and this piece will relate. I happen to be a pastor who writes.

For a long time, I assumed writing would do certain things for me.

That it would bring clarity out of confusion.

That it would help me make sense of how pride and humility, fear and faith can coexist in the same person.

That it would also help me make sense of pain.

But writing doesn’t work like that.

Writing does not prevent the hard things.

It doesn’t stop the phone call.

It doesn’t reverse the diagnosis.

It doesn’t undo the past.

It doesn’t protect the people I love.

Writing doesn’t keep me from grief.

It doesn’t keep me from fear.

It doesn’t keep me from the ache of unanswered prayer.

And writing does not solve the spiritual questions that refuse to go away.

It doesn’t tidy up Job.

It doesn’t explain why God allows what He could stop.

It doesn’t make permission feel fair.

It doesn’t make suffering “worth it.”

Writing doesn’t give me control.

If anything, writing takes control away. Because the moment you tell the truth, you can’t pretend anymore.

So what does writing give me—especially as a pastor who writes?

Writing gives me a place to be honest.

Not polished-honest.

Not “Never better,” honest.

Just honest.

It gives me language for what I sometimes prefer to avoid.

It slows me down. It keeps me from rushing past pain too quickly—yours and mine. It keeps me from trying to turn mystery into a lesson before I’ve even lived through it.

Writing gives me a way to stay present.

Not to fix what still hurts.

Not to win every race.

Not to explain God.

Just to stay.

To know that Jesus didn’t come to give tidy answers. He came to give himself— and that changes how I can stay when life hurts.

To be reminded that—

Permission is not abandonment.

But neither is it an explanation.

Writing gives me a pathway to prayer.

Not the confident kind.

Not the eloquent kind.

The trusting kind.

The kind of prayer that simply stays in the room with God, even when nothing is resolved. The prayer that dares to ask again. And again.

Writing gives me memory.

It helps me remember what I have survived.

It helps me remember what God has carried me through.

It helps me remember that even when I don’t understand him, I have not been abandoned.

And here is the truest thing I can say.

Writing hasn’t always made sense of my life.

But it has kept me from lying about it.

It has kept me in the room, near the questions, without surrendering the God behind them.

And this is where my hope lives.

Jesus did not come into the world to give me tidy answers. He came to give me Himself. The Son of God entered my suffering, carried my sin, and took death into his own body. And then he rose again—so that pain and evil would not have the final word over my story.

What he has given me—he offers to you—and to everyone. An invitation to live life with the One who came near. The One who understands, and who will one day make all things new.

Now you know why I write. Why I keep on writing. This is what writing gives me—and what it doesn’t.

If life isn’t making sense to you right now, please hear this:

You don’t have to pretend. Honest faith can stay in the room with God, even when nothing is resolved.

Some things are learned by staying.

Words written down may not fix suffering. But when Jesus, the Living Word, enters your word—your story— that changes everything.

May the Lord meet us in what we cannot explain and strengthen us in what we cannot control.

And from today until the day he finishes what he began in us—

May Jesus keep us close.

 

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THE CAIN FAMILY CHRONICLES

The Cain Family Chronicles were born out of this same wrestling. These stories will not ask whether evil exists; they know it does.

They ask what faith looks like when evil is permitted, when truth is opposed, and belief becomes costly.

The Permission, is the first inspirational suspense thriller in the Cain Family Chronicle series. It was taken from an earlier novel — repurposed and rewritten — and aimed directly at the hardest question most of us carry:  Why does God allow what He could stop?

And if He does not prevent it, will we stay?

You can find The Permission on Amazon in print book and Kindle.

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