I once met a writer with ink on her hands,
Who dreamed of big books and faraway lands.
She scribbled and typed through the dark and the light,
But something was missing. Her joy wasn’t right.
She wrote for the likes and the follows and fame.
She wanted the world to remember her name.
But late one cool evening, she fell to her knees,
And whispered, “Dear Lord, take my pen. Will you, please?”
He smiled and said, “Yes, I have work you must do.
It starts with your heart, where the words flow through you.
No deadlines or contracts, just trust me and write—
And I’ll give you purpose and words full of light.”
She woke up next morning with joy in her chest,
Not needing the stars or the likes to feel blessed.
Her words weren’t for money or praise anymore.
They sprang from a love she could not ignore.
She wrote in the kitchen. She wrote in the rain.
She wrote through laughter and also her pain.
Slowly at first, her biblical stories took shape—
Each one like a thread in God’s perfect landscape..
When readers said, “Wow! This brought peace to my soul,”
She smiled and said, “That was the Lord’s and my goal.”
For now she was working with Heaven’s accord—
A humble, glad writer employed by the Lord.
