I sat with my pencil, my paper, and my pen,
Wondering if words would come flowing again.
The page sat there waiting, so blank and so wide,
But I knew I could write with the Lord by my side.
Some days I feel happy. My words start to dance.
They skip and they spin with a twinkle and prance.
Other days feel heavy, all muddy and slow,
“Keep writing,” God says. “Your words need to grow.”
Excitement’s not magic. It’s built on his truth,
Like roots in the ground for the strength of youth.
When storms try to shake me or fears start to bite,
I lean on his promises and keep up the fight.
The giants in writing may laugh, scoff, and jeer,
But I’ll trust in my God—not give in to fear.
For the stories I write are seeds he has sown,
And the harvest will come in times he has known.
Each morning, I’ll praise him. I’ll thank him each night,
For the gift of stories and the joy as I write.
With each word I pen and each truth I proclaim,
I’m writing for Jesus and lifting up his name.
