I’m taking part in Jesus Writing Month this month and I really wanted to spend some time praying and reflecting on my writing, recommitting it to the Lord. I put together this reflection guide, and I went through it myself in a week, using the readings and prayers each day alongside journalling to consider writing in the framework of being a Christian, wanting to do everything for the glory of God. Here are some of my thoughts.
What does ‘writing unto the Lord’ mean? I feel it means using my talent, doing it well, creating something that gives Him glory. Aiming for excellence honours Him.
Stories reflect God’s beauty and order—they take delight in human relationships. Fictional characters help us see truths about ourselves. In viewing people’s choices and consequences, we figure out more about how God wants us to live in our own context. Biblical writers do the same thing—they directly affirm God, they demonstrate human failure and divine redemption, and they warn us and help us reframe our faulty vision about the nature of sin. Stories are a key way we communicate our values and truth—like Jesus with parables, storytelling is gentle. It invites relationship, slow thought, and discussion. It opens up conversation. They are the beginning of a conversation, not the end.
Just as in Genesis, the act of creation brings light into darkness, so stories light up the dark fog of our confused, conflicted thoughts and feelings. It’s hard at times to make sense of the world and our place in it. The universe can feel like ‘a mighty stranger’, as Emily Bronte puts it. Stories reaffirm who we are—mini creators made in the image of a Great Creator. In Genesis 1:16, God saw that His creation was good. This is the heart of a creator—and often on earth we’re frustrated that our creations are broken, disappointing or incomplete—just like us. Perhaps the key to solving our creative frustration also lies in Genesis. Moving on to chapter 2, God finished His work that He had done, and He rested. (Genesis 2:2)
If we’re in Christ, we are part of that holy rest. We aren’t working or creating to compete, achieve or redeem ourselves. We are already accepted. Therefore, we are liberated to create—in all the messiness of the process.
And what we create doesn’t need to be universally liked or acknowledged for its greatness to have value. In the National Gallery in London, there are paintings which most people love to look at: Monet, Da Vinci, Turner. There are also pictures which surprise, which seem crass, which we don’t find aesthetically pleasing. With our writing, its value and worth can change according to the perspective and experience of each individual who reads it. That’s okay. Humans are far too complex and nuanced to make pleasing all of them a valid artistic goal. You write for your niche, for the people who find joy in your way of seeing the world. You can’t rest your personal validation on their reaction, good or bad. Write so that when you stand before your Maker, you will hear the words “Well done, good and faithful servant!” (Matthew 25:23) Everything else is just noise.
Sophie Toovey 