In the latest iteration of my résumé, I eloquently told my prospective employer that, in the fight to build thriving communities, foster empathy, and engage diverse people, the written word was my “tool of choice.” I guess they thought that sounded pretty good, because they hired me.
But what exactly did I mean?
I’ve always believed in the power of words. As a Christian, I believe that it was by God’s Word that all of existence came into being. My parents taught me that we must be intentional with the words we speak, because in our words is the power of life and death. In many ways, I believe in words because I believe in Jesus Christ, referred to in Scripture as “the Word” who came to touch and heal the brokenness in this world.
There are many ways we engage with brokenness. Some protest. Some educate. Some home-make. Some direct films or create products or form organizations or run for office. And some write.
Let me give you three reasons why, in the midst of brokenness, you’ll find me writing.
1. My words enable me to live—and will outlive me.
My default processing—and according to my résumé, fighting—mode is words on a page. Especially in difficult times—when I’m sad or angry or confused—the page is place of solace. It is a safe place, as well as a courageous place, where I can get all of my emotions and thoughts out without worrying about completeness or correctness or the editorial eye of others. I discovered the real power of the page in 2020, when Covid shut the world down, police brutality and mass shootings filled the news cycle, and isolation from family and friends gave me way too much time to myself: ink on paper became as vital to my health as the blood pulsing under my skin.
The truly incredible thing is that, when we choose to share them, these words that brought life to us can then become life to others. I saw this firsthand when I completed eben.ezer, a collection of poetry and illustrations reflecting on my 2020 Covid lockdown experience. Poems I’d written, frankly, to stay sane suddenly became life to others, including some people I’d never met. eben.ezer is a treasure I can pass to my children. They may never go through a global pandemic (Lord have mercy), but maybe they can find encouragement in these pages. That’s the power of words: they continue to speak, long after we’ve lost all ability to.
2. Words are something we give to others—for them to read, interpret, and repurpose as they choose.
This one can get messy, but I think it’s important for us as wordsmiths to remember that our words are gifts to others—and once given away, they take on entirely new lives of their own. We do our best to guide the reader, but even when we are didactically explicit in “the point” of our words, people are people. And every person brings something to the table you did not, and probably couldn’t have anticipated. Such lack of control can be scary—but the limitless possibilities can be equally exhilarating.
The written word is a unique medium in that it invites the reader to the table and immediately puts them in charge. Allow my words from our Hillfire Press: Passages into the Night event last year to explain:
I first read Screwtape Letters [by CS Lewis] all the way through in one sitting. Then I read it again. Then I picked my favorite chapters and read those again. That’s how I process. My husband on the other hand hasn’t yet finished the book. Because he reads one paragraph and then sets the book aside and thinks on that one point until he’s thought all there is to think about that one thing. Only then will he move to the next line of text.
That’s the amazing thing about a written work. You can read it for five seconds and then decide you’re done, cast it away and never bother with it again. Or you can sit with it for minutes, hours, maybe even years. Whether the subject is difficult and strange to you or familiar and pleasant, a book truly can be a vessel of safe passage into the night.”
As the internet becomes louder in calling out broken systems, pointing out brokenness in one another, and refusing to accept brokenness as an inescapable reality—all very important things that the written word is very capable of facilitating—it’s also important that we give people space to process, heal, and act. And that looks slightly different for everyone.
3. The Pen is mightier than the Sword.
I’m not advocating for “words, not actions” with this one; again, my faith teaches me that words without actions are empty noise. I am not even saying that the Pen is a greater weapon than the Sword. Both have their place—consider the fact that Dr. King’s pivotal leadership during the Civil Rights Movement included both the March on Washington and “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.”
The Pen is the mightiest of tools because it is not just a weapon—it is also a balm. It does not simply break down strongholds of injustice—it builds innovative and equitable structures, homes with many rooms and large tables with many chairs. The Pen exposes weakness and imbues with strength. It is mighty because its power rests in the hand holding it and the mind guiding it—and those are mighty indeed.
