Writing From Calling

There’s a fine line between being spiritually grounded and overspiritualizing everything.

If I’m being honest, I spent a good portion of my life on the wrong side of that line.

If a shirt wasn’t in my size, God didn’t want me to have it.
If I missed a workout, God wanted me to rest.
If my nail polish chipped… well, clearly God didn’t approve of that color.

Okay, maybe that last one’s a stretch—but you know what I mean.

I could take just about anything that happened in my life and turn it into a spiritual message.

And hear me when I say this: I believe deeply in God and in the spiritual forces at work in our world. I don’t doubt that for a second.

But I also believe we are incredibly skilled at spiritualizing the mundane—especially when it helps us avoid discomfort, fear, or risk.

And if we’re really being honest?
Authors are especially good at this.

Calling Isn’t the Problem—The Voices Are

I work primarily with faith-based writers. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t work with writers who don’t hold faith as central—it simply means most of the writers I’m surrounded by describe their writing as a calling.

Which is good.
Because it is.

Somewhere between recognizing that calling and actually living it out, though, many writers get hijacked by the voices in their heads—the ones that quietly reshape obedience into hesitation.

You’ve probably heard them too.

“I’m not really a writer.”
“Someone else is already saying this better.”
“I’ll start when I feel more confident.”
“I just need more time.”
“I’m just being realistic.”

And then the spiritual-sounding ones:

“I’m waiting on God.”
“I need to pray about it more.”
“This feels selfish.”
“There are more important things I could be doing.”
“I should serve quietly.”
“I don’t want pride to creep in.”
“If it’s meant to be, it won’t feel this hard.”

It’s ironic, isn’t it?

We accept the calling—but then get lost in the details.

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When Obedience Turns Into Hesitation

Here’s the truth we often forget: God didn’t call you into the life of a writer so you could keep second-guessing the invitation. The calling was never meant to paralyze you.

But embracing that calling requires something uncomfortable—letting go of the voices that tell us we’re too much, not enough, too proud, too small, or too late.

It requires a deliberate shift to seeing writing as a service and the ministry it is.

Because your writing isn’t about you.
It’s about the readers you’re called to serve.

Why Visibility Feels So Personal

Here’s the thing: you can’t serve your readers and minister to those you’re called to reach if you aren’t publishing your words in a place where readers can read them.

I recognize this sounds overly obvious, but I hear the same objections over and over when writers talk about publishing their work—on Substack, on blogs, or on social media.

“I don’t want to annoy my friends.”
“I don’t have many followers.”
“My subscriber list is tiny.”
“No one is reading my work anyway.”

Let’s gently name what’s really happening here.

Your friends are not your readers. And that doesn’t mean they don’t care—it simply means they’re not the people your words are meant to reach long-term. Over time, friends and family naturally fall away, and your real readers—the ones who resonate with your message—begin to gather.

Everyone starts at zero followers. Everyone.
And follower counts don’t grow through silence—they grow through consistent, meaningful presence.

The same is true for subscribers. Lists grow through stewardship, not chance. Through showing up. Through offering value. Through trust built over time.

And as for “no one is reading anyway”—how do you know?

We’ve all read powerful pieces without liking, commenting, or subscribing. Silence doesn’t mean absence. Often, it means quiet impact.

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Calling Was Never Measured by Speed or Scale

Here’s the part no one likes to say out loud: this work takes time.

Years, sometimes.

And when results don’t come quickly, the voices return—louder than before. Suddenly, we start measuring calling by comparison, convincing ourselves that if we aren’t the next Max Lucado or Beth Moore, we’ve somehow failed.

But God never promised ease.
He never promised speed.
And He certainly never promised bestseller lists.

What He did offer was invitation.

So this week, my hope for you is simple: that you would begin to write over the voices that keep you stuck—with truer ones.

Here are a few to start with.

10 Spiritual Affirmations for Writers Living Into Their Calling

• I was given this desire for a reason.
  Calling unfolds as I show up.

• Obedience often comes before clarity.
  I don’t need the whole path to take the next step.

• My voice is shaped by my story—and no one else can offer it.
  What feels ordinary to me may be meaningful to someone else.

• Faithfulness matters more than visibility.
  I am called to write honestly, not perform impressively.

• Difficulty is not disqualification.
  Hard does not mean wrong.

• I am allowed to take up space with my words.
  Humility does not require silence.

• I can move forward without certainty.
  Trust grows through action.

• God works through imperfect offerings.
  Faithfulness does not require flawlessness.

• I do not need additional permission.
  Willingness matters more than readiness.

• I will not bury what I’ve been entrusted with out of fear.
  I choose courage over self-protection.

A Gentle Reflection

You might want to sit with one or two of these—not all of them. This isn’t homework.

• Which voice shows up most often when you sit down to write?

• Which affirmation felt comforting… and which one felt uncomfortable?

• Where might you be spiritualizing hesitation instead of naming fear?

• What would it look like to take one small step of obedience without waiting for certainty?

You don’t have to answer these perfectly.
You just have to answer them honestly.

I write in two spaces. A Seat at the Table is where I explore faith, healing, and making room for honesty after it’s been made complicated. Ink & Intention is for writers who want to show up with clarity, discernment, and integrity—especially online.

I’m also the author of Breathing Again and several guided journals, and I work with writers who want thoughtful, grounded support as they find their voice and shape what comes next.

If something here resonated, you’re welcome to explore more at your own pace. You can find everything in one place here.