Why I Write: Creating Sanctuary in the Noise of Life

Writing as a spiritual practice of stillness, clarity, and connection in a distracted world.

Thirty-two and counting…

A few months ago, I began listing all the ideas I had for articles to write in this new Substack space. Within minutes, the list had grown to thirty-two. (By the time of this posting, I have over 60 topics on my writing calendar). Each one is a reflection of something I’ve wanted to process more deeply.

Some are recent; others have been simmering on the back burner for years. Turns out, I needed to write more than I realized. Each topic on that list points to something stirring beneath the surface. So many questions, memories, stories, ideas, dreams, and prayers buried in silence and nearly forgotten.

In my last post (here), I reflected on God’s invitation in Matthew 11:28–30:

Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.

True rest and walking in the rhythms of grace are found only in God’s presence. While God is always present, we often lose awareness of that presence in the routines of daily life. That’s why we must intentionally cultivate sacred space.

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Writing as a spiritual practice.

Like everyone else, I get caught up in the busyness of everyday life and lose sight of God’s loving presence. My mind jumps from task to task so quickly that it becomes difficult to be fully engaged in any one thing. But writing creates a kind of sanctuary, a place where my heart and mind can refocus, re-center, and find rest from the chaos both around and within me.

For me, Reflections of Something is a way of cultivating that sacred space, not just for myself, but for anyone seeking a deeper awareness of grace in their own life.

As I explore three key ways writing functions as a spiritual practice for me, I invite you to reflect on your own practices.

How do you cultivate sacred space that aligns with your unique gifts, passions, and personality?

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Writing as Sanctuary

We are oversaturated with input: information, misinformation, and constant noise. With phone alerts chiming every few minutes, many people only find peace during a few hours of restless sleep.

Quaker artist Carrie Newcomer has recently become a healing and hopeful voice in my life. In her song Sanctuary, she writes:

In a state of true believers / On streets called us and them
It's gonna take some time / 'Til the world feels safe again
Will you be my refuge / My haven in the storm
Will you keep the embers warm / When my fire's all but gone?
Be my sanctuary / 'Til I can carry on

The first time I heard this song, I realized just how deeply I longed for that kind of space. I, too, often get lost on the “streets called us and them,” where it rarely feels safe to speak openly (You can listen to the full song at the bottom of this post).

I’m privileged to regularly preach and teach about scripture, faith, and the spiritual life, but even in those spaces, there’s often so much that feels unsafe to say. People react quickly to anything that challenges deeply held beliefs, and few are willing to reflect on where those beliefs came from in the first place.

But here, in this writing space, that anxiety fades. People can choose to engage or not. And in that choice, I find freedom to say what doesn’t always fit into a sermon, Bible study, or retreat.

Writing feels like sitting by a warm fire while a storm rages outside. Words, like embers, glow when stirred. Sometimes a single sentence brings warmth to a cold day. Sometimes it sparks an unexpected flame in someone else. Working and reworking them keeps the flame alive, not only for me, but for others who come seeking shelter.

Writing as Holy Listening

Writing also creates space to listen and to hear the still small voice of God in the midst of the noise.

Howard Thurman writes:

There is something in every one of you that waits and listens for the sound of the genuine in yourself. It is the only true guide you will ever have. And if you cannot hear it, you will all of your life spend your days on the ends of strings that somebody else pulls.

I live mostly in my head, seeing the world through an intellectual lens. But I’m learning to appreciate more inward, contemplative ways of knowing.

A core tenet of spiritual direction is that every person carries a connection to the divine within, a divine spark, one’s true self, the image of God. The “sound of the genuine” is often found in the sighs and groans of the Spirit within us that are too deep for words. What we most need is to become more aware of this and to nurture it.

At first, the idea of writing as listening might seem counterintuitive. Writing is often seen as output. But the best writing begins in stillness and grows from awareness. It’s less about having something to say, and more about listening deeply to what’s already stirring inside.

The more I write, the more I integrate the competing voices within me. Writing becomes a practice of holy listening and a path toward wholeness.

Writing as Seeding

Finally, writing is about planting seeds.

For me, writing is first an inward practice of sanctuary and listening. But there’s also a quiet longing for the words to reach someone else.

In Mo Willems’ children’s book, The Thank You Book, Piggy and Elephant thank everyone they know, but almost forget one important person: the reader. In the end, they break the fourth wall to say thank you directly, realizing that without the reader, their story has no purpose.

Characters in a story are like people who desire to be known and loved. Sometimes, those characters are just thoughts and ideas. Still, they seek connection. I hope these words will reach beyond the page and make an impact.

In Luke 8:5–8, Jesus tells the parable of the Sower, scattering seed across all types of ground. What encourages me most is that the sower doesn’t seem overly concerned about where the seed lands.

That’s freeing because I’ve never been great at growing things. I don’t know where the good soil is. I’m also not great at cultivating a particular audience. And that’s okay. It’s not a judgment against rocky or thorny soil. It’s just a recognition that something can grow almost anywhere.

Maybe these words will bounce off rocks, get eaten by birds, or disappear into the algorithm. But even a few seeds in good soil can produce a harvest.

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Why do you write?

I don’t write for money or fame. I’m not quitting my day job or aiming for a bestseller list. But scattering words into the world has shaped me deeply.

• Sanctuary & Accountability – Knowing I need something to post pushes me into the sanctuary. It helps me process the words I most need to hear. It gives me regular opportunities to set everything else aside and listen for the “sound of the genuine.”

• Sharpening & Clarity – Editing sharpens my thoughts and helps me discern what God is really saying. As one comedian said, “The preacher went on for 45 minutes. If he had studied, he could’ve done it in 10.”

• Depth & Connection – I’m not great at small talk, but writing offers immediate depth with those who engage. It opens conversations and relationships I might never find otherwise.

And so, in the words of Piggy and Elephant:
Thank you, dear reader.

Thank you for helping create this sacred space through writing and for scattering these seeds, wherever they may grow.

How do you create space for sanctuary, listening, or seeding in your life?

I’d love to hear how writing or another practice has shaped you.

If this reflection spoke to you, be sure to give it a like and share to help others find it. Thanks.

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Next Up: What Have I to Offer?

In a world obsessed with metrics and visibility, how do ministers, artists, and everyday people navigate the tension between humility and sharing their gifts? My next reflection wrestles honestly with the fear of self-promotion and reimagines it as sacred invitation. (Coming on June 26, 2025)

→ Make sure you’re subscribed so you don’t miss it — and feel free to share with someone who might need the encouragement.