PbyCj

I was just thinking and reflecting on the things I wrote back when I first started taking my writing seriously—when I was actively in school, working on my associate’s and bachelor’s in English and creative writing.

There was one particular story that ended up being Eve’s Apple. I remember feeling so ashamed of writing and sharing it, just because of the topic at hand. I even forgot that I had written a full scene—a short story I called Kitchen Knife. I don’t think I included it in the final version, but when I reread parts of it recently, I didn’t even remember writing it. And yet, some of it was true. A bit of that was drawn from my lived experience.

I remember being terrified of writing what I really wanted to say. Eve’s Apple came out as a half-baked version of what I was actually trying to express. Looking back, I see it now. At the time, I was terrified of the topic. I saw myself as a Christian writer—really, a Christian who writes—and I put myself in a box because of that.

My perspective then was, “I want my writing to glorify God.” And yes, that’s still my heart—to glorify God in what I do—but I can also see how limiting that thought process was back then. Because if we’re being for real about what actually glorifies God, it’s not always pretty. It’s not always polished. It’s not always tied up in a perfect little bow.

Literally—Jesus Christ, who was in the perfect will of God, went through the unthinkable. He was tortured, beaten, mocked, spit on, ridiculed. He experienced things beyond what words could even capture. The Bible gives us a glimpse, but I’m sure not everything was documented. It was gruesome, horrific—and yet, that was God’s perfect will for Him. And in that ugliness, in that suffering, Jesus gave God glory.

So why do I think my writing has to be “nice” or “soft” to glorify Him?

Back then, I didn’t get it. But now I do.

When I wrote Kitchen Knife— which had parts that were about me, about being seven years old with a knife to my stomach—that wasn’t a pretty story. Those were the thoughts I had lived with. The pain I carried. And I had to write it. My writing process at that time wasn’t random. I couldn’t skip around or write “safe” stuff. I had to write what was on my mind, what was in me, what needed to get out.

And now? It’s freeing to realize that God doesn’t have me in a box. That “box” wasn’t His doing—it was mine. I put myself in a cute little package with a bow because I thought that’s what made me a “Christian writer.”

But today? I know I’m free. Free to write whatever I need to write. Free to tell the stories that scare me. Free to create without fearing judgment.

Because none of that changes who I am—a child of God, a woman of God.

I wish someone had told me this five years ago: “Cj, stop tripping. Just write. Don’t overthink it. Don’t edit yourself for the sake of people. Just write.”

So I’m saying it now, for anyone else who needs to hear it:

Write without fear.

Write without worrying about judgment.

Write the stories.

And don’t stop.