For me, writing wasn’t just a passion; it was my salvation. I remember the times my mother would beat me and the days I went hungry. In those moments, I would eat the words on pages to feed my mind and regurgitate them to express myself. Writing became my ultimate act of self-grace, a lifeline in a world where I had been silenced. It was the only way I could give a voice to a life that felt invisible. This act of self-grace is sacred. It’s an act of faith that aligns with a divine purpose. The Bible teaches that God listens to and values the story of the afflicted, affirming that He “stores up our tears in a bottle” and records them in His book (Psalm 56:8). My writing became my way of entrusting my hurt to a faithful God who I knew would not waste it. I wrote to survive, but in doing so, I found a way to take the trauma of my life and preserve it as a testimony. It’s how I could live out the purpose of a life that was saved, so that what I endured can be used to bring light and hope to others. With a pen and paper, I proved that nothing is ever truly lost. Every story is created, every history is stored, and every memory is collected in a kingdom where all things are redeemed.