This writing begins with prayer. Humble prayer.​

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I am no one to write. I am not realized, special, and certainly not pure of heart. I am not hand-picked by God to carry a mission or deliver a great message. I am no one important, no one significant to be heard.

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I simply have something inside of me that wants to be said. It needs to be said not because someone needs to hear it but because it cannot live inside of me forever. It was born to sing and express itself in the open air. It wants to be said.

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I am therefore its humble servant. An instrument, simply. I hold the pen and let the words pour and pirouette upon the paper. I have to. I was born to dance with this sound within.​

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And so I pray to those who are realized, special, and certainly pure of heart. I pray to those who are hand-picked by God to carry His mission and deliver His great message. I bow my heart humbly to those significant surrendered souls who are important to be heard.

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I bow with folded hands and hopeful humility to beg their forgiveness for my audacity to write and speak. I appeal for their grace to fill my heart with the rising light of God's sun-like love and supremacy within it. I pray they will engage me to glorify Him with the entirety of my existence. If I exist to express my love and devotion to Him, describing His love, beauty, wonder, and grace, then let it be so.

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However it chooses to be said has a life of its own. I only birth it with this pen...