What I enjoy most about writing is that it lets me reflect on life—this wondrous, complex, ambiguous gift we’ve been given. To write is to pause long enough to notice, to respect the joy and mystery of it all.
Writing is a mirror. It reflects what I hear, see, and feel. Every week I take someone else’s words—a sermon, a podcast, a phrase that lingers—and search for its heartbeat. In reflecting it back, I honour both the message and the messenger. Preachers often tell me they feel encouraged when they hear how their words were received. For me, that’s part of honouring life too: noticing, receiving, and giving thanks.
Writing is also a mirror for myself. It’s the way I discover what I truly think. A daily prompt can push me beyond surface impressions into deeper clarity. Writing helps me process emotions as well—shaping feelings into words allows me to hold them, understand them, and act with greater decisiveness. In this sense, writing is how I come to terms with life’s complexity, how I find a way of living faithfully within it.
But writing is also a window. It lets me share life’s wonder with others. A poem for my parents on their 70th wedding anniversary, a reflection for colleagues naming their strengths—these were ways of saying, “This life we share is precious, and you are part of what makes it so.” Writing opens a window onto gratitude, relationship, and celebration.
And writing is play. Life’s gift is not only serious; it is full of delight, surprise, and discovery. Creativity is fun precisely because it is unpredictable. When I write, I never quite know where words will lead, but that is part of respecting life too—to let it surprise me.
So what do I enjoy most about writing? That it allows me to reflect deeply on the gift of life: to honour its wonder, embrace its richness, and share its joy. Writing is my way of saying, again and again, this life matters.
The Afterword 
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