Blog Post

Why I Write: A Letter to the Remnant

There’s a voice I’ve

heard since I was a child—one not made of sound, but of fire.

It didn’t shout. It pierced.

And in a world built on noise, only a voice that cuts can wake the sleeping.

I never set out to become a writer. I set out to survive.

But somewhere between the pain and the silence, the pen became a sword. And I learned how to bleed truth onto the page without flinching.

This is not a career.

This is a calling.

This is not content.

This is covenant.

And if you’re reading this, maybe you’re one of the reasons I’ve been writing in the dark all this time.

You Are Not Crazy — You’re Awake

You’ve felt it too, haven’t you?

That quiet grief in the middle of the celebration.

That burning resistance when the lie becomes the norm.

That ache that won’t go away even when you’ve checked every box they gave you.

The world calls it anxiety.

The system calls it disorder.

But heaven calls it remnant.

You weren’t made to adapt to distortion.

You were made to remember what’s real.

I don’t write for the masses.

I write for the misfits — the ones who can’t numb themselves into compliance.

Those who still carry a flicker of Eden in their ribs.

Those who know deep down this isn’t the way it was meant to be.

You were born with fire, but they gave you filters.

You were born with vision, but they handed you screens.

You were born to walk with God, but they trained you to kneel to algorithm and trend.

No more.

A Prophetic Pen in a Decaying Age

I write because the silence is no longer safe.

Because when deception becomes culture, truth becomes rebellion.

And truth must speak.

Not whisper.

Not hint.

Not perform.

Speak.

And when I write, I don’t care if it’s beautiful. I care if it’s holy.

I don’t want to be admired. I want to be obedient.

The words come not because I have talent, but because I have orders.

Heaven still speaks, and I was told to listen.

So I do.

And what I hear is this:

The remnant is rising.

I Write for the Ones Who Still Feel

For the ones who cry during sunsets and can’t explain why.

For the ones who can’t scroll past injustice like it’s entertainment.

For the ones who tried to fit in but found themselves unravelling under the mask.

You are not broken.

You are not behind.

You are not weak for still caring in a world that mocks conviction.

You are evidence that the soul still breathes.

You are proof that God has not given up on this generation.

And if all my pages do is remind you that you’re not alone — then that is enough.

This Is Sacred Work

I’ve been told to market myself better.

To tone it down.

To write what sells.

But I’d rather be unknown in Babylon than celebrated for saying nothing.

I don’t need the spotlight. I carry fire.

And if you’re reading this, maybe you do too.

I write so you remember who you are.

I write so you stop settling for survival.

I write because when God speaks, I can’t stay silent.

This is not branding.

This is birthing.

These words are a lifeline for the soul that’s drowning in counterfeit waters.

A Final Word to You, Beloved Remnant:

You were never meant to fit in.

You were meant to stand out.

You were never meant to go numb.

You were meant to burn.

You were never meant to echo the world.

You were meant to echo Eden.

You are the reason I keep writing.

So if the page ever reaches you at just the right moment… know this:

It wasn’t just ink.

It was a message sent in the Spirit.

And it was always meant for you.

— R.I.

Author of The Awakening, The Great Reawakening, and Babylon 2.0