“The Word became flesh — and so must the words we claim to believe.”
I woke up again at 1 a.m. No noise. Just suddenly awake. That has happened enough over the years that I no longer resist it. I have come to recognize that hour as a time when everything is stripped down. The house is quiet. The world feels distant. My thoughts are not competing with schedules or conversations. It is usually then that I hear God most clearly.
So, I stayed there in the dark, not trying to force sleep. I began talking to Him about something that had been turning over in my mind all day. That morning I had asked a simple but heavy question: What does it matter? People write thoughts down. They put words to what they believe He is teaching them. Some people read those words, but often it feels like they are just words on a page. And I wondered, does any of it actually change anything?
Because when I look around, the world does not look different. Hurt still spreads. Evil still seems bold and unchecked. The same struggles. The same brokenness. The same noise. I found myself saying quietly, “Lord, all these words that have been written over time… have they mattered at all? Have they changed anything?”
There was no voice in the room. There never is. But a thought came, and when those kinds of thoughts come, they feel different from my normal stream of reasoning. They land with clarity and weight. The thought was simple: Written words do not change lives. Living out words does.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. But it was steady. And it settled something in me.
And then the deeper truth pressed in, one that carries the weight of the gospel itself: The Word became flesh. Christ did not remain a teaching. He did not stay confined to scrolls or prophecy. He stepped into humanity. He lived what He declared. He embodied what He proclaimed. Truth walked dusty roads. Truth touched the broken. Truth forgave, healed, endured, and obeyed.
And so must the words we claim to believe.
Words can explain truth. They can point to it. They can even stir someone for a moment. But words alone do not transform a life. A life changes when truth is embodied. When patience is practiced. When forgiveness is actually given. When integrity costs something and you choose it anyway. Ink does not carry power by itself. Obedience does.
Lying there in the dark, I realized maybe the measure was never whether writing changed the world. Maybe the measure is whether the words have changed me. If I speak about faith but do not trust Him when things feel uncertain, then the words are hollow. If I speak about love but withhold it when I am offended, then the pages mean little. But if I live what I write, even imperfectly, then something eternal is taking root.
The world may still look the same at 3 a.m. It may still look broken in the morning light. But living truth is never wasted, even when the results are unseen. What matters most may not be whether my words echo widely, but whether my life quietly reflects the conversations I claim to have with Him.
That is what stayed with me long after I should have been asleep.