Ink & Amen

Ink & Amen

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

Some folks sing, some shout, some sway with hands lifted high. Me? I praise the Creator with my pen. It’s not just something I do it’s something I am. Every time that ink hits the page, I’m not just writing; I’m having a sacred heart-to-heart with the One who knows me better than I know myself.

My pen? That’s my praise. My paper? That’s my altar. The rhythm of my thoughts those are my hallelujahs. I don’t need a crowd or a pulpit; I just need a quiet space and a willing spirit. That's church for me.

And honestly? Writing is my prayer. I mean, real talk it’s how I connect, how I cry out, how I say "thank You" and "help me" all in the same breath. I don’t always know the right words to speak out loud, but something about the page… it opens me up. Sometimes my soul says what my lips can’t even form.

And listen prayer? Prayer works. I’m not saying that because it sounds good. I’m saying that because I’ve lived it. I’ve seen it flip the script in situations where it looked like all hope had packed up and walked out. I’ve seen prayer shift the energy in a room so heavy you could barely breathe. I’ve seen it heal wounds that medicine couldn't touch. I’ve watched it keep folks safe, pull people back from the edge, turn tears into testimonies, and heartache into hallelujahs.

You can’t convince me prayer ain’t real. I’ve felt it move. I’ve watched it work. I've been carried by it when I didn't have strength to stand.

I remember once this was during one of those rough patches that had me feeling like I was stuck in the deep end with no life vest I couldn’t even speak. Didn’t have the words. Just sat there, pen in hand, letting whatever needed to pour out, pour. And it did. Every sentence, every scribble, every shaky line it became my rescue. That day, my pen was my lifeline, and the Creator met me right in that silence.

See, prayer isn’t about fancy words or long speeches. It’s not about sounding holy. It’s about showing up. Being raw. Being honest. And whether you're whispering, weeping, or writing it still reaches Him.

My prayers don't always start with “Dear God.” Sometimes they begin with “I’m tired.” Or “I don’t get it.” Or even just a heavy sigh. And somehow, He still knows what I mean.

Every time I write, it’s like laying bricks to build something sacred. I’m not just sharing thoughts I’m planting seeds. I’m carving out space for someone else to heal, to feel seen, to remember they’re not alone.

And if you take nothing else from me, hear this: prayer changes things. I’ve watched it bend the laws of logic. I’ve seen blessings sneak in through doors I didn’t even know were there. I’ve experienced a kind of peace that doesn’t make any sense on paper, but it held me together when everything around me was falling apart.

Writing is the way I give all of that back. It's how I say, "Thank You," "I see You," and "Keep walking with me." It's how I pass along the same comfort I've received.

So yeah when I write, I’m praying. When I bleed ink, I’m praising. When I sit in stillness with words pouring out, I’m communing with the Divine.

I don’t take it lightly. And I hope when you read my words, something sacred stirs in you too. Because if prayer can move mountains and it can then maybe these words can shake something loose in your heart, light a little fire in your spirit, and remind you that you’ve got access to the same power.

Yeah. This ain’t just writing.

This is holy ground.