Planted by Purpose: A Reflection on My Journey as a Writer

Planted by Purpose: A Reflection on My Journey as a Writer

By Kateb Shunnar

I didn’t ask for this pen.

If you really knew me, you’d know I didn’t start writing to save the world or preach to the people I started writing back in Mr. Alvin Edinburgh’s elementary school class. I was just a quiet, curious boy, small in size but loud in imagination. I wrote my very first poem in that classroom. It was called “A Wonderful Day.” It wasn’t long. It wasn’t layered. But it had something. A little light in it. A little spark. Something I didn’t understand at the time, but now I know: it was the beginning of me becoming who I truly am.

I was the kind of child who listened when the wind spoke. I stared at ants like they were engineers. I had long conversations with the moon. I wasn’t trying to be deep I just was. My questions were big. My eyes were always scanning for something divine in the everyday. My spirit was searching even before I knew what for.

Now let me tell you something else I didn’t always write from purpose. I wrote for fun. I wrote because it felt good. I wrote because my soul liked to dance with words. And by the time I got to junior high school? Oh, I definitely started writing to impress girls. A well-placed poem could make a hallway blush, and I wasn’t above that game. Back then, my pen was smooth. My lines were sweeter than lunchroom chocolate milk.

But then something shifted.

One day I sat down, full of emotions I didn’t know how to name, and something poured out of me. It wasn’t for show. It wasn’t playful. It was real. It was raw. It was spiritual. That was the first time I felt the Creator moving through my hand. That was the day I wrote

“I Am a Seed, O’ Gardener, Please Plant Me.”

A Conversation Between Me and the Creator

Me:

O’ Gardener, I’m just a seed small, unsure, fragile.

The world steps on me. The heat dries me out.

Please plant me, if I’m meant to grow.

Show me how to survive the soil.

The Creator:

Child, you were formed before the dirt knew your name.

I’ve been watching your roots even before you asked to grow.

Yes, I will plant you.

But not in ease in intention.

Me:

But the others… they bloom so fast.

They’re tall, admired, watered constantly.

And here I am buried, struggling, forgotten.

Why must my journey be painful?

The Creator:

Because what blooms too fast withers too soon.

I’m growing you deep so you can rise strong.

You are not buried to be forgotten you’re planted to become.

Trust the silence. It is where I do my best work.

Me:

What if I can’t bloom? What if I fail?

What if the world never sees my petals?

The Creator:

Then fall into Me.

If you break, I will replant you.

Your purpose is not to perform it’s to reflect

Me.

Your pen is how I speak through you. Now write.

Let me be real: this writing life hasn’t been easy. While everybody else was out turning up, chasing careers, wearing designer, posting beach vacations and popping champagne, I was home writing through candlelight with a pot of beans on the stove and an eviction notice on the door. I saw the world shining, and I felt stuck. I got jealous, not because I didn’t have faith but because I didn’t understand my lane.

I said, “Creator, are You sure this is for me?”

“You know I’m broke, right? You know I’m struggling to feed myself, let alone bless others?”

Writing didn’t lift my pockets. My bank account has seen more negatives than a broken camera. I’ve sat in the dark with overdue bills and tear-stained pages, still trying to be obedient to the very thing that made my life harder. At one point, I said, “That’s it. I’m done.” I put the pen away and tried to be like everybody else normal, casual, disconnected.

But the Creator didn’t let me go.

He came for me. Not softly. Not gently. With correction and conviction, like a grandmother who calls you by your full name from the porch. Everything started falling apart when I stopped writing. My peace dried up. My dreams got quiet. Even food didn’t taste right. Until I gave in and said, “Alright. I surrender. I’ll write again.”

And that’s when I finally understood the truth that changed everything:

“A person chosen by the Creator will never be chosen by humans.”

The Creator don’t select the loudest, the most followed, or the most polished. The Creator chooses the ones who can carry weight in silence. The ones who serve without a stage. The ones with bruised knees from prayer and swollen hearts from compassion.

See, people choose based on appearances. They want flashy, popular, marketable. But the Creator? The Creator sees your roots. Your struggle. Your obedience. Your silence. And that's what gets anointed.

And when you’re chosen by the Creator, you’ll often walk alone.

You’ll be misunderstood.

You’ll be left out.

You’ll be the one clapping for others while nobody claps for you.

But you’ll still keep going. Because your assignment is not validated by man it’s sealed by the Creator.

I think of a story my grandmother once told me…

“The Tale of the Glowing Ink.”

There was a boy who found a bottle of ink that only glowed when he wrote from his truth. Joy, pain, confusion, gratitude it had to be honest. He tried to fake it, tried to force the glow. But it only lit up when his words came from his deepest place. That ink lit up pages so bright that they lit the path for others. His pain became someone else’s survival. His truth became someone else’s breakthrough.

That boy was me.

I’ve written from poverty. From heartbreak. From exhaustion.

I’ve written when the fridge was empty and my spirit was dry.

But I’ve also written from mercy. From restoration. From healing.

Because every time I gave the Creator my truth, He gave me something holy to write.

So here I am. Still writing. Still stretching. Still poor in pockets but rich in purpose. Still chosen not by the world, but by the One who made me.

To anyone reading this who feels hidden, rejected, passed over You are not forgotten. You are planted.

You are not behind. You are being prepared.

You are not broken. You are being built.

Write. Sing. Speak. Paint. Build. Dance.

Even if nobody understands.

Even if you’re tired.

Even if you’re doubting.

Because when the Creator gives you a gift, it’s not for applause it’s for alignment.

And when your roots are deep enough,

You don’t need a spotlight.

You become the light.

Kateb Shunnar