Power of Words
Words, a Lasting Legacy
Words have always carried more than language.
Not just because they communicate, they carry life. They preserve memory, hold emotion, reveal truth and give language to the parts of us that we may not yet understand. Long before technology, long before modern innovation, words shaped humanity. Scripture itself begins with language- “IN the beginning was the Word…”
And for this reason is why writing matters so deeply to me.
In a world consumed by speed, short attention spans and constant digital noise, the literary arts are quietly fading into convenience.
Fewer people read and write. I mean truly read and write. Allowing themselves to wrestle honestly with thoughts, reflection or expression.
Yet, writing, for me remains one of the purest ways to encounter ourselves. This is because words force us to slow down enough to force ourselves to truly feel.
Even medicine, viewed by most as purely scientific, carries artistry within it. A good doctor does more than diagnose symptoms. They observe. They listen. They interpret human experiences carefully.
Medicine, in my opinion, is closely connected to story telling. Every patient carries a narrative, every illness alters identity, every healing process contains language that far exceeds charts and prescriptions.
Perhaps that is why a number of us within the profession write so profoundly. Constant exposure to life , suffering, hope, grief, survival and death, sharpens the human ability to notice closely.
Words, a Lasting Legacy
“Some survive storms, others learn to dance in the ruins and call it grace”
And now, with the rise of artificial intelligence, many fear that literature itself may disappear.
But I do not believe technology can ever replace human expression. There are nuances embedded so deeply within the human experience that no artificial intelligence can replace.
Artificial intelligence can assist research. It can organise information, inspire ideas and expand access to knowledge. But it can never replace the soul of honest writing. It cannot replicate lived experience, divine revelation, human grief or the quiet trembling of a sentence written from genuine feelings.
That part still belongs to us.
So perhaps this is an invitation: to write again. To journal sincerely, honestly. To read deeply. To resurrect language. Not as performance, but as connection.
Because words still heal. Words still reveal. Words still carry traces of God within them.
And just maybe, in learning to write honestly again, we learn to hear ourselves clearly too.