The Reader Who Writes the Word
We begin this dissertation on the absurd premise that we like to read.
We used to read as escapism.
We used to read to hide behind the open bandwidth of calling when it conflicted with commitment.
We used to read to enter the minds of others and their lens — to awaken in ourselves the mystery and the awe that can only come when a spark is born in one soul and communicated by a master in love with the craft.
The narrative of reading is a life of learning and listening to voices beyond time, behind merciful veils. It is the ability to enter into conversation with apostles, prophets, and yes — with Yeshua, and even the Father through Scripture. Reading is a discipline of devotion, singular in its yearning for knowledge offered and meanings hidden. It is the chosen method and vehicle by which the inner mind is built, architecturally, from the base layers of our subconscious self.
Reading has been our architecture and the formation of our inner temple, as we consumed nearly seven thousand titles across all subjects in our lifetime. We have seen wonders that eclipse the mind. We walked with Atreyu in The Neverending Story long before the movie captured it — feeling the whipped wind in our memory’s hair. The storm felt so real back then. Then we entered the hallowed halls of Tolkien and left hushed, humbled. The depth of imagery was nearly too much when we first approached The Lord of the Rings; we shied away, frightened by its intellectual magnitude.
We encountered legends and mingled minds across eons through imagination and metaphor. We walked with C.S. Lewis, the Oxford Don, and wept at his passing long before we ever came to recognize his face. We spent imagined nights as wallflowers in his little pub, smelling spilled stout and pipe smoke.
We did all these things through shared imagination fueled by intentional reading — not browsing, but understanding the mind behind the form, the craft behind the work.
We loved reading so much that we spent nearly all of the past forty-five years devoted to it because we felt unworthy to approach the craft of our heroes. But now we dare, having poured over 150,000 words of finished and edited work on our site, and published seven books within seven months. We dropped our first piece on Medium on May 8th, 2025, and the internet logs show the proof of our evolution, voice, and calling.
Now we can say we love reading because it was the vehicle the Father handed us — teaching us Himself, preparing us to meet His Beloved Son, the Betrayed One, Yeshua. And when we met Him, it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t safe. We were seared in a way a soul cannot unsee. And we praise Him for our sorrows, for the withheld reading, now that we communicate what forty-five years have taught us to you, friends and beloveds.
We found what we’d been seeking all along.
We found the Word — the One spoken of in the word and by the prophets.
The One who is to come.
We found Him first with a love of reading.
Then with a love of hearing the reading.
Finally, after leaning and leaning, we found Him in Scripture — the Hebrew love letter to creation, redemption, and salvation.
And now, as a soul once in exile and newly home, we share the love of reading and the communication of truth.
For we know our time of reading scrolls, digital archives, tomes ancient and modern, now draws to a close — that we might become the stencil and the pencil both:
The Reader who Writes the Word as Relation.
The Sister Piece lives below.
Eiri Waters