Letters from Awriterstip – Week 44
The Beginning – Letters from “Awriterstip,” Volume 1
Dear Readers,
There comes a moment in a writer’s journey when scattered words begin to find each other again, like birds that somehow know exactly when to return home. Today, as I sit here at the edge of November, breathing in the quiet of the first Sunday of Advent, I realise that all the letters I’ve written this year, every reflection, every confession, every whispered message I shared with the world, have slowly been gathering themselves into something larger than I ever expected.
A Book!!!
A Special Book!!!
This is not just a book. It is the story of a year. It is the story of a man who wrote through storms and still learned to stand. It is the story of someone who kept sending out letters even when life pressed heavily on his heart, even when doubt curled itself around his spirit, even when silence seemed louder than God’s voice. And now, as I shape this final chapter, I find myself looking at all those words with a strange mixture of wonder and gratitude. They are not just pieces of writing; they are pieces of me.
Every letter in Volume 1 carries a part of my truth. Some were written on days when inspiration flowed easily, as if the words had been waiting at the door for me to arrive. Some were written on days when I had nothing left, days when I stared at the screen with trembling hands, wondering why anyone would want to read the thoughts of a man who was barely holding himself together.
Some letters came from pain, others from hope, some from faith, and some from nights when faith felt like a distant country.
But no matter what the day brought, I kept writing. I kept showing up. I kept sharing. Not because I was strong, but because writing was the only way to keep myself from falling apart completely.
There were days when I asked God why life moved so slowly. Why did some dreams remain stuck, no matter how much I prayed? Why has this year held more uncertainty than clarity?
I had so many unfinished manuscripts, so many stories waiting in baskets, so many books that whispered to me in the dark, reminding me that I was far behind. But now, as Advent begins and this year prepares to close its final pages, I am learning to see things differently.
Maybe it was never about moving fast; maybe it was about learning to be faithful in the slow seasons. Maybe it was about learning how to breathe again. Maybe it was about learning to trust again.
As I near finishing or closing Volume I, I feel something like a gentle surrender, an acceptance that this collection belongs to this year and no other. It is the record of a season in which I stumbled, rose again, broke down, stood up, questioned myself, prayed quietly, doubted loudly, and still found the strength to write.
Above all, these letters also helped someone out there feel less alone, but before anything else, they helped me. They carried me. They preserved me. They reminded me that no matter how heavy life becomes, God doesn’t stop giving us small miracles to hold on to.
This Advent, I am choosing to draw a line here. Volume 1 ends now. And I will continue to write more letters, which will begin with the new year, a new season, a new, renewed spirit, new reflections, and a heart ready to write again. December will be the month I give fully to my unfinished books, to my ongoing stories, to the chaos of manuscripts that have been patiently waiting for my attention.
But I want to make one thing clear: I am not disappearing. I will still be present, still visible, still sharing tiny sparks of inspiration across my platforms. Even if December becomes a private writing month, I will not vanish from your screens. I am here, still breathing, still creating, still smiling quietly behind the words.
And through all of this, I must say this: my gratitude begins with God. None of this, this book, this year, this small miracle of words, would exist without His grace. He held me in moments when I thought I would collapse. He carried me on nights when my exhaustion was the only thing I could feel. He whispered strength into my heart when I felt empty. Even when I disappointed Him, even when I strayed, He remained patient with me. This book is my offering back to Him, a small thank you for a year full of unseen mercy.
Also, I dedicate and feel gratitude for this book to a beautiful and amazing soul who helped me and supported me. Who lives in the land of the rising sun. If it weren’t for her true words of empathy and compassion, “ Jacob, I think you have to publish a book,” If it weren’t for this soft spoken voice, I wouldn’t have been able to start to publish my books. Thank You.
I dedicate this volume to my readers, my subscribers, my clients, and every single soul who has walked with me in this journey. There were days when your messages kept me going. Your support, your kindness, your encouragement, these were the light on the days when my own light dimmed. To my children, whose existence gives me purpose. To my parents, whose foundation still holds me. To friends who stayed, to strangers who turned into silent angels, this book is as much yours as it is mine.
I also carry gratitude for the platforms that gave me a home. Substack, LinkedIn, Medium, X, Bluesky, Blogspot by Google, each one offered a little corner where my words could breathe and travel. Google and Microsoft helped me shape ideas into manuscripts. Every digital space that welcomed my thoughts has my thanks. They were the bridge between my lonely desk and the world outside.
And today, on this meaningful 30th of November, the first Sunday of Advent, I will be getting ready to finish this new book, Volume I. There is something deeply symbolic about getting it ready to be published now, during this season that is all about waiting, hoping, preparing for light. Advent is the journey toward something new, something holy, something healing. And in a way, this book carries that same spirit. It is born from struggle, held together by faith, and carried forward by grace.
But before I close this chapter completely, I want to share something personal, something that surprised even me this year. A small story that began quietly and unexpectedly. A story about Christmas. A story about me.
It has been almost five years since I last celebrated Christmas properly. Five long years. I didn’t plan for it to be this way. Life simply became heavy. Some years I didn’t have the money. Other years, I didn’t have the heart. Slowly, December stopped feeling like Christmas and started feeling like any other month. I stopped decorating. I stopped choosing a tree. I stopped lighting the house. And over time, without even realising it, I became like a quiet version of Ebenezer Scrooge, or even Mr Grinch, not angry, not bitter, but someone who had forgotten how to celebrate.
This year, something changed. I don’t know what. Maybe it was the exhaustion of being emotionally quiet for so long. Maybe it was the desire to feel something again. Maybe it was Advent whispering softly to my soul, reminding me that light can still enter dark places.
Or maybe it was just a small, innocent curiosity. But whatever it was, I found myself looking online for a Christmas tree. Not a big one. Not something fancy. Just a tiny two-foot tree, the cheapest one, thin, simple, barely 300 grams. It came with a string of small LED lights powered by three button batteries. That was all I could afford.
The moment I placed the order, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years, a small stirring inside me. A kind of anticipation. I just received the tree yesterday evening, and still, the idea of it has already begun to warm my heart. I started imagining what it would look like in my dimly lit room, glowing softly in a corner. I imagined decorating it, not with ornaments I don’t have, but with creativity. With madness. With the strange ideas that live in a writer’s mind.
I took out my old touch lamp, the one with the 3-inch shade and the circuit below it. A simple lamp I had forgotten about. As I touched it, an idea sparked, an absolutely crazy one.
What if I turn this lamp into the base of the Christmas tree? What if I drill a hole on top so the tree’s trunk fits inside? What if the lamp becomes the glowing heart of the tree, lighting it from below like a lantern? I know it sounds strange, but that is how creativity returns, quietly, unexpectedly, through small moments of madness.
I even found the base of my podcast mic stand and realised it fits perfectly under the lamp. Suddenly, my mind began sketching out the whole thing: a tree standing on a lamp, glowing from underneath, held firmly by a mic stand base.
Something unique. Something handmade. Something mine.
And that’s when I realised something deeper.
It wasn’t about the tree. It wasn’t about the lamp. It wasn’t about the DIY project. It was about the feeling behind it.
For the first time in years, I felt like I wanted to celebrate Christmas. Not with grandeur, but with heart. Not with decorations, but with meaning. This year’s Christmas tree is not an ornament; it is a quiet symbol of hope returning to me. A small sign that after five years of silence, I am ready to let light in again. That I am willing to feel again. That I am preparing myself, slowly, clumsily, honestly, for a new season.
Advent is about waiting for light.
This tree is my small, personal advent.
A reminder that even a faint spark can warm a cold room.
A reminder that even when life feels uncertain, creativity finds a way back.
A reminder that God still breathes quietly into the corners of my heart.
Also, a reminder, “The Vigil of Hope,” this book I published recently, is more than a book; it is a quiet place where prayers breathe and hope rises again. It was born from the simple desire to stand beside those who feel unseen, unheard, or overwhelmed by life’s weight. Every page carries a candle of comfort, a soft prayer whispered into the darkness, a reminder that no pain is too small for God to notice.
Together, let us keep the vigil for hope still lives, and morning always comes.
And now, as I close this final chapter of Volume I, I want to leave you with the blessing that has been building in me all this month.
So I invite you, gently, warmly, that when the book is published, to pick up a copy, to sit with these letters, these articles, these reflections, and allow them to walk with you the way they walked with me. This book is not just mine; it belongs to everyone who has lived, loved, struggled, prayed, and hoped this year. It is a small offering, with gratitude, humility, and a heart full of thanks.
As this year gently moves toward its close and the soft glow of Christmas begins to settle across our hearts, I want to leave a message for everyone stepping into this sacred season.
Christmas 2025 is not just another holiday; it is a reminder that even in a world full of noise, there is still a quiet place where love breathes, where forgiveness heals, where hope is reborn, and where God still whispers strength into our souls.
May this Christmas bring you peace that calms the storms inside you, joy that lifts you when life feels heavy, and light that guides your steps into the new year. May your homes be filled with warmth, your families be wrapped in grace, and your hearts overflow with gratitude for the little blessings that often go unnoticed.
As we prepare to welcome 2026, I pray that the new year becomes a doorway to new beginnings, new courage, new dreams, and new stories yet to be written. May the coming year be kinder to you, may it open roads that were once closed, and may it strengthen your faith in ways you never imagined. And wherever you are, whoever you are, know that my prayers and wishes travel with you.
Merry Christmas 2025, and a blessed, abundant, joyful New Year 2026 to you and your loved ones.
May God walk beside you through every day to come.
God Bless Us All…
- Jacob Mascarenhas
Author | Storyteller | Founder of AWritersTip
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