A missionary told me recently that he was done writing. Not because he had nothing to say. Not because the revelation had dried up. Because the system that was supposed to help him reach people was taking most of what he earned and giving him nothing in return.

That conversation stayed with me.

John Bunyan wrote Pilgrim’s Progress in a prison cell. Brother Lawrence never intended to be published. Oswald Chambers never published a word himself — his wife compiled his notes after he died. None of them were writing for the masses. They were writing for the few God gave them.

And here we are, transformed by what they left behind.