Rooted And Reaching-Wendell Berry

And A Writer’s Life

The Need to Belong Somewhere

When I read Wendell Berry, something inside me feels warm. He writes about small towns, farms, neighbors, and what it means to truly belong. He calls it “membership.” It means being part of a place—and letting that place be part of you.

I’ve always loved that idea.

I was born in East Texas, but over the years, my family moved away. My wife grew up here in central Illinois. After we got married, we made our home here—raising kids, planting a church, trying to build something that would last. We lived in Normal, Illinois for ten years, then moved to St. Louis for nine. But after that, we came back.

We rented a house for three years while we figured things out. Then we decided: it’s time to plant roots. We bought a house. Not because it was perfect, but because we needed to feel grounded and a greater sense of belonging.

Even though we live local, my work is global. I help people write books from all over the world. But I write, teach, and lead from a little office in my hometown, and sometimes, I even get clients right here in Normal. (My only “normal” clients!)

And that’s where Wendell Berry inspires me most.

Wendell Berry’s Quiet Example

Wendell Berry didn’t try to become famous. He didn’t chase after a big platform. He just went home to his farm in Kentucky and stayed there. He wrote about the land, about community, and about living well in one place.

And people listened.

His poems, essays, and stories have helped people for years—even though he hardly left his town. He wrote everything by hand. He kept things simple. He didn’t need to shout to be heard.

Berry shows us something important: we don’t need to go everywhere to make a difference. We just need to go deep—deep into the life God gave us, deep into the stories we’re living, deep into the work that matters.

You Can Be Rooted and Still Reach

As Christian writers, we can feel torn. One part of us wants a simple life—loving our families, serving our church, living slow and quiet. But another part wants to write, to speak, to share God’s truth with more people.

The good news is: we don’t have to choose.

We don’t have to give up our roots to reach others. In fact, our writing is stronger when it comes from the real, local, everyday life we’re living. When we write from our own story, our own voice, our own walk with God—people feel that. And they lean in.

That’s what I try to do in my work. I help people write books from all over—but I do it while leading my local church, directing the local homeschool choir, and raising my kids right here at home. I don’t have to be everywhere. I just have to be here—faithful, present, and listening.

That kind of life gives your words power. And if your words have power, they travel as far as words can go.

Maybe you feel small today. Maybe you wonder if your words matter. Maybe you’re afraid your story isn’t interesting enough, or holy enough, or strong enough.

Your words matter right where you are.

You don’t have to leave your wonderful and ordianary life behind to be a writer. You just have to look closer. Pay attention. Show up. Tell the truth. Let God work through your ordinary days. That’s where the good writing comes from.

That’s where the real writing comes from, and real rooted writing can reach far places.

I’ve never been to Berry’s farm, but I feel like I have through both his fiction and his nonfiction, and even his poetry (something I’m coming to appreciate more as I get older).

A Blessing for the Rooted Writer

May you grow deep roots.

May your home be filled with truth and grace.

May your writing rise from your real life, like a prayer or a song.

May your words travel far—not because you chased after reach, but because you were faithful to the story God gave you.

Write from where you are. Write with love. Write for the Kingdom.

That’s how you reach the world.

Blessings,

Jeff B. Miller

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