50 Blogs Later: Writing My Way Through Faith, Loss, and Becoming


When life got loud, I kept writing.

In 2025, I wrote 50 blogs. Half of everything I’ve written in ten years.

It was a year of transition, faith, family, sermons, hospital corridors, and unexpected open doors.

Writing helped me make sense of it all. And along the way, it created real connection and impact.

Still writing. Still learning. Still open to new stories worth telling.

👉 Read the full reflection👇.


Without fanfare and without a content calendar taped to my wall, I wrote 50 blog posts in 2025. Out of 102 posts written over ten years, half came from this one year alone.

That’s half a decade’s worth of words. That stat still surprises me.

Not because I suddenly found more time. But because life, in its usual fashion, was anything but quiet.

This was the year of closed office doors and open hospital corridors. The year of sermons preached with a trembling voice.

The year of parenting from home. Learning patience, one paragraph at a time. The year writing stopped being a hobby. It became a survival tool.


Some sermons are preached from the pulpit. Others are written quietly, between doubts and prayers.

The year opened gently, with children.

I kicked off 2025 with our Children’s Church Q1 Newsletter. A joyful recap anchored in our annual theme “Established in His Ways.”

It was hopeful, light, and full of laughter. The kind of writing that reminds you why faith is meant to be shared early and often.

At the time, I didn’t know the year would ask for much heavier words.


Somewhere between Q1 and Q4, I lost my job.

I went from being a Senior Learning Advisor in a busy office to a stay-at-home dad. Navigating a season of uncertainty. Prayer. Side hustles. And awkward LinkedIn optimism.

So I wrote.

I wrote about the discomfort of transition. About faith when CVs go unanswered. About learning that entrepreneurship doesn’t arrive with applause. It arrives with doubt and small wins.

When income slowed down, conversations deepened

Two paid book reviews followed:

  1. Ashes of My Soul and
  2. Retirement Is Not The Finish Line.

Unexpected doors that quietly affirmed. You can make a living with words, if you stay faithful to them.


This was also a year of sermons.

I preached about Job’s pain. Not as theory but as lived experience. Anchored stubbornly in the belief that God is still good.

Even when circumstances argue otherwise.

Still standing. Still speaking. Still trusting.

Writing sermons and blogs side by side reminded me: theology lands differently when pain has a name.


Then came the hardest writing of the year. My father was hospitalized for a month. Hospital corridors became familiar terrain.

Some stories write themselves. Others write you.

Long walks filled with prayer, fear, hope, and family solidarity. When I finally wrote about it, I didn’t expect the response.

That post became the most read piece of the year (821 reads).

2024 vs 2003. Time reversed the roles. Now I carry the man who once carried me.

That story reminded me why vulnerability travels further than polish.


I don’t write chasing metrics. But, I do pay attention.

Words travel. You never know who they’ll sit with.

Most readers came from Kenya (14,678). Followed by friends in the U.S. (1,390). Older posts resurfaced too. Stories about my mother’s mental illness, unemployment, and resilience.

Proof that pain doesn’t expire, and neither does hope.

Consistency compounds quietly.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, I crossed a quiet milestone.

Ten years of pressing “Publish”

Ten years of showing up with imperfect sentences. Ten years of discovering that writing is less about talent, and more about courage.


The year closed where it began: with family.

My final post of 2025, captured my father’s homecoming after a month in hospital. A full circle moment of gratitude, exhaustion, and grace.

From children’s church joy, to hospital room prayers, the arc of the year felt… human.


One quiet surprise from this year was discovering how stories can also create value.

The two book reviews I wrote, didn’t just sit on the blog. They sparked conversations. Boosted visibility. Translated into real engagement and increased sales for the authors.

That experience reminded me of something important. A story told with care can travel far. It goes further with honesty and context than a poster ever could.

So here’s an open door.

If you’re an author, entrepreneur, organization, ministry, or institution, you may be looking to thoughtfully highlight your book, product, service, event, or even property.

I’m open to collaborating through feature articles, reviews, or promotional storytelling on this blog.

I don’t do hype. I do human-centered stories that connect, inform, and invite people to pay attention.

If that resonates, feel free to reach out.
Let’s tell stories that work and last.

So yes, 50 blogs in one year sounds impressive on paper. But for me, it was a lifeline. A way to make sense of faith, family, loss, and small wins.

It reminded me that stories don’t just help us process life. They can also open doors. Connect people. And create value in unexpected ways.

As I step into 2026, I’m still writing, still listening. And still open, to new stories, new collaborations, and new journeys worth telling.

2025 was a marathon.
2026 will be another.

Still writing. Still learning. Still grateful. 🥲


#50BlogsIn2025 #WritingThroughLife #FaithAndStories #StillStanding #BloggingJourney #PurposeInTransition #GratefulHeart



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Published by Joseph Ngaara

I am inspired by people's life stories

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