HopeWords Literary Journal
The HopeWords Literary Journal exists for writers, artists, and readers who long for hope and heaven and who look for timeless stories from diverse voices that all point back to the good, true, and beautiful. The HopeWords Literary Journal is not clickbait, it's not artificial, it's not breaking news. It's a community of writers, painters, preachers, thinkers, musicians, photographers, cartoonists, and storytellers who invite colorful conversations that are rooted in humble hospitality. So, pull up a chair, pour yourself some coffee, and meet us here for conversations on purpose, place, theology, hope, friends, literature, music, and stories of all sorts with your fellow lovers of words and God.
Featured Work
Bluefield Light of the World
I have never heard Bluefield referred to as the Light of the World but I cannot imagine a city that has a greater claim to this name. Over the last century, Bluefield and the surrounding areas have mined some of the best burning coal in existence and shipped it nationally and internationally. We were the…
CATEGORIES:
Essays Poetry & Music Short Fiction Other ALL
Reflection on Psalm 62
My friend Jen and I stayed in Bramwell for HopeWords 2024. On Friday, before we would settle into our seats in the Granada Theater and Travis Lowe would stir in us a desire to love a place like he loved Bluefield, we decided to stop at Pinnacle Rock on our way to the evening session…
A Ministry of Pages and Presence
My co-worker Michelle would sometimes pop around the corner and ask me about children’s books when we had a slower day at the library. Listening to her revisit stories from her childhood was relatable and hilarious because she was always cheering for the offbeat…
The Gift of Fear
I grew up a free-range child. Our neighborhood gang daily dared death. We swam Bear Creek lifevestless, rode stingray bikes and Tecumseh minibikes helmetless, engaged in B. B. Gun wars safety-glassless, roamed miles from home mapless. All this took place virtually parentless. Therefore, I considered myself fearless…
Spring Keeps Asking This Question: Who Are You Becoming?
When I was too little to remember my age, I sat on a mustard yellow, long and low 1960s couch where my grandfather asked me who I wanted to be when I grew up. Predicting who you’ll become is not easy at any age, but being too young to read seems to make it a little bit easier…
Join the growing community of HopeWords writers and visual artists by submitting your own content!
