Hi everyone, and welcome to the new Inkwell. We have just changed sites because of some account/profile complications, but it will be the same thing. We've changed the URL of the old site so that we can put this address in exactly like the old one. So to check The Inkwell, just type in the normal address, www.theinkwell10.blogspot.com.
We've had to re-enter all the blog posts on this site, which is the most annoying thing. ☺ Because of this, all the comments will be gone and we'll have to start from here. Thanks for your patience!
P.S. You will also have to follow this site again if you were following the old one; the old one will be deleted. Thanks for your patience! Have a wonderful day.
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Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Healing Waters
Hi everyone! Kelsia and Cherie here.
For those of you who don't know, we've been working on writing a book for the past few years. Today we finally sent our manuscript in to a publishing company, so if you think about it, you can pray that if it's supposed to be published, God would work it out.
So what's this story about?
Well, the title is Healing Waters. Interwoven throughout the book are the story of Quinn, a young man who gave up hope when paralyzed in a motorcycle accident, and the Bible-times story of Zephi, an old crippled beggar who waits daily at the Pool of Bethesda for a chance to reach the waters that would heal him. Both are seeking healing waters, and the journey to find it may bring things they never expected.
So, what does it take to break a man?
What does it take to heal a man?
Wait and read our book to find out!
For those of you who don't know, we've been working on writing a book for the past few years. Today we finally sent our manuscript in to a publishing company, so if you think about it, you can pray that if it's supposed to be published, God would work it out.
So what's this story about?
Well, the title is Healing Waters. Interwoven throughout the book are the story of Quinn, a young man who gave up hope when paralyzed in a motorcycle accident, and the Bible-times story of Zephi, an old crippled beggar who waits daily at the Pool of Bethesda for a chance to reach the waters that would heal him. Both are seeking healing waters, and the journey to find it may bring things they never expected.
So, what does it take to break a man?
What does it take to heal a man?
Wait and read our book to find out!
Lift Up Your Eyes
by Kelsia
Driving along, watching the yellow lines stretch out in front of me, feeling the bright sunshine warm me through the window, taking in the deep blue sky without a cloud in sight . . .
I survey my lovely surroundings.
My heart should've been singing, my lips smiling and praising God, and I should've been excited about life. Wanting to embrace it, instead of wanting to give up.
My heart was heavy.
Walking along the dirt road, seeing the gravel stones blur beneath my feet as tears run down my cheeks, I struggle to be strong.
The sun is radiantly shining, the sky stretches out in deep blueness, but my heart is heavy.
Lying in the still of the night with my head down and tears soaking my pillow, I cry for the pain in my heart.
You've been there. Maybe it's asking "why" to God and your heart aching for Him to answer your prayer . . . you've tried to have faith and believed God would answer, but still His plans are different. You feel yourself growing desperate and angry, and you want to turn your back on God. Maybe it's the pain of surrendering something you hold close to your heart and know you need to release into God's hand, but you don't want to give it up. Maybe you're feeling like you can't go on in life, like there's too much to keep your head up -- the weight on your heart is pulling you down and your cup is void of joy. Maybe it's realizing the fact that dreams don't always come true like you thought they would. Instead God has you somewhere where you don't understand why He has you there . . . you feel your heart pulled toward where you want to go, but God hasn't directed otherwise, so you know you're supposed to be there and pour your heart into it.
Whatever you may be facing . . .
In these moments,
lift up your eyes.
Pray for grace and pray for strength.
Pray for God's hand to fill your cup overflowing.
Ask Him to carry you.
He will be your strength and hope.
He sees your tears, feels your pain, hears your heart's cry.
He cares, and loves you with an overflowing love.
It might not change what you're facing, but lift your eyes;
You will never face it alone.
This piece of writing was accepted by Relate magazine. Click here to read it on their website!
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Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Driving along, watching the yellow lines stretch out in front of me, feeling the bright sunshine warm me through the window, taking in the deep blue sky without a cloud in sight . . .
I survey my lovely surroundings.
My heart should've been singing, my lips smiling and praising God, and I should've been excited about life. Wanting to embrace it, instead of wanting to give up.
My heart was heavy.
Walking along the dirt road, seeing the gravel stones blur beneath my feet as tears run down my cheeks, I struggle to be strong.
The sun is radiantly shining, the sky stretches out in deep blueness, but my heart is heavy.
Lying in the still of the night with my head down and tears soaking my pillow, I cry for the pain in my heart.
You've been there. Maybe it's asking "why" to God and your heart aching for Him to answer your prayer . . . you've tried to have faith and believed God would answer, but still His plans are different. You feel yourself growing desperate and angry, and you want to turn your back on God. Maybe it's the pain of surrendering something you hold close to your heart and know you need to release into God's hand, but you don't want to give it up. Maybe you're feeling like you can't go on in life, like there's too much to keep your head up -- the weight on your heart is pulling you down and your cup is void of joy. Maybe it's realizing the fact that dreams don't always come true like you thought they would. Instead God has you somewhere where you don't understand why He has you there . . . you feel your heart pulled toward where you want to go, but God hasn't directed otherwise, so you know you're supposed to be there and pour your heart into it.
Whatever you may be facing . . .
In these moments,
lift up your eyes.
Pray for grace and pray for strength.
Pray for God's hand to fill your cup overflowing.
Ask Him to carry you.
He will be your strength and hope.
He sees your tears, feels your pain, hears your heart's cry.
He cares, and loves you with an overflowing love.
It might not change what you're facing, but lift your eyes;
You will never face it alone.
This piece of writing was accepted by Relate magazine. Click here to read it on their website!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
I Am Walking a Tightrope.
I am stumbling in the dark.
I am performing with all my energy on a frightening, demanding stage.
I am clinging desperately to the edge of a precipice. My strength is waning and I am beginning to slip . . .
I am doing my best, and it is not enough, and this scares me.
Stumbling through the darkness? It is to find You. I am so afraid of being lost.
Walking the tightrope, clinging to the cliff? It's to keep from falling. I am so afraid of falling.
Performing frenzied choreography on this harsh stage, dancing until I run out of breath and dancing longer . . . is to gain Your favor. I am so afraid of being rejected.
Should each day of my life be a battle, a struggle to make You love me more? Sometimes I think I cannot help living like this, because I'm afraid that I am not worth holding on to.
Really, why would You keep holding me? What am I worth to You? How many mistakes will I make before You grow tired of forgiving me and decide to cast me away?
It's funny; the whole time I perform, I know it's all futile: Your love cannot be earned. Even if it could, my sorry efforts would never do the trick. But I am still too terrified to stop trying; I feel I must be doing all I can, for the thought of losing Your love is the most frightening thing imaginable to me.
Am I worth holding on to?
O God! What I have always been taught is that You loved me when I was still a sinner, and that Your love never changes. My life depends on this being true, but I can barely bring myself to believe it. It's beyond reason, and too wonderful for a wretch like me.
But suppose it is true . . . if it is true, I have no reason to fear. If it is true, I can stop this crazy performance and serve You out of love instead of fear. And I need not wander or fall, for I have found my Help, my Peace . . . everything I will ever need. I am safe if I hold onto You.
For You are worth holding on to.
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Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
I am performing with all my energy on a frightening, demanding stage.
I am clinging desperately to the edge of a precipice. My strength is waning and I am beginning to slip . . .
I am doing my best, and it is not enough, and this scares me.
Stumbling through the darkness? It is to find You. I am so afraid of being lost.
Walking the tightrope, clinging to the cliff? It's to keep from falling. I am so afraid of falling.
Performing frenzied choreography on this harsh stage, dancing until I run out of breath and dancing longer . . . is to gain Your favor. I am so afraid of being rejected.
Should each day of my life be a battle, a struggle to make You love me more? Sometimes I think I cannot help living like this, because I'm afraid that I am not worth holding on to.
Really, why would You keep holding me? What am I worth to You? How many mistakes will I make before You grow tired of forgiving me and decide to cast me away?
It's funny; the whole time I perform, I know it's all futile: Your love cannot be earned. Even if it could, my sorry efforts would never do the trick. But I am still too terrified to stop trying; I feel I must be doing all I can, for the thought of losing Your love is the most frightening thing imaginable to me.
Am I worth holding on to?
O God! What I have always been taught is that You loved me when I was still a sinner, and that Your love never changes. My life depends on this being true, but I can barely bring myself to believe it. It's beyond reason, and too wonderful for a wretch like me.
But suppose it is true . . . if it is true, I have no reason to fear. If it is true, I can stop this crazy performance and serve You out of love instead of fear. And I need not wander or fall, for I have found my Help, my Peace . . . everything I will ever need. I am safe if I hold onto You.
For You are worth holding on to.
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Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Poems
by Renita
I happened upon two roads one day
And the one was high, and the other low
So I stopped and stared in bewilderment
Wondering on which I should go
The high road was narrow and rough and steep
And the other was smooth and wide and long
So I picked the road that looked best to me
And went on my way with a song
But my song soon faded the farther I went
As I choked on the dust in the air
And the bushes had thorns I had not seen before
And I fell into brier and snare
I struggled and fought to get out of the traps
Til I was bleeding and broken and bruised
I desperately cried and called for help
But no one could hear; t'was no use
Then a Man came along who was gentle and kind
With a voice that was soft and sweet
And he helped me back up the lower road
And he bandaged my aching feet
I tried so hard to get back up the path
But so oft I stumbled and slipped
But the Man beside me just picked me up
And pulled me from bramble and dip
The crossroads were now in sight again
Much to my joy and relief
But I could not pause, I must keep on going
And my rest was very brief
"You must choose a road," my Helper said
"You cannot sit in between"
I looked in His eyes and I felt a peace
For His face was calm and serene
He held out His hand to guide me along
And I took it, and hung my head in shame
For I knew I'd taken the road I shouldn't
But it was then He spoke my name
"All is forgiven" was all He said
But the words freed my guilty heart
Neither trials, nor storms, nor man's evil schemes
Could ever tear us apart
So I've traveled the high way from that day forth
And will til I cross the strand
For I've a Friend who will help me along
It's the Man with the scars in His hand.
I happened upon two roads one day
And the one was high, and the other low
So I stopped and stared in bewilderment
Wondering on which I should go
The high road was narrow and rough and steep
And the other was smooth and wide and long
So I picked the road that looked best to me
And went on my way with a song
But my song soon faded the farther I went
As I choked on the dust in the air
And the bushes had thorns I had not seen before
And I fell into brier and snare
I struggled and fought to get out of the traps
Til I was bleeding and broken and bruised
I desperately cried and called for help
But no one could hear; t'was no use
Then a Man came along who was gentle and kind
With a voice that was soft and sweet
And he helped me back up the lower road
And he bandaged my aching feet
I tried so hard to get back up the path
But so oft I stumbled and slipped
But the Man beside me just picked me up
And pulled me from bramble and dip
The crossroads were now in sight again
Much to my joy and relief
But I could not pause, I must keep on going
And my rest was very brief
"You must choose a road," my Helper said
"You cannot sit in between"
I looked in His eyes and I felt a peace
For His face was calm and serene
He held out His hand to guide me along
And I took it, and hung my head in shame
For I knew I'd taken the road I shouldn't
But it was then He spoke my name
"All is forgiven" was all He said
But the words freed my guilty heart
Neither trials, nor storms, nor man's evil schemes
Could ever tear us apart
So I've traveled the high way from that day forth
And will til I cross the strand
For I've a Friend who will help me along
It's the Man with the scars in His hand.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Will He be with me to the end?
The God I scorned and turned my back against
I saw Him on the cross and turned away
His broken, bleeding body brought me to shame
I left Him alone to die
And walked away to follow the world
Oh, I stood by Him when He cleansed the leper
I boasted when He healed the sick
And set the captive free
My heart swelled with pride as
The lame danced, and the mute sang
And the blind rejoiced to see
But when it counted most
I was not there
Alone He had to face His enemies
Alone he bore the slashes of the whip
The mocking of the crowd
The spitting, the slaps, the crown of thorns
I could not even come to bear His cross
Alone He felt the nails pierce His hands
Alone He bore the sins of all mankind
I heard Him when He cried aloud
"My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?"
I saw Him die upon that hill
Alone
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Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Don't Cry Too Long
by Lydia
In Memory of Amber Miller
MY TIME HERE WAS SO SHORT
And I wish I could've lived out my life
And done all the things
I dreamed of doing "when I grow up."
But when I saw the look on Jesus' face
And heard his welcome,
I couldn't stay,
Though I hated to leave you.
So don't cry too long,
'Cause all my pain is gone
And my body is brand-new
No more bruises and no more scars.
I run through lush, green meadows
On my two strong legs,
My long, silky hair
Streaming out behind me.
When you grieve
Because of the childhood days I'm missing,
Remember that I'm playing
At the feet of Jesus
Or sitting on his lap
As he tells me stories
Of His life on earth.
As you imagine
What a beautiful, joyous bride
I would have been,
Think of the utter joy I feel
As I bathe in the light of God's presence.
When tears fill your eyes
Because you will never
Hear my laughter ring out in my children's voices
Or see my sweet smile
On their faces,
Remember that I'm singing with the angels,
Free from heartache, disappointment or sorrow.
I'm happy here,
And although I know you miss me,
Don't cry too long,
For if you make preparations,
I'll see you soon.
I'm anxiously awaiting
Your arrival in heaven
And will be the first at the gate
To greet you.
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Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Homeless
by Kelsey
Worn and hungry,
Tired and abused,
Cold and hurting,
Lost and confused.
Oh, but the others!
They walk on by,
Never a glance,
Never meeting her eye.
They all get caught up
In their own little lives,
Never thinking of what
It's really like.
She wonders if they
Know what it means
To live in a box
Out on the streets.
She wonders if they
Have ever known
The lost feeling
of being alone.
She wonders if they
Know what it's like to skip a meal
If they have any idea
How it really feels.
She wonders if they
Know what it's like to hold a sign
Hoping that someone
Will give tonight.
She wonders if they
Know what it's like
To sleep in frigid weather
For the entire night.
She doesn't understand why
Their comfort takes first place
And why they don't seem to notice
Her hungry pleading face.
They say she is dirty,
Yet they never gave her soap
They say she is to hopeless
Yet they never gave her hope.
They don't stop to imagine what she's feeling
They don't stop to imagine what it's like
They just go about their day,
Never caring about her life.
She's out there on the streets,
Watching them walk by,
Wishing they would stop and help her,
She just wants to cry.
Worn and hungry,
Tired and abused,
Cold and hurting,
Lost and confused.
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Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Worn and hungry,
Tired and abused,
Cold and hurting,
Lost and confused.
Oh, but the others!
They walk on by,
Never a glance,
Never meeting her eye.
They all get caught up
In their own little lives,
Never thinking of what
It's really like.
She wonders if they
Know what it means
To live in a box
Out on the streets.
She wonders if they
Have ever known
The lost feeling
of being alone.
She wonders if they
Know what it's like to skip a meal
If they have any idea
How it really feels.
She wonders if they
Know what it's like to hold a sign
Hoping that someone
Will give tonight.
She wonders if they
Know what it's like
To sleep in frigid weather
For the entire night.
She doesn't understand why
Their comfort takes first place
And why they don't seem to notice
Her hungry pleading face.
They say she is dirty,
Yet they never gave her soap
They say she is to hopeless
Yet they never gave her hope.
They don't stop to imagine what she's feeling
They don't stop to imagine what it's like
They just go about their day,
Never caring about her life.
She's out there on the streets,
Watching them walk by,
Wishing they would stop and help her,
She just wants to cry.
Worn and hungry,
Tired and abused,
Cold and hurting,
Lost and confused.
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Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
The Ballroom
by CherÃe
It's a waltz for the elegant
and refined.
The ballroom is alive tonight
with colorful hoop skirts swishing in every direction and
glasses clinking.
White-gloved hands extend gracefully for a
polite kiss.
Feet are moving everywhere, from the
practiced steps of the dancers
to the elderly gentleman tapping his
toes to the music
to the
slippers of the child hiding
under the table.
Music sets the evening's tempo
and mood: happy and exciting. The
orchestra in the corner sways as the musicians
play . . .
violin, viola, cello and a big double bass
blending into a symphony.
Old maids beside the punch table
gossip of engagements and scandals.
Painted young ladies are falling
in love with dashing young men
or rolling their eyes at their friends as a
clumsy oaf steps on their toes, or
fanning themselves by the wall and wishing they would be
asked to dance.
In the far, dark corner,
the negro girl in
a maid's outfit
stands still, holding a tray of goblets.
Her feet ache,
but she is
twirling inside.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
It's a waltz for the elegant
and refined.
The ballroom is alive tonight
with colorful hoop skirts swishing in every direction and
glasses clinking.
White-gloved hands extend gracefully for a
polite kiss.
Feet are moving everywhere, from the
practiced steps of the dancers
to the elderly gentleman tapping his
toes to the music
to the
slippers of the child hiding
under the table.
Music sets the evening's tempo
and mood: happy and exciting. The
orchestra in the corner sways as the musicians
play . . .
violin, viola, cello and a big double bass
blending into a symphony.
Old maids beside the punch table
gossip of engagements and scandals.
Painted young ladies are falling
in love with dashing young men
or rolling their eyes at their friends as a
clumsy oaf steps on their toes, or
fanning themselves by the wall and wishing they would be
asked to dance.
In the far, dark corner,
the negro girl in
a maid's outfit
stands still, holding a tray of goblets.
Her feet ache,
but she is
twirling inside.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
The Thunderstorm
by CherÃe
The thunderstorm
is rising far away,
and the far-away is getting CLOSER.
I can even smell the storm now,
so I am certain it is real.
The idea of a thunderstorm is a frightening one. Exciting.
Things have been the same for so long . . .
Safe. But dry. Very dry and unchanging.
My world is steady, but not growing.
I'm standing outside, trying to remember what a thunderstorm
is like.
I've only seen one or two. Small. Years ago.
But this one is different. I sense it in the restless wind. This storm will be vast and powerful, leaving nothing unchanged.
I survey the landscape around me. There is my house, the small cottage in which I've always lived. In the back is my garden. It's having trouble growing, but I'm not even sure I like vegetables.
There are worn dirt paths, here and there,
telling the stories of the few places I have walked.
And there stand my beloved trees. Surrounding my house is a little forest of them, and my favorite ones are scattered closely in the yard.
What would a storm do to them? To everything?
In my mind, I can see the wild wind tearing off branches and floods of water washing trees completely away. Washing away everything I can't hold on to.
Washing away me . . . !
If this thunderstorm comes, my world will never be the same again. The life I've always known will change. The landscape will be entirely different.
I dread the storm. Stay away.
But . . . it compels me . . . rolling in the distance. It will snatch away normal life, but what if it brings something better? It will wash away the dust and change everything. It will change me, too.
My heart is pounding. How long before the storm comes?
Will it come? If it passes, I will have missed something. I will have missed the power and excitement of watching it wreak havoc in my dilapidated life.
With a shudder, I realize that I can suddenly feel the chill of rain on my skin, the wind nearly blowing me over where I stand.
The thunderstorm is coming.
The thunderstorm is change,
and I think I want it.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
The thunderstorm
is rising far away,
and the far-away is getting CLOSER.
I can even smell the storm now,
so I am certain it is real.
The idea of a thunderstorm is a frightening one. Exciting.
Things have been the same for so long . . .
Safe. But dry. Very dry and unchanging.
My world is steady, but not growing.
I'm standing outside, trying to remember what a thunderstorm
is like.
I've only seen one or two. Small. Years ago.
But this one is different. I sense it in the restless wind. This storm will be vast and powerful, leaving nothing unchanged.
I survey the landscape around me. There is my house, the small cottage in which I've always lived. In the back is my garden. It's having trouble growing, but I'm not even sure I like vegetables.
There are worn dirt paths, here and there,
telling the stories of the few places I have walked.
And there stand my beloved trees. Surrounding my house is a little forest of them, and my favorite ones are scattered closely in the yard.
What would a storm do to them? To everything?
In my mind, I can see the wild wind tearing off branches and floods of water washing trees completely away. Washing away everything I can't hold on to.
Washing away me . . . !
If this thunderstorm comes, my world will never be the same again. The life I've always known will change. The landscape will be entirely different.
I dread the storm. Stay away.
But . . . it compels me . . . rolling in the distance. It will snatch away normal life, but what if it brings something better? It will wash away the dust and change everything. It will change me, too.
My heart is pounding. How long before the storm comes?
Will it come? If it passes, I will have missed something. I will have missed the power and excitement of watching it wreak havoc in my dilapidated life.
With a shudder, I realize that I can suddenly feel the chill of rain on my skin, the wind nearly blowing me over where I stand.
The thunderstorm is coming.
The thunderstorm is change,
and I think I want it.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Quotes
by Kyla
"TALENT alone cannot make a writer. There must be a MAN behind the book."
"Nothing goes by luck in composition. It allows no tricks. The best you can write will be the best you are. Every sentence is the result of a long probation. The author's character is read from title page to end. Of this he never corrects the proofs."
[And a diamante written by Kyla herself:]
"TALENT alone cannot make a writer. There must be a MAN behind the book."
"Nothing goes by luck in composition. It allows no tricks. The best you can write will be the best you are. Every sentence is the result of a long probation. The author's character is read from title page to end. Of this he never corrects the proofs."
[And a diamante written by Kyla herself:]
BLACK
unpleasant, disdainful
corrupting, ensnaring, reproaching
hatefulness, guile, purity, loveliness,
appealing, cleansing, purifying,
unspotted, desirable
WHITE
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Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Yellow
by Lydia
. . . Golden rays
Piercing through towering thunderheads
. . . Someone who is afraid
To stand for what he believes
. . . Cheerful black-eyed susans
Lifting their heads
To the sun
. . . The breast of a carefree meadowlark
Trilling a beautiful song
. . . A small rubber duck
Floating
Amidst a mass of bubbles
. . . The legal pad of a eloquent lawyer
. . . Autumn leaves
Drifting along
On a gentle breeze
. . . The warm feeling that surges through my body
When something thrills me
. . . Frilly daffodils
Waving gaily
In the fresh zephyrs of spring
. . . Laughter bubbling
From an innocent child's lips . . .
-------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Today
by Kelsia
Today, see life as half-full, instead of half-empty.
See how blessed you are instead of all that's wrong.
Today, thank God for everything He's done instead of
Telling Him all that He's not doing or should do.
Today, love your life and forget about the unfairness in it.
At least you're not dead. At least you have a chance. Take it.
Go all out for God. Follow your dreams.
Today, look beyond your tear-filled eyes to the one up above,
It may be raining now--but remember--there's always
Sunshine just beyond the clouds.
Today, sing God's song, even when you have no song
Left to sing. Even when the notes begin to falter. Even when
You're singing all by yourself. Ask God for that everlasting melody.
Today, ask for God's strength instead of trying to do
Everything on your own.
Today, choose life. And love. And laughter.
Today, bring God the sacrifice of praise.
Even when you don't feel like praising Him, do anyway.
Bring God that sacrifice.
Today, be all that you can be, because there might not
Be a tomorrow.
Today, live with purpose,
Today, remember the good in life and the good memories.
Let the rest wash away. Let Jesus heal your heart.
TODAY,
Rejoice. Because God created you . . .
Because you are special and
Have a beautiful plan to fulfill.
TODAY,
Choose God.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Today, see life as half-full, instead of half-empty.
See how blessed you are instead of all that's wrong.
Today, thank God for everything He's done instead of
Telling Him all that He's not doing or should do.
Today, love your life and forget about the unfairness in it.
At least you're not dead. At least you have a chance. Take it.
Go all out for God. Follow your dreams.
Today, look beyond your tear-filled eyes to the one up above,
It may be raining now--but remember--there's always
Sunshine just beyond the clouds.
Today, sing God's song, even when you have no song
Left to sing. Even when the notes begin to falter. Even when
You're singing all by yourself. Ask God for that everlasting melody.
Today, ask for God's strength instead of trying to do
Everything on your own.
Today, choose life. And love. And laughter.
Today, bring God the sacrifice of praise.
Even when you don't feel like praising Him, do anyway.
Bring God that sacrifice.
Today, be all that you can be, because there might not
Be a tomorrow.
Today, live with purpose,
Today, remember the good in life and the good memories.
Let the rest wash away. Let Jesus heal your heart.
TODAY,
Rejoice. Because God created you . . .
Because you are special and
Have a beautiful plan to fulfill.
TODAY,
Choose God.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
God
by Tabitha
God, You're kind of hard to figure out.
You are scholarly, inventing the hundreds of languages we speak.
Writing laws we try to obey
You're also delicate, swirling Your brush across the sky,
And leaving behind blues, purples, pinks and reds
Your power speaks in the rushing turbulence of white water
Pushing its way between high walls of stone
Your innocence comes through the cry of a small baby,
Expecting to be fed
You are wild as the eagle, soaring above the water
His talons outstretched as he dives for a silvery fish
You, oh God, show me Your stubbornness
Like the wild goats with locked horns.
You refuse to give up on me
Through the roses, the butterflies, the hummingbirds,
I see Your beauty . . . how You delight in that which is good
I see Your love in the giving up of Your son
To pay for the times I mess up
But most of all, I see Your humor,
Your love of a good laugh,
When I look at me.
-------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
God, You're kind of hard to figure out.
You are scholarly, inventing the hundreds of languages we speak.
Writing laws we try to obey
You're also delicate, swirling Your brush across the sky,
And leaving behind blues, purples, pinks and reds
Your power speaks in the rushing turbulence of white water
Pushing its way between high walls of stone
Your innocence comes through the cry of a small baby,
Expecting to be fed
You are wild as the eagle, soaring above the water
His talons outstretched as he dives for a silvery fish
You, oh God, show me Your stubbornness
Like the wild goats with locked horns.
You refuse to give up on me
Through the roses, the butterflies, the hummingbirds,
I see Your beauty . . . how You delight in that which is good
I see Your love in the giving up of Your son
To pay for the times I mess up
But most of all, I see Your humor,
Your love of a good laugh,
When I look at me.
-------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Joy!
by Monica
I've got that joy, joy, joy! But does the rest of the world know about it?
I ring the doorbell and wait. Will I be able to spread the joy only Jesus can give?
I am going in this house a normal 13-year-old girl. But when I come out, will I be completely transformed?
A lady with a painted white face greets me at the door.
I come inside, and Jenni takes me to get my face painted white like hers.
The paint feels cool, hot, and itchy at the same time. I am afraid my eyes will start watering.
"OK, I am done!" she announces after a bit.
Jenni hands me something to wipe off the paint that accidentally got on my lips. She also holds up the mirror briefly to show me where to wipe.
I catch a flash of my reflection in the mirror. A raccoon looking mask is all the skin you can see on my face now.
The rest is covered by white paint, paint that is starting to cool down.
Little Davion looks at me, his surprised look changes to horror; he lets out a cry.
That was my first kids-being-terrified-of-you experience for the day.
Sierra looks at me too. She smiles the cutest, biggest grin at me. Then she gives the most adorable giggle.
That was my first kids-laugh-and-love-you experience for the day.
Jenni goes to finish her face, and after a while she finishes mine too.
We go and get into the outfits we had picked out earlier.
Mine is a strange contraption, bright yellow pants attached to a black and white striped shirt. At first the pink suspenders get tangled around my legs. I pick a wig, a hat, and a pair of gigantic shoes. I go to the restroom so I can see what I look like in the mirror. While going through the kitchen the others in the household express how they feel about my costume.
And that was my first people-crack-up-because-you-look-so-funny experience for the day.
I open the door to the restroom, and right away I see my reflection in the mirror. Or was it mine? It didn't look like me.
No, when I looked into the mirror I am sure it wasn't me, but Giggles, the clown.
Bubbles the clown (former Jenni), not-named clown (Jenni's daughter Brianna) and Giggles the clown (me, former Monica), headed out to the car.
Buckling my seat belt was interesting with that big wire hoop that went around my waist.
That car trip was lots of fun. People would stare at us. And some even took pictures with their cell phones. We would wave and sometimes people would wave back.
"Hi, I am Giggles the clown!" I would start, "would you like your face painted?"
We had arrived at our destination. The New Horizons Ministries Thrift Store, where we were volunteering during the store's open house.
"OK, what do you want? I can do a heart, a kitty, a tiger, a flower, a rainbow, a butterfly, a dragonfly . . ." This is how it normally went.
"I think I will walk around and see if I can find any kids who want balloons," I told Bubbles.
I started walking around the store. (Free pointer: don't grow big feet all of a sudden, you will find it extremely hard to get used to.) At a distance I saw what looked like a couple of kids, and obviously they saw me. I heard one telling the other excitingly, "look! Here comes a clown!" Then I heard a scream as one of the little girls went behind the older man, who seemed to be her dad.
"I don't like clowns!" She cried.
Then my nose fell off.
(Free pointer: Don't decide on a whim that it would be nice to get a nose that will attach and detach, because usually it decides it wants to be detached.)
I quickly picked it up and put it back on.
"Hey I am Giggles, want a balloon?"
Out of the 3 kids, 2 of them readily accepted, the other girl kept looking at me quite terrified, after a while she warmed up, and even wanted her face painted.
Perhaps the strangest part of my time was when people who I knew very well would come and examine me, their eyes squinting in deep thought.
"Do you know who it is?"
"No, I can't figure it out."
"Monica? I would have never guessed!"
(Free pointer: Don't dress in a new outfit, people may not be able to recognize you.)
My two-year-old sister was not sure of my makeover, I might add.
Sometimes the parents seemed to get into the whole thing more than the kids did. One mom brought up her baby (who was probably like a year old or younger) to get his face painted.
I tried doing a tiger; I got about half a whisker done before he decided he didn't want his face painted.
"Well I guess it won't work," his mother said disappointed.
But lo and behold she came around again.
"I want to try one more time . . ." she told me, "I really want to see what he would look like." I began again, this time the whisker only got to be a dot.
"Well I guess he really doesn't want it done."
But would you believe it? She came around yet a third time.
But when I tried again, it finally sunk in. "Well I suppose it won't work . . . thanks anyway."
I loved painting faces. My favorite part was when I would give the kids (or the occasional adult) a little hand mirror to see the finished work, and they would smile, I loved how happy they were even though I made a million smudges and mistakes.
But were their smiles only ones that would last a little while? Would they ever experience the joy that only Jesus can give us? My heart aches at the thought of them never smiling the smile only God can give.
(Free pointer: You don't have to be a clown to share the joy of Jesus, no, I believe it only takes the love, that amazing love that God gives us that allows us to love and spread joy to others, so go ahead, smile, laugh, and spread a little joy!)
-----------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinwell10@gmail.com
I've got that joy, joy, joy! But does the rest of the world know about it?
I ring the doorbell and wait. Will I be able to spread the joy only Jesus can give?
I am going in this house a normal 13-year-old girl. But when I come out, will I be completely transformed?
A lady with a painted white face greets me at the door.
I come inside, and Jenni takes me to get my face painted white like hers.
The paint feels cool, hot, and itchy at the same time. I am afraid my eyes will start watering.
"OK, I am done!" she announces after a bit.
Jenni hands me something to wipe off the paint that accidentally got on my lips. She also holds up the mirror briefly to show me where to wipe.
I catch a flash of my reflection in the mirror. A raccoon looking mask is all the skin you can see on my face now.
The rest is covered by white paint, paint that is starting to cool down.
Little Davion looks at me, his surprised look changes to horror; he lets out a cry.
That was my first kids-being-terrified-of-you experience for the day.
Sierra looks at me too. She smiles the cutest, biggest grin at me. Then she gives the most adorable giggle.
That was my first kids-laugh-and-love-you experience for the day.
Jenni goes to finish her face, and after a while she finishes mine too.
We go and get into the outfits we had picked out earlier.
Mine is a strange contraption, bright yellow pants attached to a black and white striped shirt. At first the pink suspenders get tangled around my legs. I pick a wig, a hat, and a pair of gigantic shoes. I go to the restroom so I can see what I look like in the mirror. While going through the kitchen the others in the household express how they feel about my costume.
And that was my first people-crack-up-because-you-look-so-funny experience for the day.
I open the door to the restroom, and right away I see my reflection in the mirror. Or was it mine? It didn't look like me.
No, when I looked into the mirror I am sure it wasn't me, but Giggles, the clown.
Bubbles the clown (former Jenni), not-named clown (Jenni's daughter Brianna) and Giggles the clown (me, former Monica), headed out to the car.
Buckling my seat belt was interesting with that big wire hoop that went around my waist.
That car trip was lots of fun. People would stare at us. And some even took pictures with their cell phones. We would wave and sometimes people would wave back.
"Hi, I am Giggles the clown!" I would start, "would you like your face painted?"
We had arrived at our destination. The New Horizons Ministries Thrift Store, where we were volunteering during the store's open house.
"OK, what do you want? I can do a heart, a kitty, a tiger, a flower, a rainbow, a butterfly, a dragonfly . . ." This is how it normally went.
"I think I will walk around and see if I can find any kids who want balloons," I told Bubbles.
I started walking around the store. (Free pointer: don't grow big feet all of a sudden, you will find it extremely hard to get used to.) At a distance I saw what looked like a couple of kids, and obviously they saw me. I heard one telling the other excitingly, "look! Here comes a clown!" Then I heard a scream as one of the little girls went behind the older man, who seemed to be her dad.
"I don't like clowns!" She cried.
Then my nose fell off.
(Free pointer: Don't decide on a whim that it would be nice to get a nose that will attach and detach, because usually it decides it wants to be detached.)
I quickly picked it up and put it back on.
"Hey I am Giggles, want a balloon?"
Out of the 3 kids, 2 of them readily accepted, the other girl kept looking at me quite terrified, after a while she warmed up, and even wanted her face painted.
Perhaps the strangest part of my time was when people who I knew very well would come and examine me, their eyes squinting in deep thought.
"Do you know who it is?"
"No, I can't figure it out."
"Monica? I would have never guessed!"
(Free pointer: Don't dress in a new outfit, people may not be able to recognize you.)
My two-year-old sister was not sure of my makeover, I might add.
Sometimes the parents seemed to get into the whole thing more than the kids did. One mom brought up her baby (who was probably like a year old or younger) to get his face painted.
I tried doing a tiger; I got about half a whisker done before he decided he didn't want his face painted.
"Well I guess it won't work," his mother said disappointed.
But lo and behold she came around again.
"I want to try one more time . . ." she told me, "I really want to see what he would look like." I began again, this time the whisker only got to be a dot.
"Well I guess he really doesn't want it done."
But would you believe it? She came around yet a third time.
But when I tried again, it finally sunk in. "Well I suppose it won't work . . . thanks anyway."
I loved painting faces. My favorite part was when I would give the kids (or the occasional adult) a little hand mirror to see the finished work, and they would smile, I loved how happy they were even though I made a million smudges and mistakes.
But were their smiles only ones that would last a little while? Would they ever experience the joy that only Jesus can give us? My heart aches at the thought of them never smiling the smile only God can give.
(Free pointer: You don't have to be a clown to share the joy of Jesus, no, I believe it only takes the love, that amazing love that God gives us that allows us to love and spread joy to others, so go ahead, smile, laugh, and spread a little joy!)
-----------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinwell10@gmail.com
Blue
by CherÃe
"Can you believe in Me?"
He asks,
From somewhere above those dark clouds . . .
From somewhere deep inside my heart.
I keep looking at the clouds:
"I can't see any blue, Abba.
How do I know it's there?
How do I know You are there?"
My Abba looks down on me with love bigger than the sky.
"Do you wish to believe because you can see Me right before you?
Or because you love me enough to be faithful while you can't see?
The ones who have not yet seen . . . and still believe . . . are very blessed indeed."
"I know,"
I whisper,
"But I feel as though I must see You all the time."
"Yes, you do,"
He replies.
"I created you that way."
I say nothing, and He waits.
After a brief silence, my Abba
Pulls back the grey clouds, and the beautiful blue is revealed!
"It's there after all!" I cry, raising my hands to Him.
The blue sky lifts my heart.
"Now," continues my gentle Father,
"When the blue sky vanishes from your sight,
And hides behind the grey,
Will you still know it's there? Will you still believe?"
I hesitate again.
"Yes," I decide.
And the grey clouds cover the blue once again.
"Do the same for Me, child. Believe in Me
Even when you can't hear or see Me. If your faith is in Me,
Nothing can upset it. BELIEVE IN ME UNTIL YOU CAN SEE ME."
"I believe," I say, the words coming from my heart.
I'm looking up at the sky, and the grey is still there. But my Abba is with me. My Abba loves me!
I close my eyes.
And I see blue.
-----------------------------------------------------
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"Can you believe in Me?"
He asks,
From somewhere above those dark clouds . . .
From somewhere deep inside my heart.
I keep looking at the clouds:
"I can't see any blue, Abba.
How do I know it's there?
How do I know You are there?"
My Abba looks down on me with love bigger than the sky.
"Do you wish to believe because you can see Me right before you?
Or because you love me enough to be faithful while you can't see?
The ones who have not yet seen . . . and still believe . . . are very blessed indeed."
"I know,"
I whisper,
"But I feel as though I must see You all the time."
"Yes, you do,"
He replies.
"I created you that way."
I say nothing, and He waits.
After a brief silence, my Abba
Pulls back the grey clouds, and the beautiful blue is revealed!
"It's there after all!" I cry, raising my hands to Him.
The blue sky lifts my heart.
"Now," continues my gentle Father,
"When the blue sky vanishes from your sight,
And hides behind the grey,
Will you still know it's there? Will you still believe?"
I hesitate again.
"Yes," I decide.
And the grey clouds cover the blue once again.
"Do the same for Me, child. Believe in Me
Even when you can't hear or see Me. If your faith is in Me,
Nothing can upset it. BELIEVE IN ME UNTIL YOU CAN SEE ME."
"I believe," I say, the words coming from my heart.
I'm looking up at the sky, and the grey is still there. But my Abba is with me. My Abba loves me!
I close my eyes.
And I see blue.
-----------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Beautiful Life
by Kelsia
In honor of Amber Miller
In this world,
In a town,
In a home
And family
There was a young girl.
Blonde.
Blue-eyed.
Bubbly.
Full of life and love,
Not a care in the world,
Running here and there
Playing everywhere . . .
Eyes a'sparkling
And face aglow . . .
Angels smiled
Jesus said "That's my girl."
Such beautiful life within this child.
Storm clouds come
And rise overhead
She watches
As the rain comes . . .
It beats hard
But she has a fighter's spirit . . .
Months pass
But this little girl
Holds on . . .
She touches hearts
And never lets go . . .
And the storm begins to lift . . .
Summer is here
And the sun begins to shine again.
For a time,
And then the storm comes back,
Her strength is weakening . . .
Sickness and pain
Are taking their claim.
Angels watch with tears in their eyes
And Jesus says
"Go, bring my little girl home."
Carried up in angels' arms
To a rainbow that never fades . . .
Smiling,
Running,
Void of pain and tears,
Full of life and love,
By her Savior's side.
She's home
And has a
Beautiful life ahead with the angels.
We shall miss you little girl!
--------------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
In honor of Amber Miller
In this world,
In a town,
In a home
And family
There was a young girl.
Blonde.
Blue-eyed.
Bubbly.
Full of life and love,
Not a care in the world,
Running here and there
Playing everywhere . . .
Eyes a'sparkling
And face aglow . . .
Angels smiled
Jesus said "That's my girl."
Such beautiful life within this child.
Storm clouds come
And rise overhead
She watches
As the rain comes . . .
It beats hard
But she has a fighter's spirit . . .
Months pass
But this little girl
Holds on . . .
She touches hearts
And never lets go . . .
And the storm begins to lift . . .
Summer is here
And the sun begins to shine again.
For a time,
And then the storm comes back,
Her strength is weakening . . .
Sickness and pain
Are taking their claim.
Angels watch with tears in their eyes
And Jesus says
"Go, bring my little girl home."
Carried up in angels' arms
To a rainbow that never fades . . .
Smiling,
Running,
Void of pain and tears,
Full of life and love,
By her Savior's side.
She's home
And has a
Beautiful life ahead with the angels.
We shall miss you little girl!
--------------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
I Was Hungry
by Ervina
I WAS HUNGRY...
you gave me directions to the local food bank
and returned to your thanksgiving meal around a laden table.
I WAS THIRSTY...
you pointed me to the water fountain down the street
and bought your four dollar morning starbucks.
I WAS A STRANGER...
you closed your door, turned out the lights
and half-heartedly hoped i would stumble across a homeless shelter somewhere.
I WAS NAKED...
you donated bags of clothes to the goodwill
and talked about the indecency of my appearance.
I WAS SICK...
you paid your monthly health insurance bill
and told me to please leave before i contaminated the family.
I WAS IN PRISON...
you were relieved i was off the streets and away from your door
and talked quietly about how i must have done something to deserve it.
I WAS
hungry
thirsty
a stranger
naked
sick
and in prison
AND YOU SAID
you'd pray for me.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
I WAS HUNGRY...
you gave me directions to the local food bank
and returned to your thanksgiving meal around a laden table.
I WAS THIRSTY...
you pointed me to the water fountain down the street
and bought your four dollar morning starbucks.
I WAS A STRANGER...
you closed your door, turned out the lights
and half-heartedly hoped i would stumble across a homeless shelter somewhere.
I WAS NAKED...
you donated bags of clothes to the goodwill
and talked about the indecency of my appearance.
I WAS SICK...
you paid your monthly health insurance bill
and told me to please leave before i contaminated the family.
I WAS IN PRISON...
you were relieved i was off the streets and away from your door
and talked quietly about how i must have done something to deserve it.
I WAS
hungry
thirsty
a stranger
naked
sick
and in prison
AND YOU SAID
you'd pray for me.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Redeeming Love
A song by Kelsia
Bowing low
At the foot of the cross
Crying out for
My dear Redeemer
Coming back to You
With a broken heart
Needing You
With all I have
Chorus:
Redeeming love
Everlasting love
Flowing from the Father
That's up above
Looking in His face
Asking for His grace
Praying now
Heal me, Lord
From all my bleeding wounds
I know I'm nothing
But You are everything
So take this heart
And mold it, Lord
Into one like Yours
Redeeming love (redeeming love)
Everlasting love (everlasting love)
Flowing from the Father
That's up above
Looking in His face
Asking for His grace
Praying now . . .
Jesus, take me home!
You can listen to the tune for this song here!
--------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Bowing low
At the foot of the cross
Crying out for
My dear Redeemer
Coming back to You
With a broken heart
Needing You
With all I have
Chorus:
Redeeming love
Everlasting love
Flowing from the Father
That's up above
Looking in His face
Asking for His grace
Praying now
Heal me, Lord
From all my bleeding wounds
I know I'm nothing
But You are everything
So take this heart
And mold it, Lord
Into one like Yours
Redeeming love (redeeming love)
Everlasting love (everlasting love)
Flowing from the Father
That's up above
Looking in His face
Asking for His grace
Praying now . . .
Jesus, take me home!
You can listen to the tune for this song here!
--------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
In God's Court
by Kelsia
Quietly and confidently
the King walks out onto his court.
A hush falls over the crowd . . .
They are anticipating a big decision.
What will his choice be?
All eyes fall to the weeping princess
who kneels at the foot of the stairs.
She has disobeyed the King's order.
Her, the princess, going against the King.
She had walked down the wrong path,
and now her heart would never be the same
again.
Will death be her destiny today?
Or will the King's love prevail against what should happen?
The King descends the steps
down to the bottom
where his daughter waits.
His gentle hand reaches out
and rests on her head.
"My daughter," he whispers,
for her and no one else.
Her tear-filled eyes lift up to the royal ones . . .
"I'm so sorry, father! Please forgive me!" she sobs.
The crowd waits for the King to speak with authority,
to loudly present judgment and shout for death.
They hold their breath
and then he speaks.
His eyes are full of tears
and laced with sadness . . .
But love is there, too. In a tender voice,
the redemptive words are spoken.
"You're forgiven, my child.
Leave your troubles and heartaches at my feet
and rise up. I bless you with healing
and joy."
Silence reigns for a moment,
but only a moment.
Murmurs then ripple throughout the crowd.
They had been positive that this would result in sure death!
The princess' breath catches. "I don't deserve such mercy!"
Nail-scarred hands reach out and drop on stooped shoulders.
"No," he answers,
"But I give it to you anyway. This is your second chance, my love.
Use it well, as only a princess would."
Then, with loving arms, the King wraps his daughter in a
kind embrace.
In this moment, another name is added to the waiting list
for the King's mansion that awaits in the clouds.
YOU ARE CHOSEN. YOU HAVE A PLAN TO FULFILL.
The King is calling . . . run into His open arms.
---------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Quietly and confidently
the King walks out onto his court.
A hush falls over the crowd . . .
They are anticipating a big decision.
What will his choice be?
All eyes fall to the weeping princess
who kneels at the foot of the stairs.
She has disobeyed the King's order.
Her, the princess, going against the King.
She had walked down the wrong path,
and now her heart would never be the same
again.
Will death be her destiny today?
Or will the King's love prevail against what should happen?
The King descends the steps
down to the bottom
where his daughter waits.
His gentle hand reaches out
and rests on her head.
"My daughter," he whispers,
for her and no one else.
Her tear-filled eyes lift up to the royal ones . . .
"I'm so sorry, father! Please forgive me!" she sobs.
The crowd waits for the King to speak with authority,
to loudly present judgment and shout for death.
They hold their breath
and then he speaks.
His eyes are full of tears
and laced with sadness . . .
But love is there, too. In a tender voice,
the redemptive words are spoken.
"You're forgiven, my child.
Leave your troubles and heartaches at my feet
and rise up. I bless you with healing
and joy."
Silence reigns for a moment,
but only a moment.
Murmurs then ripple throughout the crowd.
They had been positive that this would result in sure death!
The princess' breath catches. "I don't deserve such mercy!"
Nail-scarred hands reach out and drop on stooped shoulders.
"No," he answers,
"But I give it to you anyway. This is your second chance, my love.
Use it well, as only a princess would."
Then, with loving arms, the King wraps his daughter in a
kind embrace.
In this moment, another name is added to the waiting list
for the King's mansion that awaits in the clouds.
YOU ARE CHOSEN. YOU HAVE A PLAN TO FULFILL.
The King is calling . . . run into His open arms.
---------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Why?
A song by Katelyn
Sometimes I wonder why
I live in this crazy old world
Sometimes I wonder why
I have to live to die
But then I think
Of Your plans for me
Then I don't wonder why anymore
Chorus:
God's got a plan
He's got my life in His hands
No more hesitations
'Cause I got my destination
No more wondering why
Sometimes I wonder why
You came to earth to die
Sometimes I wonder why
You lived to die alone
But then I think of what you did
And I know that you did it for me
--------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Vision
by CherÃe
I
see this picture of the world as a large group of people crammed onto
a cruise ship. They laugh and party and enjoy the rocking of waves
and the thrill of the high sea. They are in their own world, caring
of nothing but pleasure and enjoyment.
What they don't realize is that the ship is sinking. Slowly and imperceptibly, but sinking. They have cast their anchor into the bottom of the ship and water is slowly trickling in. No one sees what will happen.
Far away, miles back on the safety of the shore, there are other people, some waving and calling for attention. They try to communicate the disaster that is coming. They know. They beg the people on the ship to swim to shore before the ship sails far away, out of sight of the shore, and sinks into the abyss.
But the ship-dwellers, they ignore the forms on land that are calling them. Some laugh and make fun. But most of them do not even listen.
Once in awhile, a ship-dweller makes his way slowly to the edge of the ship, longing to be free ... to be safe. They know that safety lies in the choice they make.
But then, they look down into the deep murky waters and it frightens them. They shy away, thinking that they couldn't possibly do something so daring as to leave the boat. They realize that freedom would mean to first jump in the water and swim to shore. They do not take the plunge.
They cannot.
I don't know why I keep thinking of this picture. It pains me. It pains me because I am dwelling on the shore in safety. I have jumped from the ship already, making the hardest but most important and fulfilling decision of my life.
My heart throbs for the people on the ship. I can faintly hear their laughing voices and the sounds of a wild party.
But I cannot reach them! For the life of me, it seems. I call softly from the sand, nervously ... afraid to shout. If I am too loud, I will disturb someone. I will stick out like a sore thumb and sound like a lunatic. But if I am silent, what will happen to the people on the ship?
I stop and look around me at the people beside me on the shore. I see differences everywhere I look.
Some people squat in the sand, building little temporary sand castles. They labor in vain. Don't they know that as soon as they look away, a wave will come and destroy the puny little sand castle? They act like the people on the ship.
Behind me, some people sit in groups with picnic baskets. I watch as one person from each group stands and draws a large circle around his or her group. Anyone who steps inside the circle with their little clique is scolded or ignored.
They are saved. Should they not be trying to help others? Yes. They should be doing more.
But then I turn, look to my right and gulp as my self-righteousness fades away into guilt. There stands a small handful of sincere men and women. I watch closely.
They are waving. Frantically and recklessly they are waving. Some are crying out as loud as they can. They stand out, that is for sure. But they are not afraid to stand out. They are only concerned about reaching the people who are headed for a certain destruction. They care only about getting the attention of the ship-dwellers.
I look closer. Can it be tears on their faces? Yes, I decide. It is tears, streaming freely down their cheeks. And I wonder ... how you could care that much for someone that you don't even know? Someone that does not listen to you?
Inside I desire to help them in this. I feel a pressing weight on my shoulders, calling me to help. I want to! I promise that I do. But I am stuck. Wedged between different groups of people. On my own.
I am too afraid to shout with the people on my right. But I can't possibly join the uncaring people on my left. They are too proud. They care only of themselves.
What shall I do?
I stand back, my feet in the warm sand, shading my eyes against the bright sun. I begin to survey everything.
And then I realize: This will not work! The ship is sailing farther and farther away. What can we do? There is no way the ship-dwellers will hear us now. We are only people. Our voices will not carry that far.
The ship is now growing smaller and smaller, blending in with the horizon.
We need help. Someone. Something.
But then, I see something else. Something that draws my attention quickly.
A small, gentle-looking man is climbing quietly into a lifeboat tied to the dock. This man has a look of compassion and determination on his face.
"I will help," He says. There is no arrogance or condemnation in His voice, only gentleness. Then He smiles and shakes His head."Did you really think you could do this without Me?"
His eyes are on everyone, but I feel that He is talking only to me. I walk closer and I recognize His face. I know who He is! He is Jesus. He is the whole reason that I stand in safety on this island with all I'll ever need!
Suddenly I know what I have to do. Numbly, almost without knowing, I step forward and climb into the boat with a few other people.
How foolish, I realize. How absolutely foolish I am to think that I could save souls without the assistance of my Saviour. I am only a messenger for Him! He only can save, because He has already given up His life for everyone.
We sit in silence as the Master grabs the oars and rows confidently out to sea. He is strong, I think. So strong, and yet so gentle. The people beside me in the boat are silent as well, content only to enjoy the presence of the Master.
Ah, yes. That will get us somewhere.
Before I know it, we pull up beside the noisy ship that towers over us. Our rescue boat bobs up and down on the merciless waves. Saltwater sprays my face.
My heart beats faster. I remember now how afraid I am of the water.
"But I have Jesus with me!" I whisper to myself."He is rowing the boat!"
Indeed, this gentle man I have grown to love. But still I am afraid. Afraid of stepping out. Of the unknown.
We both see the many people milling about on the deck, rocking in one slow motion. So many ... so many!
Jesus nods sadly, his strong hands gripping the oars."Yes, My child,” He replies, reading my thoughts. “And so very few will come with us.”
“And what of the ones that don’t?”
What they don't realize is that the ship is sinking. Slowly and imperceptibly, but sinking. They have cast their anchor into the bottom of the ship and water is slowly trickling in. No one sees what will happen.
Far away, miles back on the safety of the shore, there are other people, some waving and calling for attention. They try to communicate the disaster that is coming. They know. They beg the people on the ship to swim to shore before the ship sails far away, out of sight of the shore, and sinks into the abyss.
But the ship-dwellers, they ignore the forms on land that are calling them. Some laugh and make fun. But most of them do not even listen.
Once in awhile, a ship-dweller makes his way slowly to the edge of the ship, longing to be free ... to be safe. They know that safety lies in the choice they make.
But then, they look down into the deep murky waters and it frightens them. They shy away, thinking that they couldn't possibly do something so daring as to leave the boat. They realize that freedom would mean to first jump in the water and swim to shore. They do not take the plunge.
They cannot.
I don't know why I keep thinking of this picture. It pains me. It pains me because I am dwelling on the shore in safety. I have jumped from the ship already, making the hardest but most important and fulfilling decision of my life.
My heart throbs for the people on the ship. I can faintly hear their laughing voices and the sounds of a wild party.
But I cannot reach them! For the life of me, it seems. I call softly from the sand, nervously ... afraid to shout. If I am too loud, I will disturb someone. I will stick out like a sore thumb and sound like a lunatic. But if I am silent, what will happen to the people on the ship?
I stop and look around me at the people beside me on the shore. I see differences everywhere I look.
Some people squat in the sand, building little temporary sand castles. They labor in vain. Don't they know that as soon as they look away, a wave will come and destroy the puny little sand castle? They act like the people on the ship.
Behind me, some people sit in groups with picnic baskets. I watch as one person from each group stands and draws a large circle around his or her group. Anyone who steps inside the circle with their little clique is scolded or ignored.
They are saved. Should they not be trying to help others? Yes. They should be doing more.
But then I turn, look to my right and gulp as my self-righteousness fades away into guilt. There stands a small handful of sincere men and women. I watch closely.
They are waving. Frantically and recklessly they are waving. Some are crying out as loud as they can. They stand out, that is for sure. But they are not afraid to stand out. They are only concerned about reaching the people who are headed for a certain destruction. They care only about getting the attention of the ship-dwellers.
I look closer. Can it be tears on their faces? Yes, I decide. It is tears, streaming freely down their cheeks. And I wonder ... how you could care that much for someone that you don't even know? Someone that does not listen to you?
Inside I desire to help them in this. I feel a pressing weight on my shoulders, calling me to help. I want to! I promise that I do. But I am stuck. Wedged between different groups of people. On my own.
I am too afraid to shout with the people on my right. But I can't possibly join the uncaring people on my left. They are too proud. They care only of themselves.
What shall I do?
I stand back, my feet in the warm sand, shading my eyes against the bright sun. I begin to survey everything.
And then I realize: This will not work! The ship is sailing farther and farther away. What can we do? There is no way the ship-dwellers will hear us now. We are only people. Our voices will not carry that far.
The ship is now growing smaller and smaller, blending in with the horizon.
We need help. Someone. Something.
But then, I see something else. Something that draws my attention quickly.
A small, gentle-looking man is climbing quietly into a lifeboat tied to the dock. This man has a look of compassion and determination on his face.
"I will help," He says. There is no arrogance or condemnation in His voice, only gentleness. Then He smiles and shakes His head."Did you really think you could do this without Me?"
His eyes are on everyone, but I feel that He is talking only to me. I walk closer and I recognize His face. I know who He is! He is Jesus. He is the whole reason that I stand in safety on this island with all I'll ever need!
Suddenly I know what I have to do. Numbly, almost without knowing, I step forward and climb into the boat with a few other people.
How foolish, I realize. How absolutely foolish I am to think that I could save souls without the assistance of my Saviour. I am only a messenger for Him! He only can save, because He has already given up His life for everyone.
We sit in silence as the Master grabs the oars and rows confidently out to sea. He is strong, I think. So strong, and yet so gentle. The people beside me in the boat are silent as well, content only to enjoy the presence of the Master.
Ah, yes. That will get us somewhere.
Before I know it, we pull up beside the noisy ship that towers over us. Our rescue boat bobs up and down on the merciless waves. Saltwater sprays my face.
My heart beats faster. I remember now how afraid I am of the water.
"But I have Jesus with me!" I whisper to myself."He is rowing the boat!"
Indeed, this gentle man I have grown to love. But still I am afraid. Afraid of stepping out. Of the unknown.
We both see the many people milling about on the deck, rocking in one slow motion. So many ... so many!
Jesus nods sadly, his strong hands gripping the oars."Yes, My child,” He replies, reading my thoughts. “And so very few will come with us.”
“And what of the ones that don’t?”
“We
come again.” He
looks ahead. “Again
and again and again. We won’t give up just because we’re
rejected.”
Jesus looks straight at me."Child," He says, all authority in His voice,"call up to them now. Call loudly and tell them ... tell them that their salvation is at hand. We will take them safely to shore." He smiles and reaches over, grasping my shoulder."I ask you to proclaim this, dear one. I ask you to lift your voice for the lost souls."
I freeze where I am.
Jesus is not forcing me to do this thing. He is asking. I have a choice.
But at this moment, I don't know what to do. A huge, monstrous fear looms up in front of me. Why am I afraid? This is childish and absurd. There is no reason to be afraid.
But what if they laugh at me? What if they think I'm crazy? What about my reputation?
I sit there, weighing things over in my mind, gripped with fear.
My vision ends here.
Jesus looks straight at me."Child," He says, all authority in His voice,"call up to them now. Call loudly and tell them ... tell them that their salvation is at hand. We will take them safely to shore." He smiles and reaches over, grasping my shoulder."I ask you to proclaim this, dear one. I ask you to lift your voice for the lost souls."
I freeze where I am.
Jesus is not forcing me to do this thing. He is asking. I have a choice.
But at this moment, I don't know what to do. A huge, monstrous fear looms up in front of me. Why am I afraid? This is childish and absurd. There is no reason to be afraid.
But what if they laugh at me? What if they think I'm crazy? What about my reputation?
I sit there, weighing things over in my mind, gripped with fear.
My vision ends here.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Send your submissions to theinkwell10@gmail.com
Heaven's Music
by Kelsia
As I walk the narrow road of life,
I hear the music of Heaven.
Glorious and beautiful, it urges me to keep on:
"Look to Jesus; don't turn back."
And so I keep on walking,
Listening for Heaven's music...
But then I get distracted, discouraged
And the music starts to fade...
I fall away from God's path...
The darkness begins to consume me,
And soon Heaven's music is only singing faintly.
My ears ring with silence.
I try to turn around
So I can hear the music loud and clear
And I do--for a bit--
But then I forget again...
This time I plunge even deeper
And Heaven's music sings no more
Because I am too far away from the narrow path and
From God.
All is dark and gloomy
There is nothing here of cheer and hope,
Nothing that makes my heart sing like
Heaven's music...
I cry out to God to bring me back,
Back where Heaven's music is loud and clear...
God's will is full of hope
And gives joy to my soul...
Thank you, God, for saving me.
The narrow road that leads to the source of Heaven's music
Gives me happiness and peace...
I am in God's will,
And that is always the best place to be...
A place where Heaven's music will always sing
And now I lift my head
And gaze up into the heavens,
And savor the music...
Glorious and beautiful...
Keep striving
To reach the sanctuary where
Heaven's music is eternal ...
And will sing forever.
-------------------------------------
Feel free to leave some feedback for Kelsia.
Like we said before, you don't have to be an expert writer to submit your stuff! (We certainly aren't.) If you have any writings you want to share, email them to: theinkwell10@gmail.com
SHARE YOUR GIFT!
As I walk the narrow road of life,
I hear the music of Heaven.
Glorious and beautiful, it urges me to keep on:
"Look to Jesus; don't turn back."
And so I keep on walking,
Listening for Heaven's music...
But then I get distracted, discouraged
And the music starts to fade...
I fall away from God's path...
The darkness begins to consume me,
And soon Heaven's music is only singing faintly.
My ears ring with silence.
I try to turn around
So I can hear the music loud and clear
And I do--for a bit--
But then I forget again...
This time I plunge even deeper
And Heaven's music sings no more
Because I am too far away from the narrow path and
From God.
All is dark and gloomy
There is nothing here of cheer and hope,
Nothing that makes my heart sing like
Heaven's music...
I cry out to God to bring me back,
Back where Heaven's music is loud and clear...
God's will is full of hope
And gives joy to my soul...
Thank you, God, for saving me.
The narrow road that leads to the source of Heaven's music
Gives me happiness and peace...
I am in God's will,
And that is always the best place to be...
A place where Heaven's music will always sing
And now I lift my head
And gaze up into the heavens,
And savor the music...
Glorious and beautiful...
Keep striving
To reach the sanctuary where
Heaven's music is eternal ...
And will sing forever.
-------------------------------------
Feel free to leave some feedback for Kelsia.
Like we said before, you don't have to be an expert writer to submit your stuff! (We certainly aren't.) If you have any writings you want to share, email them to: theinkwell10@gmail.com
SHARE YOUR GIFT!
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