The Inkers Pen

Some evenings are made for quiet reflection. Others are made for wrestling stubborn software determined to teach patience one mysterious button-click at a time. Within minutes of that first click, Word introduced me to tiny little squares, paragraph marks, invisible formatting, and a Navigation Panel that apparently spoke a dialect I had never learned. One moment Chapter 14 existed. The next, it vanished from the Navigation Panel while calmly remaining in my document. My blood pressure immediately applied for frequent flyer miles. Enter Atticus (a formatting software), that laughed a subtle reminder, while I clicked a couple more buttons, that I should have watched their instructional video one more time. When I thought I'd finally figured it out, Atticus decided my chapter title wasn't a chapter title at all. No, it crowned the first letter into a dramatic drop cap and promoted it as the opening sentence of my novel. As for spacing problems, I don't even want to talk about that, but my blood pressure applied for more frequent flyer miles. You see, I'm convinced computers gather after midnight for secret meetings: "Let's move her chapter title three inches to the left, have the cursor arrow turn into a white-gloved unresponsive hand. Oh, and while we're at it, let's make the next page do something completely different." By evening's end, I'd wandered through enough menus, buttons, and mysterious settings to earn an honorary degree in Accidental Formatting. Then, with lukewarm coffee and an exhausted brain, something magical happened. One tiny adjustment. One little click. Everything snapped into place. It was as though the clouds parted, angels applauded, and my stubborn little manuscript finally decided we could be friends again. Word and Atticus united and shook hands. Of course, the victory probably lasted all of thirty seconds before the next formatting puzzle reared its digital head, but I didn't care. I was happy, thankful, and grateful. You see, progress has a funny way of breathing fresh courage into even the most stubborn problems. So if you're in the middle of a project and you feel like you're herding caffeinated chipmunks through a revolving door, please don't give up. Keep clicking. Keep learning. Keep laughing. After all, every published book has a backstage story, right? Mine just happened to include tiny squares, disappearing chapters, and one rather overachieving subtitle. Blessings, Linda Never give up. Keep clicking. Keep learning. Keep laughing.~~LM

"I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, my soul shall be joyful in my God." Isaiah 61:10 KJV Worshiping and rejoicing in the Lord brings joy to the heart of God. It allows our soul to dance with praise and clap its hands much like a toddler who just discovered the unbridled happiness of stomping and dancing in a puddle. Rejoicing captures the wonder of who God is and reminds us that heaven is never silent when His children praise Him. A few mornings ago, I rushed out the door, tripped on the step, and spilled coffee all over myself. Then, after I changed clothes, I couldn’t find the car key and noticed my phone battery glowed red at three percent. Don’t even asked about the car charger, because more importantly, my doctor (with whom I was seven minutes late) noticed I had worn two different colored Croc sandals to the appointment. Did we laugh? Yep. Bless her heart. By lunchtime, frustration had wrapped around my heart like the tangled charging cord hiding at the bottom of the car console. Finally, during a solemn moment at a red light, I whispered, “Lord, I need You. Help me rejoice in You even though this isn't one of my better days.” Suddenly, the afternoon did not feel so heavy or chaotic. Yes, the problems were still there, but so was God. You see, our connection to Him is vital. It doesn’t happen accidentally. It grows through time spent with Him, through prayer, through worship, and through trusting Him even on the messy days. No matter where we are or what we do, we need a relationship with Him. We need obedience to God’s Word. We need to exercise our faith and love for Him. I say "need" because need is very different from " want ." Dear one, we need Jesus. We need His heart shaping ours. We need the Holy Spirit alive within us. We need the challenge of telling ourselves: “I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, my soul shall be joyful in my God” (Isaiah 61:10 KJV). So, no matter how messy your day might become, take a moment and allow your soul to puddle-dance like a toddler. Heavenly Father, May my heart and mind greatly praise You. Teach me to grow in all that You are and help me stay rooted in faith and obedience to you. In Jesus’ name. Amen. Spiritual Spark Challenge How can you invite God into your messy days? ~~Even mismatched Crocs can puddle-dance along with your soul.~~LM

"Not that I speak in regard to need, for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content" Philippians 4:11 NKJV Have you ever opened your closet, stared at all the hanging clothes, and dramatically declared, “I have nothing to wear!” Yet, in that same moment, you realize you have enough clothes to outfit a small village. Somehow, our hearts act like overstuffed junk drawers—we keep cramming blessings inside. Yet the second we can’t find exactly what we want, or someone points out what we don't have, our heart shatters as though we have absolutely nothing. Meanwhile, God has already filled our lives with gifts stacked higher than Mt. Laundry in the corner of the washroom. The problem isn’t that God hasn’t provided enough; it’s that comparison has a way of shrinking contentment faster than a cotton shirt in a hot dryer. So, let's slip into Paul's sandals for a bit and figure out something most of us (including myself) spend years attempting to understand. Contentment is not found in having everything we want, but in trusting the One who gives us exactly what we need. As Paul states, "Not that I speak in regard to need, for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content" (Phil. 4:11 NKJV). When Paul wrote his letters from prison, he obviously did not live in a Pinterest-worthy home. He was not scrolling past filtered photos of other people's blessing while shackled inside a dark cell, munching on stale bread and mystery meat topped with bug marinara. He learned to steady his heart like a sailor anchoring his boat in rough water. Contentment is a muscle, not a mood and not something we are simply born with. We must strengthen and develop it through consistent practice and mindful effort. Some days contentment is our own heavy weightlifter. Other days it strains to pick up a toothbrush. Either way, Christ is the strength doing the lifting, even when the spiritual membership feels expired. So, dear friend, the next time you stand before that overstuffed closet, arms spread like Moses parting the polyester sea, remember: contentment turns "nothing to wear" into "more than enough," one blessed hanger at a time. Heavenly Father, Teach me to see Your goodness instead of focusing on what people may think I lack. Quiet my comparisons, strengthen my contentment. Help me find joy and contentment through Christ who strengthens me. May my eyes never compare the blessings of Your goodness. In Jesus' name. Amen. Spiritual Sparks What is one simple thing you can thank God for today? What small gift from God made you smile today? ~~Contentment is a muscle, not a mood.~~LM

Moving, I've discovered, is less a change of address and more of an archaeological dig through the ruins of your own questionable life choices. It begins innocently enough with a few boxes (okay, a lot of boxes), packing tape. “This will be easy-peasy,” I naively declared one afternoon. That, my friend, was the first lie. The second: “We don’t have that much stuff.” I'm still shaking my head on that one. By hour two, I realized I'm not a person who owns things. I am a curator of artifacts in a museum called The National Hoardistry of Questionable Necessities. Every drawer opened is an exhibit: “Ah yes, the 2009 Charging Cable Era—note how none of these fit any device currently in existence. Yet, I still possess them.” Or "I had no clue I own nine spatulas and not one is like the other." As for the packing ... well, that became a philosophical exercise. I'd pick up an object and ask, “Do I need this?” In an instant, my brain replies, "Yes … because if society collapses, this single bent whisk and the ancient Windows 3.1 computer I found might be the only keys to survival.” Into the box they go. Then come the treasures: The memories of a long-lost photograph, a few dusty unlabeled VHS tapes from the late 1980's, a child’s drawing labeled “Mommy” that looks suspiciously like a potato with hair, and a roughly child-made, non-labeled orange clay fish with wild blue eyes. In a micro-second you're sitting on the floor, crying like you've just watched the end of a sad movie, except the movie is your own life and the popcorn is a stale bag of Cheetos found in the back of a cabinet. Let’s talk about loading the trucks and trailers. First off, always rent a box truck. We did not. Why? Because this was going to be "easy peasy", remember? Anyhow, this event becomes an Olympic sport of its own, featuring “Box Tetris: Advanced Level” and “Recliner Wrestling: Heavyweight Division.” And somehow everything I packed with confidence now looks suspiciously unnecessary, just ask my sons. In the end, my "easy-peasy" turned into a full-blown hoardistry reckoning. Bags upon bags were tossed. Sacrificed. Sent to dumpster heaven. I waved goodbye to items I once swore I could never live without, only to realize—I can. I absolutely can live without the hoard. Though maybe, just maybe, I'll keep the bent whisk. You know. Just in case. Blessings, Linda “Apparently, archaeological digs start at home.” ~~LM

“The Lord hath made all things for himself: yea, even the wicked for the day of evil." (Proverbs 16:4 NKJV) Some truths in life are easy to swallow—like the fact coffee makes mornings better or fresh-baked cookies are little bites of happiness. But then there are those truths that feel like you're swallowing a dry cracker with no water in sight. Proverbs 16:4 is one of those hard-to-swallow verses: “The Lord hath made all things for himself: yea, even the wicked for the day of evil.” Wait … even the wicked? That’s not just a dry cracker you're dealing with, but also the crumbs that clog your windpipe. It might make us wonder why God allows certain people, circumstances, or even outright evil to exist. But here’s the thing—nothing in this world is random. Not the joys, not the struggles, and not even the people walking in the opposite direction of goodness. Which means this: not only do we have purpose, it's imperative we make good choices. Precious one, we are a walking-talking human puzzle, and every piece has a place, even the pieces that look like they don’t belong. Sometimes, the dark and strangely shaped make the picture complete. Dare I say: "even the wicked," the odd, and the scary serve a purpose ... though we may not understand why or how. Their choices bring consequences, teach lessons, and often serve as a contrast that makes God's righteousness shine even brighter. But let’s not get stuck staring at the dark and odd puzzle pieces. Our job isn’t to decipher every mystery of God’s plan (which we couldn't even if we wanted to) it’s to trust we are part of it. We are called to be children of light, which reflects His goodness in a world that often feels clouded and shadowed with confusion. So, when life hands us a truth too hard to swallow—like the dry cracker—let’s remember God holds the cup. His wisdom quenches our doubts, and His purpose never crumbles under confusion. Every piece of our life and this world's puzzle (even the things we struggle to understand!) fits into His divine design. You see, God didn’t create us just to exist. We were created to shine—with His purpose, with good choices, with faith, and with the assurance that even when life feels uncertain, God’s glory radiates in "all things for Himself." Heavenly Father, Some truths feel easy, and others feel like that sandpapery dry cracker—hard to swallow and harder to understand. But Your Word reminds me that You made all things for Yourself, and nothing in my life is without purpose. Quench my doubts with Your wisdom and steady my heart with Your peace. Thank You for purpose, even in the things I don’t understand. In Jesus' name. Amen. Spiritual Sparks What “hard-to-swallow” truth might God be asking you to trust Him with today, and how can you focus on reflecting His light? ~~We are a walking-talking human puzzle and every piece has a place.~~LM

“For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:10 NKJV) Ever have one of those life-pausing moments? You know the kind that shows up between a step, a breath, or a wandering thought. You freeze, take a long blink, and bam—it hits you: out of more than eight billion people on this big, round, spinning planet, God gave you a unique and intentional purpose for your life. It's a mind-boggling, humbling realization. Life isn't just a string of random events—like socks disappearing in the dryer or your WiFi cutting out right before an important Zoom meeting (which honestly feels a little personal, just saying). My friend, we are not a cosmic accident. We are a divine masterpiece, handcrafted by God and placed right here, right now, on purpose. “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them” (Ephesians 2:10 NKJV). "Prepared beforehand" … think about that for a moment. That means before your first breath, before you ever took your first step, even before your first questionable life decision (that you may or may not regret), our God already had a purpose for your life. You didn't stumble into meaning. You were created with it. Dear friend, we are children of light, meant to shine in a world that often feels blanketed with confusion and noise and bad decisions. Our God doesn't just create us and step back. He shapes us, guides us, and walks with us, weaving purpose (His purpose) into even the smallest moments. You only have to let Him in. But let's be honest—this journey isn't a perfectly paved highway. It's more like a winding trail with unexpected turns, jagged rocks, and an occasional squirrel skittering out of nowhere like it has a mission of its own. So, when things don't make sense, when plans fall apart, when doors close, when relationships fail, when life feels as messy and unpredictable as your internet connection—God is still at work. Every step, every season, every moment is connected to something bigger than we can see or know. So, trust Him. You are but one life among eight billion other lives, and yet, you are fully known and fully seen by Him. Walk in the unique purpose He's already prepared for you. Heavenly Father, Thank You for creating me with purpose and intention. Help me to trust You, even when life feels uncertain or unclear. Open my eyes to the ways You are working in and through me each day. Give me the courage to walk in the path You’ve prepared for me, and the faith to follow where You lead. In Jesus’ name. Amen. Spiritual Sparks What gifts, passions, or opportunities might God be using right now to reveal part of your unique purpose? When life feels uncertain or off-course, do you tend to trust God’s plan—or try to take control? What would it look like to surrender that area to Him? ~~We are created with purpose … use His wisdom wisely.~~LM

“He is not here, for he has risen, just as he said. Come, see the place where he lay.” Matthew 28:6 KJV As the first rays of dawn pierce through the night’s veil, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary (Matthew 28:1 KJV) make their way to Jesus’ tomb. The air is thick with dew and sorrow, and their hearts are heavy with grief. They carry the silent echoes of a lost love. Each step is slow, as if their souls are afraid of what they may or may not find. As they approach the tomb, Heaven shakes the earth and the ground trembles beneath their feet. A radiant angel descends, bright as lightning, clad in a robe as pure as freshly fallen snow. He rolls away the stone—not with effort, but with authority—and sits atop it, as though to say: The door to eternity now stands open and death lies dethroned. The women freeze in a storm of confusion and awe. Grief still clings, but something new flickers. As they peer inside the tomb—eyes wide, breath held—a spark of wonder ignites. The tomb. Empty. Desperation grips their gaze as the angel speaks words that turn the world upside down: “He is not here, for he has risen, just as he said. Come, see the place where he lay” (Matthew 28:6 KJV). The stone slab on which Jesus laid, now a vacant space where eternity broke through time. The unthinkable made real! Death—rewritten by Love. Resurrection doesn’t just challenge faith. It invites us into a divine mystery—where God’s promises soar beyond all human doubt. You see, in a world obsessed with proof and logic, Matthew 28:6 is where the tangible embraces the Divine, where darkness bows before the light, where faith trusts a God who doesn’t just break rules—He breaks graves. This Easter as we kneel at the cross, weep at the tomb, and rise with the resurrection, let’s thank the two Marys. Despite their heartbreak, they showed up when all seemed lost. They found our Savior didn't just destroy death—He conquered it. Through His victory, we find redemption, rebirth, restoration. We find life without expiration. We find resurrection reality. Beloved, Jesus is alive. He is risen indeed. Heavenly Father, Thank You for the gift of eternal life, for the empty tomb, and for the hope resurrection brings. In moments of doubt or fear, remind me love conquers death and mercy owns the final word. Lord, shape my heart to reflect Jesus' peace, grace, and joy. Teach me to share Jesus' love in all I do and to carry Your light throughout this broken world. In Jesus' name. Amen.

Somewhere between Italy and Poland, a thief looked at twelve tons of KitKat bars—yes, 413,793 crispy, chocolate-coated sticks of joy—and thought, “This … this is my moment.” Not a jewel heist, not a bank job, but a full-blown cocoa caper. Like a squirrel hoarding loads of acorns before winter, this person didn’t just take a few bars—they took enough chocolate to make Willy Wonka raise an eyebrow. And then, as if the story needed more flair, the stolen KitKats were molded into race cars. Race cars. Because apparently, when you commit confectionery crime at this scale, you don’t just steal the normal. You innovate. I mean, can't you imagine the thief standing there, arms crossed, gazing at their fleet of chocolate Ferraris, thinking, “Yes … this is what greatness looks like.” Crazy, right? You bet. So, let’s talk logistics. Where do you even store 12 tons of chocolate? Your average kitchen pantry would lock its doors immediately. This operation would need a warehouse colder than a penguin’s pajamas, because one warm afternoon and suddenly your getaway cars turn into a sticky, melted parking lot. And heaven help anyone who forgets to regulate the temperature—nothing says “criminal mastermind” like slipping on a puddle of chocolatey crunchy goodness and regret. Then, there’s the money situation. No doubt the reason the product was stolen in the first place. If you sell each bar at two bucks—practically a bargain in today’s economy—then you’re staring at well over $800,000. That’s a lot of cash … and a lot of explaining when someone asks why your garage (or should I say semi-truck) smells like a candy aisle exploded. Now … should I even mention Easter? It’s about to hop into full view in less than a week. I mean, come on—somewhere out there, the Easter Bunny is pacing with an empty basket, wondering who made off with all the KitKat race cars. No pit stops, no chocolate checkered flags. Mr. Bunny is left to face a full-blown chocolate tragedy of teary-eyed children digging through their baskets only to find everything except the one thing they really wanted: a fun little KitKat race car. In the end, this wasn't just a heist. Nuh-uh ... it’s the sort of sticky misadventure that might end with the thieves sprouting orange tans, green hair, and a sudden urge to break into an Oompa-Loompa cautionary song about what happens when chocolate and bad decisions collide. Blessings ... and Happy Easter, Linda ~~Somewhere out there, the Easter Bunny and the Oompa-Loompas are trying to figure out how things went so deliciously wrong.~~LM

I admit: I am a slow writer. I may also procrastinate. Gulp. I’m not the poetic stare‑out‑the‑window‑while‑inspiration‑floats‑by slow. I’m more like my striped Nerite snail, happily-grazing-on-algae. You know the pace. Inch forward. Pause. Inspect the scenery. Inch forward again. I’m fairly certain my real problem is editing while writing. My brain is an overzealous editor wearing bifocals, clutching the red pen like a sword. Every sentence must pass inspection before the next one is allowed to exist. It’s exhausting. Meanwhile, some writers casually produce a devotion or blog everyday like they’re flipping pancakes on a Saturday morning. I, on the other hand, sit surrounded by my collection of pens. Because clearly the solution to slow writing is buying every kind of pen on the planet to unlock my writing genius. (If only that worked, right?) And then there’s the coffee. Writing without coffee is like trying to start a lawn mower with a strand of spaghetti. Might happen in a glowing green galaxy where spaghetti has horsepower. But here on earth? Not a chance. The good news? I’ve learned to never draft and edit at the same time. That’s a no‑no. It’s also a stubborn habit to break. Drafting is messy. Editing is tidy. Mixing them together is like mopping the hardwood floor while the dog is still rolling in the mud. And here's the thing: I never used to be that way. Drafting and editing slowly sprouted one day and it became a mountainous battle. I started rereading paragraphs, studying sentences, agonizing over finding the perfect word. Seriously, the thesaurus became my best friend. So, here’s my tried‑and‑true plan: First: music. Second: write the ugly draft. No polishing. No word wrestling. Just forward motion. Third: fix it later—but don’t procrastinate. Big breath. Think of writing as a sea turtle gliding through warm ocean water. No hurry. No panic. Just steady movement in the right direction. Turns out slow isn’t always a problem. Sometimes it simply means you’re taking the scenic route … and that’s okay. Never rush. Just put one word in front of the other. Blessings, Linda ~~Writing well isn’t about speed—it’s about moving forward at your own pace.~~ LM