The Inkers Pen

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 slow. 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 an 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

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18 NIV) Have you ever had one of those days, months (whole year!) when the pain in your heart feels like a clay pot collapsing on a potter’s wheel? One minute everything's holding its shape, and the next—splat—it caves in on itself. Emotional turmoil runs rampant in our world, and sometimes it feels like our hearts are the favorite target. Hurt, tears, and sadness have a knack for sneaking in through unguarded openings: a door slammed by someone you trusted, a diagnosis that dropped like a plate full of spaghetti, a dream that withers on the vine, a catty friend whose sharp words land like darts in the heart. I don’t know who out there is hurting, and I don't know if this devotional will help. But I do know this: God laid it on my heart to write these words for someone today. And here’s the cosmic plot twist: our Potter never steps away from the wheel. Ever. While the clay spins and wobbles and threatens to collapse, God's hands remain steady as He gently wipes away the weary tears. He understands your whys, your worries, and those lingering questions that circle your mind at 2 a.m. Your pain rests in the Potter’s hands like an unfinished vessel waiting to be shaped with grace and mercy. When you think no one notices the raw, bone-deep ache lodged in your chest, don’t believe that lie. Jesus feels your heartache. He hears those moans and groans masquerading as prayers. Even when you feel misshapen, brittle, or stuck spinning on the Potter’s wheel, remember this: His hands never abandon the work He is doing in your life. Never. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18 NIV). Dear one, the same God who “counts the number of stars” (Psalm 147:4 NKJV) also counts your tears. You're never forgotten, unseen, or alone. Our Potter does not discard His collapsed clay. He gathers it, presses it, reshapes it, and sets it spinning again. Then ... He lovingly forms you into something stronger, deeper, and more beautiful than before. Heavenly Father, When my heart feels like collapsed clay on Your wheel catch my tears, calm my heart, and shape my struggles into something meaningful. Even in the wobble, help me trust Your steady touch, and remind me You’re not finished with me yet. In Jesus' name. Amen. Spiritual Sparks Where in your life does it feel like the spaghetti just hit the floor and the clay collapsed on the wheel? How might God be reshaping something in your life that currently feels like a messy lump of clay? ~~Jesus' hands never abandon the work He is doing in your life. Never.~~LM

"Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” Psalm 51:10 KJV If anyone would’ve told me I’d write a devotional one day inspired by Kid Rock, I would’ve laughed—probably loudly and without shame. Yet here it is, camped out in my head, looping like a song you can’t turn off. I remember some of his songs. They weren’t my favorite—I was never the rapper or heavy-metal type. Still, he carried a persona that was impossible to ignore: loud, cocky, unapologetic. He wore confidence like a sleeveless T-shirt and dared anyone to comment on it. That was part of his history. And if we’re honest, we all have a history. Back in the day, we talked big, listened small, and treated humility like an accessory we’d eventually outgrow. None of us wore the meek-and-mild sandals very well—only Jesus. He never needed a transformation-alignment. Our Jesus is perfect and sets the standard with a simple invitation: “Follow me.” As we age, though, something shifts. We become … well, we become humble. You see, life sandpapers the rough edges, and we look for answers. We take stock of the life we’ve built and begin longing for something better—for our children, our aging parents, and the world we all share. During a performance on Turning Point USA’s “All-American Halftime Show,” Kid Rock—Robert Ritchie—allowed us to witness his heart shift. He explained he awoke one Sunday morning with 'Til You Can't stuck in his head and “something or someone spoke to me,” inspiring him to write a verse to the song … and this is what Robert Ritchie wrote: “There’s a book that's sitting in your house somewhere that could use some dusting off/ There’s a man that died for all our sins/ hanging from the cross/ You can give your life to Jesus/ and he’ll give you a second chance/ ’til you can’t, ’til you can’t.” Those lines written by Robert Ritchie made my eyes leak and my heart cry. They carry the unmistakable marks of transformation. Each word carries a holy weight: redemption, repentance, urgency, salvation. Dear one, Holy doesn’t wait. He saves. When transformation triumphs, we stop chasing freedom and start longing for forgiveness. We crave unity instead of division, purpose instead of noise. It’s like finally coming home after wandering too long in the dark. You see, we don’t just want love—we want unconditional love. We want to intimately know our God, to feel Jesus in our hearts. Scripture says it best: “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10 KJV). That’s the turning point. That’s when pride loosens its grip, grace steps in, and God rewrites the lyrics of a soul reborn in Christ. Father God, Thank You for being a merciful Savior who looks beyond our history and sees our future in You. When pride loosens and grace steps in, transform our hearts and teach us to walk humbly in Your love ... rewrite our story for Your kingdom. In Jesus' name. Amen Spiritual Sparks As Robert Ritchie (Kid Rock) shared his turning point, where might God be quietly inviting you to share your own? What “dusty book” in your life needs opening so God can begin rewriting your story? ❤️ Holy doesn’t wait. He saves. ~~LM ❤️

Let’s talk about avocado toast—a breakfast superstar that’s taken over kitchens everywhere. This pear-shaped, alligator-skinned fruit is filled with a creamy-green goodness. It's packed with healthy fats (is that really a thing, tho?), vitamins, and enough potassium to make a banana blush. Inside rests a smooth, shiny pit about the size of a ping-pong ball ... and so stubborn that popping it out can turn into an Olympic event. I used to shun this fruit with a crinkled nose and squinty eyes. My morning coffee was enough. Until the avocado arrived one day on a slice of toast crowned with a sweep of lime green. Just looking at its freshness made my brain hum with a happy, leafy energy—traits my coffee and I could only dream of sharing. So, I took a bite, sipped my coffee, and since that day, the two have shown up each morning like a parade of champions. Now, I keep this bumpy and lumpy fruit ready for duty. I cut it open, pull the pit (bonus points if the pit pops out in one smooth move), and smoosh the lime green fun with a fork. I then spoon soft green clouds onto a plate, cover with cellophane, and place in the freezer. Voilà. Each scoop waits like a treasure for its morning thaw. Seriously, this buttery goodness paired with coffee is an unbeatable duo. It's healthy and offers comfort no breakfast-of-champion cereal can match. So, tomorrow when you crave something bright and satisfying, reach for an avocado—your taste buds and your morning will thank you. Blessings, Linda "Do you like your toast with green? The brightest breakfast ever seen! Spread on toast, it's so nutritious. Avocado: wonderfully delicious!" Sorry, my Dr. Seuss' muse kicked in. 😉LM

"For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways," says the Lord. "Isaiah 55:8 NKJV Anyone who has a heart for God or learning about Him will eventually become bombarded with a bucketful of "whys." They show up uninvited, like weeds creeping into a well-tended garden, tangling themselves through our thoughts. As we travel across our rose-covered roads, we will no doubt pick up a thorn or two. Each thorn has its own reason to jab and prick at our everyday situations. Trust me, I've stepped on plenty of those thorns. Sometimes life hands you a rose, but forgets to mention it comes from a complimentary thorn bush. When we're poked by our "whys," questions percolate, and we blame the obvious, the not-so-obvious, or whatever is nearby. We try to make sense of it all. We grasp for answers. Nothing. Then our imaginations throw a little pity party while we search for the reason behind the confusion of the "why." God helps us understand with this verse: " For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways, says the Lord" (Isaiah 55:8 NKJV). But here's the thing—whether we're feeling like a leaky canoe in a sea of "whys", we are still God's vessels. We are undeniably NOT of this world (even if some days we feel like we belong at the bottom of a lost-and-found bin). You see, life's trials, big or small, are inevitable ... and your "whys"? Well, you're allowed to ask them. So, go ahead, lift your hands, bow your head to the Lord, and ask away. Dear friend, when life hits you hard, God's strength is critical for those desperate times. You see, God hears, God cares, and He's never stumped by questions that trip us up. Always remember, even if the road is thorny, He's already walked it barefoot … and He promises to walk it with us, every prickly step of the way. Heavenly Father, When our hearts overflow with questions, help us trust You more than our understanding. When the road feels thorny, remind us that You walk beside us. Give us peace when answers feel far away, and strength to keep moving forward with You. In Jesus’ Name. Amen. Spiritual Sparks 1. What “why” has been tangling your thoughts lately, and how have you been carrying it? 2. Where might God be inviting you to trust His higher ways instead of demanding clear answers? "God is never stumped by questions that trip us up."~~LM

The snowstorm of 2026 arrived last week with the name, Fern … like it was a sweet little old lady stopping by with a casserole. Then it kicked in the door, rearranged the furniture, and demanded to be called Snowmageddon. Fern sounds delicate, leafy, polite. Snowmageddon sounds like a monster movie. What we got was both: a blizzard wearing a lace collar and steel-toed boots. The snow fell fast and thick, piling up like an unchecked to-do list. It swallowed cars, sidewalks, and driveways within minutes, like a memory covering everything at once. The world went quiet in that special way only snow can manage—hushed and heavy, as if someone had wrapped the neighborhood in a giant white comforter and said, “Sit by the fireplace, have a mug of cocoa, and take a nap.” I’ll be the first to admit: I’m not a sled-riding person anymore, even though I still have my antique Speedway sled with its rope-steering wooden body and cold steel runners. These days, I admire winter from the window, coffee in hand, like a tourist who forgot their boots. But growing up? That was a completely different story. Winter wasn’t something to endure; it was something to strap onto and race. We had a snowmobile that roared through the frozen fields and the strip mine behind our house. We were loud and wild and unstoppable. At some point, we also had the bright idea to rip the roof off a Volkswagen Bug and pull it behind the snowmobile—no helmet, no rules, no sense. You held on and hoped for the best. Ice skating was always on the agenda too—after school, before homework, under gray skies that smelled like snow. We skated until our toes went numb and our cheeks burned, skating backwards like the Olympic gold medalist Dorothy Hamil and feeling completely invincible. Oh, and if you see my husband, ask him if he'll ever be the last to join crack the whip. Fern/Snowmageddon didn’t send me flying downhill or lacing up my skates, but it did send me back—back to that sharp, happy cold and the reckless joy of winter. Snowstorms are time machines. You just have to look out the window and let them take you there. Blessings, Linda “Some snowstorms fall like blankets. This one hit like a memory.” ~~ LM

“For the Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.” Luke 19:10 KJV The average person misplaces something up to nine times a day. That means at any given moment one of us is wandering through the house, muttering like a detective in fuzzy slippers, desperately opening and closing closets, looking in cupboards, even checking behind the couch cushions. And let’s be honest, at least once or twice a day, the item is not just “misplaced.” Nope. It’s a full-blown code red, alert-the-neighbors situation. Could this endless game of losing and finding be hinting at something more substantial than humor alone? Jesus once shared a parable about a … “... woman who [had] ten silver coins, if she loses one coin, does she light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? And when she [finds] it, she calls her friends and neighbors together, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the piece which I lost’!” (Luke 15:8-9 NKJV) It’s amazing how emotional we become while looking for a lost item. I lost my diamond ring once. I remember fiddling with it while talking to a friend in the parking lot at the public library. But I didn’t realize it had slipped off my finger until the next morning ... at 5:58! In wild-eyed haste, I called my dear friend, who jumped in her car, rushed to the library in pajamas and fuzzy slippers. There in the still of the morning she found my ring right where I had parked. Bless her heart, bless her eagle eyes, and bless our Creator for answering our prayer by leading her straight to that ring. That ... that was an amazing jump-up-and-down-praise-the-Lord kind of emotional moment. Since then, I’ve gained thirty pounds. Though I’m not proud to point that out, I can assure you my ring won’t be slipping off my finger anytime soon. It's a very snug fit now. So, you see, sometimes what’s ‘lost’ isn’t gone forever. But perhaps every misplaced item should be thought of as an invitation to remember this truth: God is always searching our heart. He is always seeking and finding the lost. “For the Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which was lost” (Luke 19:10, KJV). Jesus cares about the lost—especially when it comes to their hearts. While we search the rooms of our homes—opening closets, peeking under cushions—Jesus searches our hearts. He faithfully watches, gently guides, and keeps us close so we’re never lost, never forgotten, and never misplaced. Heavenly Father, When I lose my way, You never lose sight of me or my heart. You search with love, not judgment, and draw me close again. Help me rest in being found in You. In Jesus’ name. Amen. Spiritual Sparks Have you ever lost something and felt God intervene with a helping hand? Have you ever lost your way in life and felt the hand of God's guiding you home? ❤️ Sometimes what’s ‘lost’ isn’t gone forever. ~~LM ❤️

Did you know the average person misplaces something up to nine times a day? That means, statistically speaking, at any given moment one of us is wandering the house, muttering to ourselves, and patting down pockets with the desperation of someone searching for a golden ticket. And let's be honest: at least once or twice a day, it's not just “misplaced”—it's a full-blown, code red, send-out-a-search-party situation. Especially when it's your phone, keys, or that elusive charging cable you swear was just on the table. Some days, my house feels like a black hole for personal possessions. Reading glasses vanish like a magician's prop, shoes migrate under the couch or recliner, and the remote—oh, don't get me started on the remote. My husband and I have our own. Why? Apparently, we don't play nice with one remote. When a lost item finally turns up, it's always in a place that defies logic; like my phone, recently discovered chilling behind the milk in the fridge. (At least it wasn't the freezer—my screen may need a new cover, but it doesn't deserve frostbite.) There's a special kind of madness that happens when you're in the frantic throes of searching for something important, only to forget what you're looking for mid-hunt. How is it possible to lose both an object and the memory of that object at the same time? I mean, here you are rooting through drawers like a raccoon in a trash can. Your heart pounding. Your mind blank. It's ludicrous, like stress wrapped in a riddle. Maybe all this losing and finding is life's way of reminding us to slow down, laugh at ourselves, and appreciate the little victories—like outsmarting our own forgetfulness, if only for a moment. Blessings, Linda “I don’t lose things—I just put them somewhere so safe even I can’t find them.” ~~ LM

First off, a huge thank you to everyone who’s emailed me since launching this new blog yesterday! Your enthusiasm—and your curious questions—have truly made my day. So many of you have asked, “What exactly are neocaridina shrimp?” Well, let me introduce you to these colorful little characters swimming circles in my world. They are a pint-size parade of color swishing through my aquarium like confetti on parade day. These little crustaceans come in an artist’s palette of hues: firetruck red, tangerine orange, lemon yellow, electric blue, ghostly white and all colors in between. When they gather, it’s like watching a living bag of jellybeans with antennas. Neocaridina shrimp are the janitors of the aquatic world, forever on the move, darting and skittering across the gravel in search of their next meal. Their taste in cuisine? Let’s call it “opportunistically adventurous.” These scavengers gobble up algae with the enthusiasm of kids at an all-you-can-eat candy buffet, but don’t let their cuteness fool you—they’ll munch on anything, including their own kin if the opportunity arises. It’s a shrimp-eat-shrimp world in there. Their favorite hangouts are soft patches of aquatic moss and nooks of Indian Almond leaves, where they can snack, molt, and gossip about the otocinclus that hides near the sponge filter. I like to spoil these tiny tank-dwellers occasionally with bloodworms and brine shrimp—a five-star treat that may or may not cause a ruckus inside the glass feeding bowl. Right now, I have a sky-blue mama shrimp sporting a a clutch of eggs like a pocketful of inky-dinky yellow marbles. Soon, the tank will be sprinkled with baby shrimp, each one no bigger than a comma. So, if you’re searching for a bit of quirkiness and a splash of color in your home, neocaridina shrimp are the aquatic equivalent of confetti—cheerful, surprising, and always ready to clean up after the party. Blessings and have a wonderful day...LM