Hope

Jesus' final words from the cross, "It is finished;" was not an ending, but a beginning filled with hope for each of us.

As I read an Easter Meditation this week, I was impressed with James Tissot's definition of sin. "Sin isn't pretty or petty. Our world dresses it up as cleverness, as happiness, as fulfillment. But despite its many deceitful faces, sin at its root is about asserting power. It is rebellion against God's authority, an undermining of His Kingdom. Sin is turning up our nose at God and doing what we want in spite of what he says-- and there's nothing pretty about that...

"Our sins demanded that Jesus to break away from his Holy Father, for holiness cannot cohabitate with sin."

We have been so desensitized by the media that bombards our lives daily that it's easy to see the crucifixion and resurrection as just another movie... another news report.

Then we become like Pilate, who spinelessly sacrificed Jesus to the crowd. It was easy to turn his back and avoid his responsibility. Sadly, I'm seeing this happening today as people chose to ignore CDC recommendations. Their assertion of power through their self-centeredness endangers others. People, that is sin. That is separating oneself from the Creator. I cannot focus on the hope without the reality of how much it is needed today, right now. 

Today we focus on the resurrection and can miss the first miracle. The hearing of the curtain at the entrance of the Holy of Holies chamber of the temple, which was reserved for the presence of God and could be entered only by the High Priest on the Day of Atonement. It was a barrier between God and man. At the moment Christ died that barrier was torn down, giving us direct access to the Father!

The earth shook...tombs broke open and saints were raised to life. Signs of hope from God that all was as planned. Can you imagine the terror of the Roman soldiers guarding the sealed tomb? To allow Jesus' body to be stolen meant death. So seeing that huge boulder roll away from the burial tomb entrance by a glowing being dressed in white... They couldn't fight or flee as they were probably paralyzed by fear.

Enter, the women, who experienced fear then great joy!

We, too, as followers of the Risen Lord have much to celebrate! 

Jesus died... was buried... rose...

But that's not the end. He was seen! Touched! Ate breakfast with the disciples! 

"And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns." (NLT)

Blessed Easter,

Connie

Heartstrings, Guest Post

Do You Write? Are You a Writer?

When Can You Call Yourself a Writer? 

Guest Post by Jerry Jenkins

Do you ever wonder whether you’re really worthy to call yourself a writer?

You have a deep desire to impact people with your words.

But doubt creeps in and you ask yourself:

• “What makes me a writer? I’ve never published anything, let alone a book.”

• “What I have written is no good. I’m not even sure I should be doing this.”

• “I can’t honestly call myself a writer. I’m nowhere near good enough!”

Sound familiar?

If you let it, that voice will keep you from ever sharing your message with the world. So let’s fight the voice of doubt with a dose of truth.

How Does a Person Actually Become a Writer?

Every once in a great while you’ll hear of someone who decided to write something, or was badgered into it, and surprised everyone by becoming known as a writer.

But, usually, becoming a writer takes a normal course. You become a writer the way you become a bicyclist or a gymnast or a dancer, singer, cook, or plumber.

See where I’m headed with this?

You walk—and trip and tumble and plop—before you run.

Your bike tips over and you skin your knee, perhaps a dozen times, before you catch on to riding a bike.

You ruin a lot of recipes, burn cakes and pies and assorted fowl and bovine, before you become a cook.

You soak your clothes and floors and everything else in sight before you learn the ins and outs of plumbing.

Being bad at something we want to succeed at is part of the process. It’s how we pay our dues.

If you’re not willing to fail, to stink, to be lousy, to make mistakes, to accept correction and criticism and counsel from experts, you’re not likely to progress.

So When Can You Call Yourself a Writer?

As soon as you’re willing to dive in—regardless how good or bad you are.

Just do me one favor:

Don’t decide you’re not a writer before you’ve mustered the courage to try.

Accept that you will be bad at first, just like we all are at everything we try for the first time. Humility is not only a good starting point, it’s the posture to adopt for your writing career.

Wannabe Vs. Writer

But if you’re only talking about being a writer, only reading blogs about it, only going to writers conferences, hobnobbing with writers, dressing like a writer (whatever you think that means), you’re not a writer. You’re a wannabe.

Wannabes talk about writing. Writers write. They may not write well yet, but they write.

When your seat is in the chair and your fingers are on the keyboard and the words are appearing on the screen, you’re in the game.

Otherwise, you’re talking, but no one is listening.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a writer.

But if you want to call yourself a writer, you have to write.

Do You Have the Right Stuff?

I can tell within the first minute of critiquing a writing student’s work whether they have what it takes to succeed.

How?

I’m not mean, but I’m straightforward. I assume they want honest input on how to improve, and so I tell them. It can be hard to hear.

Their expression and body language tell me immediately whether they are eager to learn and grow or if they were merely hoping to be discovered.

I know it’s hard.

It can be scary to show your work to a professional, even more so to an editor or publisher who will decide whether to buy it or reject it.

But real writers want the feedback. They want to get better, to learn, to grow, to succeed.

Are You a Writer?

If you’ve failed and are still writing, if you’re scared and are still writing, if you’ve stood up to a stinging critique and made your piece better by applying what you learned, if you’ve stayed at it despite that pervasive fear of failure, you are!

How do you know when you’re really a writer?

When you’re writing. Good, bad, fearfully, courageously—regardless.

If you’re in the game and plying your trade, say it loud and say it proud:

I am a writer.

My response: 

YES! I am a writer. I love sharing life lessons. I love learning how to do it better. I am an encourager through spoken and written words.

I am still the seven-year-old who wrote stories in her head every night before falling asleep. Only now I write them down. And I am a forever student. Improving my skills includes sitting in silence while listening and watching what's happening around me. 

My last published story was written after sitting in my recliner with no sounds to distract me. I watched the robins in the tree outside my window. After a while, I looked deeper and was entranced by the dance of the trees. I moved to the computer and wrote "A Touch of Red." 

My writing was by choice when I was young. At age 60, it became a calling/a ministry.

YES, I Am a writer!

"Comfort Ye My People"

This song from Handle's "Messiah" stirs my heart.

"For unto us a child was born..." a baby that cried when hungry and wet; a child that learned carpentry from Joseph & the meaning of the Torah from His Heavenly Father; a child Mary knew was unlike any other. A man, who when baptized brought us God's declaration: "This is my Son...in whom I am well pleased." 


The Son became a healer, a teacher, a man of prayer & so much more. Jesus, the Christ came to comfort... to give us hope, joy and peace.

                              

with child

a gasp, a cry

an exhausted mother’s sigh

a father’s teardrops

a heavenly umbilical cord cut and tied

a sweet aroma of fresh hay

a tiny gurgle as rosebud lips find milk

a whispered prayer

a naming as God commanded

a squeak of rafters as birds and mice gather

a gentle breeze to fan the fire

a clip and clop of a donkey’s feet

a quiet baa-aa and a hushed moo

a ray of starlight

a flutter of angel wings

a silence

a moment realizing God’s sacrifice-

His only son

a yip of a sheepdog on the hillside

an owl’s hoot as he hunts

a rowdy laugh from the inn

a braying camel on the dusty road

a mother and babe sleep

a father watches

an angel guards

a world waits

                          © 2005 Constance Gilbert

I keep Yeshua haMashiach (Jesus, the Messiah) deep in my heart as my comforter, encourager, and hope. I eagerly await His return when I can praise Him all the day as part of His angelic choir.

I pray that you know Him, too.