My Router and the Holy Spirit

This is my router. It is my link to all things "internetty."  We had a talk this morning, wherein I chastised it for its fickle nature and irresponsible attitude. Some days it lives up to its full potential. I can sit in any room of the house - even wander out to the porch or patio - and get excellent service. On other days, if I wander just several feet away from its home base, it provides absolutely no internet service whatsoever. I reminded it of the utter inconvenience of settling myself nicely on the comfy sofa in the living room (only two rooms away mind you) only to find I can't look at a single blog, send one comment or check on my FB friends.

It sat quietly in its spot while I showered it with criticism - the little green light staring back at me. When I had finished and was turning to leave, I heard it say (honestly), "I'm using all the power I have at my disposal. It just isn't enough to get the job done sometimes. What about you? You have infinite power that you very often don't take advantage of. What about that....huh?"

There it sat, green light staring right at my heart, and I knew I had been bested. If I want more power in a router, I will simply have to go out and buy a more powerful one. This little guy is doing the best it can.

Whereas, I have been given the gift of all the power I could ever possibly need. It was given to me the day I invited Jesus into my heart:

"And I will ask the Father, and He will give you another Helper, that He may be with you forever."
 John 14:16

This Helper, this Holy Spirit, fills me with everything I need to live this one life I have been given. Far too often I try to go it alone, trying to manage things in my own strength. I heard someone say once that we have been given all we need of the Holy Spirit, but too often we don't give Him all of us. He yearns to fill us full to overflowing, and I settle for a thimble-full and wonder why there is  no victory in my life.

In these days, my heart yearns for truth and the courage to stand strong in the face of things I never thought would come. I need my heart filled daily, hourly, moment by moment. All I need to do is yield.

linking to Em's blog today:



Blessings,
Linda

A Fickle Heart

Reading through the gospels, I try to press myself onto the pages - to see and taste and touch. I'm part of the crowd sitting on a hillside watching as He takes a little boy's meager lunch and feeds thousands of hungry souls.

I come, pressing through the throngs of people, to watch as He heals the lame, gives sight to the blind and frees the demon possessed. My heart thunders as, with a loud voice, He calls Lazarus from the tomb.

I listen to the parables as one whose heart is devoid of the Holy Spirit and wonder if I would have had ears to hear. With no one to explain, would I have understood?

He stands, this humble, ordinary looking man, and makes the astounding claim that He is the Son of God. I look at Him and wonder, consider all the miracles I've seen. But didn't the prophets do the same? How can it be that this poor man who doesn't even have a place to lay His head is the longed for Messiah? Would I turn and walk away when the controversy surrounding Him became too heated? Would I follow the crowd, bend over and pick up a stone? (John 8:59)

I sit in my comfortable little chair. Sunshine pours through the window and spills across the table. I am here, with my Bible, books, teachers, preachers, unlimited resources and the Holy Spirit residing deep within - and still faint shadows of doubt obscure the light. I pray; give me an undivided heart Lord. And now, as then, He reaches out in love and draws this fickle heart to Himself.

I am joining my sweet Laura today:

 

Blessings,
Linda

There Is A Fountain

Praying, as Easter approaches, our hearts would overflow with gratitude and our tears fall like rain as we echo the words of this beautiful old hymn:

 "Redeeming love has been my theme and shall be till I die."




Joining my friends Sandy and Deidra:






Blessings,
Linda

Legacy

I am a tiny part of a big Italian family. I have treasured memories of birthday parties when the rooms in my parents apartment seemed to bulge at the seams with Grandparents, Aunts and Uncles, and cousins. Pasta was on the menu twice a week - every Wednesday and Sunday with sausage and meatballs and gravy (it is not called sauce in any self respecting Italian home!). Hugs and kisses all around coming and going. It was a joyful place to grow up.

There was one thing missing however - one vital thing. My Mom and Dad were the only Christians in the family. They stepped away from the religious legacy they had always known and began one of their very own. My Dad often speaks about a certain understanding that there was a God who cared deeply about him and got him safely through those terrible years of war, but He didn't really know Him.

Shortly after they were married they met a lovely lady who shared the gospel message with them. Together they opened their hearts to receive the Savior. From that moment they changed the course of my life as well as their own.

They do not have great worldly riches to pass on to the next generations of our family, but they have bequeathed to us a legacy that no amount of money can buy. They have seen their children walk in faith, watched with delight as the torch of faith passed to their grandchildren, and been blessed beyond measure to see great-grandchildren give their hearts to Jesus. We are heirs to great treasure.

It is a joy to see the way one life can change another and then another - to watch the brightly lit torch pass from one outstretched hand to the next.

We are not all called to do "great" things for the Father, but we are all called to share the great treasure He has lovingly placed in our hearts and hands. Just one small whisper, one kind deed, one sharing of the good news and He will make something great of it indeed.

The dear friend who shared the gospel with my Mom and Dad couldn't look through time and space and see a little girl, who will soon turn ten, open her heart to Jesus. She simply took what she had and shared it. We are indeed grateful.

Sharing with Jennifer again today:



Blessings,
Linda

"And They Spit On Him"

I, along with hundreds of others in our church family, have been reading through the New Testament in the 40 days leading up to Easter Sunday. So far, I have read through the first three gospels, seeing the familiar story played out over and over again. Familiar. Oh that it would never become familiar. There is something about living the story of Jesus' suffering through the words of those who loved Him dearly that gives the heart fresh eyes.

It is agonizing to try to imagine the physical suffering. The other, this suffering of One who knew no sin bearing the weight of the sins of the world, and separated for the only time in all eternity from His beloved Father, is simply beyond imagining.

My heart aches in the reading, even knowing it will all end in blazing glory. One small part of the story of Jesus' trial stood out in a fresh way. For some reason it was almost more than I could bear:



"They stripped Him and put a scarlet robe on Him. They wove thorn branches into a crown and put it on His head, and they placed a reed stick in His right hand as a scepter. Then they knelt before Him in mockery and taunted. 'Hail! King of the Jews!'
And they spit on Him and grabbed the stick and struck Him on the head with it."
Matt. 27: 28-30

It was horrific - every single bit of it - but  "...they spit on Him..."  Something about it screams of  contempt and cruelty. It is, it seems to me, almost too much to bear. The image stayed in my mind for days, and then I read an article that put into words what I have been trying to convey:

"Compared to these things (Jesus' suffering), the spitting seems almost insignificant. Unlike everything else He suffered, this act didn't cause Jesus physical pain or leave a mark on Him....It is not the gesture but the motivation behind it that makes the action agonizing to me. Spitting, especially in another person's face, is a universal sign of hatred and disdain and therefore is considered taboo in many parts of the world. Spitting is reserved only for someone loathed."
Jaimie A. Hughes  (in "In Touch" magazine)

One small part of the story, and yet, for me, it is so very significant. We all long to be loved and accepted, and we are deeply hurt when we are not. How much more for this One, standing silently before His accusers, whose only "crime" was love. He willingly took the shame and humiliation we so dread so that we might find life in its fullness.

Such love overwhelms.

Blessings,
Linda

Man of Sorrows

Quieting my heart to walk the road to Calvary with Jesus. This old hymn was "playing" in my heart this morning.



Joining Sandy:



Blessings,
Linda

Only Extraordinary

It's time for Five Minute Friday again. Today's word (one I have become quite familiar with):

Ordinary

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I have found myself sighing deeply lately. Whenever I do, I remember Ma in the Little House books admonishing Laura when she heard her sighing. Apparently there is a wealth of words in a sigh.

For me it is a sighing out the weariness - the weariness of being ordinary. All around me I see others soaring to great heights - their gifts being used in miraculous ways to further God's kingdom. I sigh, confess the envy that is wont to creep in to this ordinary heart and whisper to Him that I'm tired of being ordinary.

Why this longing to "be somebody?" Why this yearning for something more; always something more. 

He whispers back that He doesn't make "ordinary." Everything He does is extraordinary - including the knitting together of me. What I perceive as ordinary will become extraordinary when I give it back to Him. 

He gently reminds me that in His eyes I am far more than ordinary. And really - it those eyes that matter most.

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Linking up with the other extraordinary women at Lisa-Jo's:

Blessings,

Linda