MOVING

 So, this blogger has moved to http://afearlessjoy.wordpress.com/. Hopefully she will post more on that blog than she did on this one:)

The Role of the Holy Spirit in a Believer's Life of Obedience

    God calls us as Christians to live a life of complete and utter obedience to Him. As humans this is impossible. There is absolutely no way we can live up to His standard of life on our own. Knowing this, God has given us access to a power that is much greater than ourselves. This power, which enables us to live victoriously in every aspect of life, is the Holy Ghost.

    The Holy Ghost is a part of the Trinity, which consists of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Not only is it part of the Trinity, but the Bible tells us that it is also a gift (Acts 2:38, 10:45). It is the gift from God that gives us a power to live in victory over sin, be an effective witness to the world, and possess joy and power during the tests of life. Without this power there is no humanly possible way to have victorious Christian life.(Romans 8:8,9b)
    One of the things that God calls Christians to do is to live in victory over sin. Without God this is impossible because we are of the flesh. We walk after the flesh and seek to fulfill our fleshly desires. This is futile. We are told in Romans 8:8 that when we follow after our flesh, we cannot please God. Thankfully, there is hope. When we become Christians, we receive the power to overcome our flesh. This power is the Holy Ghost. When we have this power we are able to turn our backs on our flesh and follow after the Spirit. Paul tells us in Romans 8 that doing so leads to life. (Romans 8:13) 
     God also commands us to "go into all the world and preach the Gospel". As you can imagine, doing so takes a tremendous amount of faith and courage to step outside our comfort zones and share the Word of God with others. God, once again knowing our human tendencies, has provided us with a way. In the beginning of Acts we read, "But ye shall receive power, after that the Holy Ghost is come upon you: and ye shall be witnesses unto me both in Jerusalem, and in all Judaea, and in Samaria, and unto the uttermost part of the earth." (Acts 1:8) The Early Church received the Holy Ghost which gave them the power to witness to the world. The Holy Ghost enabled the Early Apostles to speak in tongues which in turn brought thousands of people to the Lord. (Acts 2:4) The Holy Ghost taught the disciples what to say and also spoke through them in times of need and trial.(Luke 12:12, Mark 13:11)
     This power is not only for the disciples or the great Christians of times past. God has promised to us the Holy Ghost. Being Christians and having received this power, we need to claim that power and use it in serving our Lord Jesus Christ. We have access to a power that will enable us to live completely and utterly in the will of God.

Deep Love

     I sat there in my jail cell, shackled to the wall with heavy chains. I was a notorious criminal; I had broken every command in the land and now I was paying the price.
     I heard the sound of heavy chains dragging along the cold ground as the guards hauled another prisoner to the whipping post. I shuddered at his eerie screams as they echoed down the long corridor. I knew I was next. My shoulders sagged at the thought of the agony I was to endure. I knew I deserved it.
     My head jerked up at the sound of the guards outside my cell door. As I was roughly jerked to my feet and led down the dark corridor, I began to protest loudly.
    "No!" I cried, "You can't take me. Just leave me alone!" I began to fight the guards with the last of my fleeing strength. It was no use. Their strong hold never weakened as they drug me down the corridor.
     Finally giving up, I allowed them to chain me to the whipping post. Arching my back, I listened for the sound of the whip whistling through the air. Gritting my teeth, I prepared for the stinging pain, but it never came. Instead of the whip whistling through the air, I heard a kind voice next to me. In the place of stinging pain, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.
     Glancing up, I saw Him. The Man who had tried to befriend me for so many years. The Man who I turned my back on. The One who I scoffed and taunted day after day. I looked away, ashamed that He should see like this.
    As He unchained me, He commanded the guards to chain Him in MY PLACE.
    Bewildered, I staggered back. Did He not see these filthy rags I wore? Did He not see the whip in the guard's hands? Did He not remember everything I had done to Him? Did He not know of all the crimes I had committed?
     As the whip whistled through the air, He looked into my eyes and I began to understand. As the whip came down on his back, sobs began to rack my body and I crumbled to the ground. As His mouth opened in an agonizing scream, I realized that He did see. He saw it ALL. He saw the filthy rags I wore. He saw that chains on my feet and the jail cell I sat in. He knew of all the sin I had committed. He knew it all, yet He took my place at the whipping post.

Can You Hear Their Cries?

     Can you hear the prayers of the children? Can you hear them calling out for help? They are asking you, the one reading this, and me, the one writing this, to reach out and to give them a helping hand. They are asking us to love them, to bring them hope, and to encourage them. They are not asking for our money, or our offerings: they are asking for our time and our friendship.
     These children are not all in another country, or on another continent. They are right here, in our country, in out states, in our towns,and in our neighborhoods. They walk by us every single day. On the outside they look like any other kid; on the inside, a battle of confusion and anger rages on and on.
     "Who are they?" you ask. They are your neighbors, your students, your classmates. They are not all young children, some are teenagers. One is the quiet girl in the corner of the cafeteria.The 10-year-old boy with the charming smile is one. The little girl throwing a temper tantrum is one. The teenager who gets picked on at school is one. They are foster children. Their parents, the ones who are supposed to love them have forsaken them. They live with strangers, hundreds of them. They are constantly moving from home to home, from one school to another. They are not all rebellious, on drugs, and trouble-makers. Most of them have great character and big dreams. They want you to be their family.
      So, once again I ask you. Can you hear their cries? Can you hear them calling out to you to give them a helping hand? Will you just stand by and watch as they go through life without a family to love them or will you be a voice for them? Will you reach out and give them a helping hand? Will you be their family?

Praying for Your Future Husbands...book review

     Robin J. Gunn and Tricia Goyer have written a wonderful book that many young ladies should read. Robin and Tricia's stories, which are drastically different, relate their mistakes and the things they did right. That and the many true stories of girls that have prayed for their future husbands make this book applicable to many young girls' lives.
     The authors have included helpful Scripture verses, sayings, prayers, and tough questions that help enforce the guidelines of this book. They have shown specifically how to pray for your future husbands which make this book very easy to understand for girls of almost any age.
  I would definitely recommend this book to any girl's Bible/devotional study group or even for just two or three girls getting together. This book is a must read for any young lady who wishes to prepare and save herself for her future husband.

   -"I received this book for free from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for this review”.

The City of Crying People

      The city had been said to be one of  the most crime-infested cities in the United States. I gazed in wonder at the chaos ensuing around me. Impatient drivers honked their horns as they waited for the traffic to slow. A young mother held tightly onto her sons' hands has she made her way down the side of the highway. A gang of rowdy kids swaggered down a side street. A homeless man slept away a hangover, oblivious to the noise around him. Old, abandoned buildings, scribbled with graffiti, provided a hangout for gangs. An old, abandoned railroad car provided shelter for a homeless family. All these people going somewhere, why have I never cared that they may never know that they have a God who loves them? Why have I never cared that they may never know that He sent his Son to die that they might live? Why have I never cared that they may never know God's saving grace as I do? Why is it that we, who are to spread the news of God's love to those around us, never stop and listen to the cries of those people who we walk by every day?

The Writers of God

     I stared in wonder as my guide led me to the massive library. It seemed to go on for miles and miles. As he led me through the door I questioned him, "Who owns this library?"
     "The author and the finisher of our faith," my guide answered, "He is also the author  of every book in the library." He opened a book. "This book holds the story of a beautiful lady who followed the call of God, surrendered everything she had, and dedicated her life to serving God." He opened another book, "This book contains the story of a ten-year-old child who died of cancer."
     I ran my hand across the spines of the books. Every book had a different cover and title. Their titles had a very special meaning that described the life of the main character. The cover was unique in the way it represented that person's story. It told if the story was sad, or if it was happy. It told of the mighty forces of God conquering the evil forces of Satan. Each book told a unique story of one of God's saints. Every story was different, yet they all told of how the love and  forgiveness of God can prevail over the evil hold of the Devil.
     As we walked deeper into the library, I noticed tall, beautiful figures writing. Some were sitting at tables, others were standing with their book in one hand and a pen in the other, but they were all writing. "What are they writing?" I asked gesturing toward the writers.
     "They are writing the stories of saints still living," replied my guide, "those saints who are not yet finished on earth; God still has awesome plans for them."
     "What are their stories?" I implored, "may I hear them?"
     "Some, but not all," replied my guide, "this writer over here" he gestured, "is writing the story of a young man who overcame his fears of what others think of him and is now using his resources and talents that God has given him to impact the world in such a way that others will know that God reigns.And that young writer over in the corner, is just finishing the story of a young lady who was martyred because of her love toward our Savior."
     My guide told me stories of young people, old people, happy people, and sad people. He told of those who are laughing and of those who are crying. Every single person was absolutely amazing and had a unique story. Every single story showed the love of God shining through darkness. I cried when people were rejected and shed tears of joy when they overcame that rejection and showed others God's love.
     As we approached the center of the library, I noticed a cluster of distinguished looking scholars standing around a large book. "That book," said my guide, "is the most precious book in the library."
    "Why is it so precious?" I questioned my guide.
    "In it is written the story of our Savior.," offered one of the students, "It is the story of the One who came to earth and offered himself as a sacrifice that we, who have broken God's commandments, might live. Without this story, there would be no other story. This story is the beginning and the end of every single story. All the stories you have just heard are built around this book. That is what makes it so important."
    "That is the truth" agreed my guide as he led me once more toward the seemingly endless sea of writers.
     As we passed through the writers of God, I paused next to a table where a young writer was busy writing. His laughing eyes glanced up at me just a moment when I asked my guide " And who's story is he writing?"
    My guide grinned a little as he answered, "This young writer is writing your story."