On Nagging God...

“At that time I pleaded with the Lord: ‘O Sovereign LORD, you have begun to show to your servant your greatness and your strong hand. For what god is there in heaven or on earth who can do the deeds and mighty works you do? Let me go over and see the good land beyond the Jordan—that fine hill country and Lebanon.’ But because of you [referring to the Israelites] the LORD was angry with me and would not listen to me.

‘That is enough,’ the LORD said. ‘Do not speak to me anymore about this matter.’” (Deut. 3:23-26)

My son has perfected his nagging. How do I know this? Because, more often than not, I’m officially nagged. Weary worn from his tactics of repeated negotiations and hugely bothered by the fact that he doesn’t know when to quit… when my “no” is a “no” and why it isn’t wise to cross over that line. For the record, I’m not much of a “no” momma, so when a “no” rolls off my tongue, I think, perhaps, it confuses my son and fuels his will for the debate.

Just a little more persistence, just a little more obnoxious determination, and I’ll wear her down.

Sometimes it works, especially when he was younger. But now that he’s approaching puberty (and I’m approaching forty-six), he’s got less wiggle room for negotiation tactics, and I have less patience for entreating them. Things might be easier now if I’d have said more “no’s” to the dinosaurs at the Dollar Tree when he was three years old, but there’s a huge divide between dinosaurs that cost a dollar and purchases that exceed that amount by fifty times. Fifty dollar purchases must be weighed carefully in any household, and for a boy who's prone to whims over reason, even more so.

Nagging notions + wasteful spending = selfish, temporary pleasure.

I know. I’m not so unlike my son, especially when it comes to nagging God about something rather than letting his “no” come home to roost in my heart as acceptance. Fortunately, I have a bit of age and life experience that allow me to sometimes see past temporal gain. I know something of nagging and wasteful spending and winding up with far less than what I’d hoped for. Accordingly, when I now receive a “no” from God, I’m more willing to accept it without need for further explanation. God sees better than me, and his forecast for my future is more expansive and far lovelier than what currently can be seen from my dining room window.

Moses was a nagger, not so unlike my son and me. He, too, wanted something he couldn’t have—immediate access to the Promised Land. Unlike me, he had open access to a conversational God and didn’t have to wonder about God’s response to his desire.

“That is enough,” the LORD said. “Do not speak to me anymore about this matter.”

God shut Moses down, because God saw better than Moses—a future more expansive and far lovelier than the current reality claiming Moses’ feet. God saw past the earthly Promised Land. God saw the Promised Land of eternal consequence. God saw heaven. God saw home. And God knew that saying “no” to Moses’ nagging was a gain for everyone in the end. Moses would no longer have to deal with an obstinate people; instead, Moses could go directly through the gates of forever and live in peace with his God, his Friend.

Nagging notions + God’s understanding = limitless, eternal pleasure.

Sometimes, we just have to wait for it, friends.

How much energy are you wastefully spending in nagging negotiations with God today? When have you heard his “no” only to be confronted by your willful “yes”? If, by all accounts, you’ve been given a “no” by God, then will you trust that it is for your good and for your gain?

Today, as I’m sitting at my dining room window and contemplating all things Jesus, I am tenderly and willingly confronted by God’s rebuke to Moses. I receive it as my own and fall to my knees in conviction for the nagging agitation that I’ve contributed to his ruminations in recent days.

That is enough, Elaine. Do not speak to me anymore about this matter.

God sees better than me, and his forecast for my future is more expansive and far lovelier than what currently can be seen from my window.

Nagging notions + God’s understanding = limitless, eternal pleasure.

Knowing this… I know enough. Canaan is the eternal “yes” that allows me to see beyond God’s “no.” Today, I rest there while living here, and all is well with my soul.

Blessed, sweet peace for the journey.


PS: From a random drawing, the winner of Lisa's book and a set of Cindy's cards is Denise! In addition, I chose Leah to also receive a set of cards from Cindy. Ladies, please check out Cindy's etsy shop and let me know which design you'd like. Once I receive them from Cindy, I'll send them to you.

"You are Beautiful in God's Eyes" by Lisa Shaw (a give-away)

Several months ago, I wrote a post on solving the problem of pain. In it, I talk about the idea of personal creativity and its direct connection to helping heal the wounds of others. Musicians play instruments. Singers sing. Bakers bake. Teachers teach. Planners plan. And writers… well we write. We give our words to others in hopes that something we’ve written might resonate with readers in a positive way, thus fostering heart health—body, soul, and spirit.

Lisa Shaw is one such writer, and she delivers a message of healing in her first book release, You are Beautiful in God’s Eyes. I’ve read the book through a few times now, even keeping it on my nightstand. Why? Well, I like the cover. Seeing Lisa’s beautiful smile reminds me of the loving investments she’s made into my heart over the years. Secondly, I keep her book handy because every word contained within is a continual reminder for me to look beyond the flawed perceptions I harbor about myself and, instead, to begin to see myself as God sees me.

Beautiful. Created by God’s hand. Thought about. Considered. In God’s image. On God’s heart.

Indeed, a message easily forgotten by me on days when I’m tempted by the enemy to focus solely on my imperfections. Each chapter in Lisa’s book rings with a clarion call to get back to the basics… back to the beginning when Father God sat with the idea of me on the front side of Genesis and called me very good. The idea of me when he walked his Son to a bloody grave. The idea of me when he walked his Son out from the grave and into the folds of heaven. The idea of me when he sent his Spirit to dwell in the hearts of his people. The idea of me when he tucked my life inside the safety of my mother’s womb. The idea of me some forty-five years later when it’s sometimes easy to forget that I’m still God’s very good idea… warts and all.

Perhaps you understand. Perhaps there are seasons when you’re easily swayed by personal opinion rather than God’s opinion. Times when you let down your spiritual guard to entreat the lies of the enemy that label you to a lesser degree than God’s very good. If that’s you (and it’s certainly been me), then You are Beautiful in God’s Eyes is a good starting point for redefining who you are in Jesus Christ.

Lisa writes like Lisa lives—authentically and passionately for the kingdom cause. She is a strong encourager of God’s people and an even stronger advocate for the transforming work of God’s Word. Lisa doesn’t let her readers off the hook easily. She calls for greater discipleship on the part of her readers, a willingness to dig deeply for the “beautiful” that belongs to each one of us as God’s children. I am grateful for her deliberate prod and for her obedience to take the Father’s message to the world. In doing so, she is helping to solve the problem of pain.

Thank you, Lisa, for writing these words. You are beautiful in God’s eyes and in mine. As always…

Peace for the journey,


PS: For a chance to win a copy of Lisa's book, please leave me a comment expressing your interest. In addition to Lisa's book, the winner will receive a set of Cindy's handmade note cards as beautifully promoted at her Etsy shop.

Please take time to review Cindy's craftsmanship and let me know some of your favorites. She, too, helps to solve the problem of pain with her creativity! The winner of Lisa's book and Cindy's note cards will be announced with my next post. Shalom.

moving past the unknown..

I’ve been thinking about the conversation we had back in August. The “I’m going back to college, and I still don’t know what I want to do with my life” conversation. Not an unfamiliar conversation between us. It surfaces on occasion, more so now that he is mid-way through his junior year at the university. Certainly, he has some thoughts and is working his way through a degree program, but there’s a nagging confusion that lingers in the shadows.

The unknown.

The unknown can be paralyzing, especially when you’re twenty-one and many in your peer group already have their five year goals in place and their resumes written. So often the unknown can foster paralyzing fear over adventurous faith, crippling insecurity over settled confidence. The unknown can keep a life stuck right where it is, walking in circles with feet shackled to the comfort of uncertainty. Yes, comfort. Sometimes it’s more comfortable to stay stuck in uncertainty than to move forward.

I’m not so unlike my son. I’m forty-five, and I’m still wrestling with what I want to be when I grow up. Some days, the unknown overshadows known truth, and I get stuck. Fear and insecurity creep in and the shackles around my feet seem an easier fit for me than the faith and confidence that is mine in Jesus Christ. Instead of progression, I regress. One step forward and two steps back isn’t in keeping with God’s growth plan for my life. Certainly, any forward movement is a gain, but at forty-five, I need to do more. With age, comes wisdom, and it’s time I started acting my age.

Acting. Action. A verb, not a suggestion. And so, I go back to that conversation I had with my son nearly six months ago, and I remember those few words I spoke into his confusion.

Try something new, son. Get out from behind your computer, get out of your dorm room and try something new… even if it’s uncomfortable. What’s comfortable isn’t working for you. It’s limiting your vision and keeping you stuck. Getting out into the world, meeting people face-to-face instead of on the Internet, is going to re-connect you to life. People and places—that’s where you’ll find it. Your dreams, your goals, the pulse that will move you forward into your “next.” It’s not in our DNA to stay put, to live inside. You’re a Killian… at the heart of it all, you’re a Killian. And Killians know that the best part of life is found in people. Go to them, son, and you’ll find your focus.

I’m pleased to report that my son has taken some new risks this year. He’s growing and maturing, moving into his own as his junior year unfolds. I see more confidence in his gait, more wisdom in his words, and I can’t help but think that just a few simple steps outside of his familiar are partly responsible for this ever-emerging transformation. He’s moving forward, and so must I.

Time to try something new. Time to get out from behind this computer screen and re-connect with life… face-to-face. As I look at my future, there are a multitude of unknowns looming on my horizon. The unknown could easily keep me shackled to my familiar. And while I cannot see much beyond today (and I’ve come to firmly believe this is a very good thing), I can take a few steps forward that will alter the course of my tomorrow. Just one or two baby steps to grow my confidence, to extend my faith. And then just one or two more beyond those initial ones. Before long… a lengthy accumulation of forward progression that will more fully transform me into the woman God intends.

A woman of adventurous faith and settled confidence. Oh to be her… even one little bit!

Movement wins, friends. With the cross before us, movement always wins. Keep to it. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: What steps are you taking to move yourself forward?

Jesus, her, and me...

“For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them.” –Matthew 18:20

Together we worshiped the Lord this morning. Just the three of us. Jesus, her, and me. I’d hoped that others would be there, planned on others being there, but when the big hand was on the ten and the little hand on the twelve, my hope merged with reality. Today, we kept it small. Today, it boiled down to just Jesus, her, and me. Jesus, my daughter, and me. And we didn’t let it dampen our enthusiasm. Instead, we kept doing what we’ve been doing for nearly two years now...

having Sunday School on the second floor of our church.

Some might ask, “Why bother? Why plan and prepare for ten when only one or two show up on a regular basis? Why the investment of energy and prayers and late night runs for supplies to supplement a lesson plan already burgeoning with abundance? Why sow largely into such smallness?”

Reasonable questions. On occasions, questions I’ve asked myself. But each time I do, I cycle back around to the only reasonable answer.

The church belongs to me, and I belong to the church.

When I became a Christian, I signed on to God’s investment plan—sowing his kingdom seed into the lives of those within reach. I don’t get to choose the conditions for that reach. My only obligation is to make sure that I continue to stretch my arms and release God’s heart into the hearts of those who sit beneath my influence. It matters not the size of the audience; what matters is my faithfulness to God’s calling for my life—to know God and then, out of that knowing, to lead others to know the same.

It takes a while to arrive there… to get comfortable with the parameters of God’s choosing. Two years ago, I would have told you that there was little room in my agenda for small investments. Two years ago, I was focused on larger parcels of land. Two years ago, I wasn’t prepared for a Sunday morning of just Jesus, her, and me. But today, it is enough—just Jesus, her, and me.

Today, I see more clearly than I saw two years ago. Pain, suffering, and loss have a way of tempering large notions. Pain, suffering, and loss have a way of sharpening personal perspective, shedding personal ambitions, and shaping a heart for effective ministry. It doesn’t always happen that way. Sometimes pain, suffering, and loss foster opposite understanding. But as for me, my pain, suffering, and loss have taught me the great lesson of reduction.

He must become more; I must become less.

For in that lesser estate, the greatness of God is revealed. And whenever the greatness of God is revealed, then heaven’s work goes on as planned. Even in a Sunday School classroom when it’s just Jesus, her, and me.

Especially then.

The church belongs to me, and I belong to the church. The church belongs to you, and you belong to the church. Whether you sow in largeness or in smallness this week, sow generously and sow always in the loving name of the Lord. God measures your kingdom influence not by numbers but rather by your faithfulness to minister to those numbers. Even when it’s just Jesus, her, and you.

Especially then.

Even so, keep to it. As always…

Peace for the journey,



PS: This is the song we've been singing in our small Sunday School class... and our worship just as pure, relevant, and wonderful as theirs--a crowd of thousands!

a well-lived word {a lesson from "Frindle"}

I finished reading the book Frindle with Jadon and Amelia last night. It’s been a family favorite since my first reading it to Nick and Colton many years ago. I don’t remember shedding any tears the first go around, but this time was different. Last night, I cried with Frindle’s conclusion.

There wasn’t a reason to cry. The book is humorous, well-written, and delightfully entertaining. It finished well. Happy endings. The way I like it. But there was something about that final chapter and the way it ended that ministered to me, pushing my tears downward to drop as wet comfort on the pages I held in my hand. It was a note, written by Mrs. Granger to her bright and challenging fifth-grade student, Nicholas Allen. Nicholas wouldn’t receive that letter until he was a junior in college, even though the note was written in those beginning days of 5th grade.

A lot of history passed between his being a boy at eleven and growing into manhood at twenty-one. That’s really not the focus of the book, but I suppose I brought that meaning to the story. Something about watching a decade pass between my own two generations of kids. Something about reading that book in an earlier season to a fifth grade boy named Nick and a third grade boy named Colton. Something about the growth that’s taken place and the notes that they might one day receive from a teacher or two who took the time to value them and believe in them beyond the challenges they brought to the classroom.

And I started thinking about my teaching years. The ones I spent in a third grade classroom. The ones I’ve spent and continue to spend in other classrooms. Every single place I’ve left a boot print. The words I’ve spoken, the lectures I’ve given, and the actions that speak a witness all their own. After time slips away into history, what letter will remain for the kids I’ve taught, the family I’ve raised, and the friends I’ve loved? A decade or two or ten from now, what of my witness will serve as an encouragement to those who walk behind me?

Perhaps Mrs. Granger says best in her letter to Nick. Perhaps the reason for my tears last night:

“The world has changed in a million ways. That is why I have always tried to teach children something that would be useful no matter what. So many things have gone out of date. But after all these years, words are still important. Words are still needed by everyone. Words are used to think with, to write with, to dream with, to hope and pray with. And that is why I love the dictionary. It endures. It works. And as you now know, it also changes and grows.” (Andrew Clements, Frindle, Aladdin Books, 1996, p. 100)

Oh the power of a well-spoken, well-written, well-lived word! We’ve all got a few left in us. Some more valuable than others, but all them… every last one of them, are writing a story and leaving a witness. Our story. Our witness. Our letter left behind for the world to read as time slips away into history.

Last summer, I wrote a letter to the world about my cancer—some 60,000 words in the span of forty days. They’ve been simmering at a low boil these last six months. Today, I had them bound at Office Depot and shipped them to a dear friend for his assessment. They’re going to print in the near future, and I’m counting on them mattering to someone down the road. In Mrs. Granger’s assessment, some “words to think with, to write with, to dream with, to hope and pray with.”

If that happens—if the words I’ve written causes others to think, write, dream, hope, and pray—then this chapter in my story will have served the kingdom well. To discard them, not include them, not give them to the world as a witness to the strength and healing from Jesus Christ that I’ve experienced, is to finish my race lesser than how God intends.

Some words are meant to breathe. These are some of mine. By God’s grace and in his timing, I will give them to you.

In the meantime, keep writing your stories, friends. Keep living and speaking words of truth to one another in love. Make them count. Words are still important. Words are needed by everyone. As always…

Peace for the journey,


PS: Sassy Granny, because of your affection for Webster's and all things word-related, a copy of Frindle is on it's way to your doorstep. Maybe you can read it with your grandkids!

winter comes...

I pulled my jacket tighter around me while out for a walk this afternoon.

It’s cold outside. Last week, it was seventy degrees. Today? Somewhere in the upper 40’s. Not too bad if the wind wasn’t blowing, but it was. I thought I was adequately prepared, but I wasn’t. And so, I pulled my jacket tighter around me, dug my hands a little deeper into my pockets, and cursed the winter for catching me by surprise.

As it goes with the weather, so it goes with my heart.

It’s cold inside. The wind is blowing, and I am not adequately prepared for winter’s arrival.

Death has reared its ugly witness… again, claiming the earthly tenure of my precious friend, Juliana. She had a heart transplant three weeks ago. On Tuesday, she had a massive stroke. On Wednesday, she died, and none of us were prepared for her departure.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was supposed to live long enough to raise her five-year-old twin sons and to grow old with her beloved, Patrick. Instead she went home to Jesus, and she took a part of our hearts with her. We are the ones in mourning, not her. We are the ones left behind to hold and to manage an eternal ache that shouts, “This should not be; not yet.”

To love is a great thing. To grieve, a direct reflection of that love. I just wish that love didn’t have to hurt so much. I just wish that I could take the pain away for all of us. I just wish that God would peel back the heavens long enough for us to see Juliana there, dancing with her infant daughter, knowing that one day soon, their steps will be ours. Their joy, ours. Their peace, ours. Their forever, ours.

But God keeps a few secrets… keeps the heavens hidden because he knows that should we catch a glimpse of glory, we would no longer need our lives here. We’d only want to be there, with Him. With her. With all the other saints gathered together around the throne. A peek into glory wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the soul cravings within.

To see that and then to stay here? Well, I don’t think we’d ever recover.

And so, we live with the mystery. We pull our jackets tighter around us and do our best to block our hearts from the howling wind. We curse the winter for catching us by surprise. And we think about home. It’s warmth. It’s shelter. It’s protection. About how long it will take us to get there. About how many more deliberate steps of faith will be required of us before we see the welcome mat and the faces of loved ones who are glad to see that we’ve made it home safely.

Yes, it’s cold today. Winter has paid us a visit. I can’t see Spring. I can only imagine it. It won’t be long in coming, but for now, right now, I pull my jacket tighter around me and keep walking forward. I cast my eyes to the horizon, searching for any signs of home. And I look down at my bracelet, and I read those two words that I’ve promised to remember for 2012.

Movement wins.

And I keep moving, even on a winter day.

May God keep us all focused forward and forever tethered to our forever. And may he grant each one of us enough hope, comfort, certainty, and peace for the journey ahead.

Anchor Verse for 2012

In honor of the New Year, I’ve selected the following Bible verse(s) to serve as my anchor verse for the next fifty-two weeks:

“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:12-14)

Over the last few years, I’ve made this my practice. Not out of obligation. Not because others are doing it. Not because I think I’m super-spiritual. Rather, I’ve chosen an anchor verse because I need a touch stone of remembrance for the daily practicing of my faith… especially on those days when the earth beneath my feet begins to tremble. On those occasions, I need a “go to” word from the Word.

I’ve also found it helpful to have a tangible reminder of my “go to” word engraved upon a bracelet. It keeps me attached to higher thoughts and keeps me chained to the Gospel and to the Gospel-Giver. And so, my gift to myself this Christmas, designed by Lisa Leonard. A scripture and a simple phrase that God impressed upon my heart in early October.

Movement wins. You can read my previous thoughts about this phrase by clicking on this link. Soberly, I take this one on, and I’ll wear it in the upcoming year. I want the reminder, friends. I need the reminder to keep moving, keep pressing forward in order to “take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.”

Progression is a key to spiritual development. Without movement, our hearts remain as is. Without movement, our hearts weaken. Without movement, our hearts stay stuck, and over time, move backward to a lesser place of understanding. Without movement, we’ve missed the point of our purpose on this earth—to know God and then, out of that knowing, to lead others to know the same.

Movement is God’s desire for all of us. On the front side of a new year, we cannot foresee the moments that will fill our calendars in 2012. We can, however, make a commitment to move our faith forward as each one of them arrives.

I want to keep pace with Jesus this year. To go where he goes. To do what he says. To love as he loves. To give as he gives.

Going, doing, loving, and giving. Movement. With Jesus at the lead, movement wins.

Keep moving, friends. Your best days are ahead of you. I look forward to moving alongside you in 2012. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: How is God challenging you to move your faith forward in this season? What "word" is he speaking to your heart?

the quiet pause of Christmas...

My voice has been silenced in the last twenty-four hours. Literally. Sickness has claimed my vocal cords. This has never happened to me before, not completely in the way it has happened for me this time around.

My whispered shouts for the attention of others are met only by their silence. Not because they don’t care about me, but rather because they can’t hear me. Their listening isn’t prone to my whispering, so mostly… I’m ignored. Probably a relief to most of those in my household, but to a woman who’s used to being heard… a great frustration indeed.

And I’m thinking…

About my voice. About my words. About needing to be heard. About what I will say when I am, again, able to say.

And I’m thinking…

About quietness. About the value of forced silence. About going inward with my thoughts instead of outwardly displaying every single one of them.

And I’m thinking…

About God. About his voice. About his needing to be heard. About his willingness to keep company with silence… with his thoughts, instead of outwardly displaying every single one of them.

And I’m thinking…

About how very connected I feel to Him in all of this. About how my inability to speak amplifies the volume of God’s witness.

How many times has the Father whispered my name in the midst of my chaos, only to be ignored because of the noise surrounding my life? My hearing isn’t prone to his whispering. But in silence—in this period of fewer, personal words—I more clearly hear the phrases from heaven.

Beautiful, peace-filled, stilled expressions of understanding from God’s heart.

My ninth grade English teacher once wrote in my yearbook, “Elaine, if silence is golden you can forget it.” Apparently, I was destined for poverty. Thirty years ago, I hadn’t a clue what she’d meant, and I couldn’t have cared less.

Today, I have a clue. Today I care more, exceedingly more. Today, silence really is golden, because silence has given me access to the whispers of home. And whenever that happens, friends, I’m the richest person alive.

I’m so glad I know Jesus. I’m so glad he knows me. And I’m exceedingly glad for those moments when I am able to clearly hear his voice. What tender grace is mine as a daughter of the King! I pray that you know him, hear him, worship and celebrate him in the quiet, closing moments of 2011. I believe that God has something vital and important to whisper to each one of us. I’ll be anxious to hear from you in coming days. As always…

Peace for the journey,

walking to Bethlehem with Jesus...

I’m relieved that I don’t have to make something out of Christmas.

Christmas already is something … all on its own … completely and wonderfully set apart from me. There’s nothing I can do or not do that will alter the truth of its glorious revelation. Bethlehem was and is and will always be God’s moment birthed God’s way.

The best I can do, the best we can do, is to do our level best at reflecting upon God’s moment in a way that honors the birthday of the King. All of us approach the manger with personal perspective. The baggage you carry with you is uniquely yours. The memories, the life experiences, the traditions, the sacred shaping of your yesterdays, all collectively gather together as luggage within your mind and heart as you make pilgrimage to Bethlehem this year.

Not all of us will celebrate in the same way, but all of us will have the opportunity to do so. To come to the manger and to rejoice, again, over the arrival of Jesus Christ in our lives. Bethlehem belongs to us every bit as much as it belonged to the original participants some 2000 years ago. Are we really so unlike Mother Mary? Haven’t I, haven’t you been given the same news and responsibility that she was given?

“‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God.’” (Luke 1:35)

“‘ … what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.’” (Matthew 1:20-21)

That which is conceived in us, birthed in us, is from the Holy Spirit. Like Mary, we have been given the gift of the Christ Child to carry within us. Bethlehem becomes deeply personal for each one of us in that moment when God’s truth is revealed in our hearts and we accept his invitation to behold and to take hold of the baby in the manger. He is the something of Christmas—the One thing that will remain as truth, certainty, and surety in the midst of all the other unwrappings thrust upon us in this season. So…

No matter the week in front of you, no matter the checklists that are burdening you, fear not! He who is conceived in you… remains. He travels these days with you and only asks that, every now and again, you take a few minutes to pause, to pray, and to ponder the glorious truth of his companionship. God is not threatened by your need for celebration—by your tree, your gift-giving, your programs, and your parties. God is with you. God is with me. This is the joy of Bethlehem.

Emmanuel … God with us.

Light a candle or two in Christ's honor this week and move forward with peace… Peace. It’s all good, friends. With Jesus, it’s all good. He is well-pleased to make pilgrimage with us. I’ll meet you at the manger. As always…

Peace for the journey,

living with a 92%...

My son came home sobbing yesterday.

“I can’t do it again, mom. It’s not fair. I missed one problem on my Math test… one problem, and she’s making me take it all over again. And she said it would be harder … 28 problems instead of 12. I made a 92%, and it wasn’t enough, mom. I can’t do this.”

He kept repeating the phrase as he collapsed onto his bed in a heap of tears.

“One problem… one stupid problem.”

It was then that I had a problem… an angry kind of problem. A problem that wasn’t going to work itself through quietly. This time, I would not ignore the injustice. This time, I would speak up on behalf of my son and his diligent efforts at trying to “make the grade”… his grade … the fifth grade.

Jadon has a learning disability, not unlike many of his peers. It’s been difficult to adequately diagnose his issues over the years. Some term it dyslexia; others ADHD. Still others, a combination of both and then some. I’m not convinced about his labels. There doesn’t seem to be one that accurately describes his problem. Consequently, I spend a lot of time trying to educate his teachers about how to best educate him. This learning process, both for him and them, doesn’t always flow smoothly. Case in point? Yesterday’s debacle.

We’d spent a lot of at-home hours preparing for this Math test. Angles, parallel lines, polygons and the like had been on the after-school menu for several days. S.E.V.E.R.A.L. D.A.Y.S. Those of you who have kids with similar issues get this one. No small amount of blood, sweat, and tears were shed in preparation for this test, not to mention all the other tests that are being crammed into these final days of the nine weeks. Accordingly, we would have been happy to take our 92% (yes, I said “ours” as this learning process is a collective effort) and walk away with a smile. Instead, Jadon’s achievement was met with disapproval and with his tears as he realized, yet again, that a 92% was not enough to appease his teacher’s expectations. Those who scored a 100% received a pass on a second test; those who didn’t score perfectly will sit for another try at it this morning.

And I am angry. Not because there isn’t merit in trying to do better (especially for those who bombed the test) but because a 92% is Jadon’s better and should be celebrated rather than diminished.

Is this where it begins, readers? When did we start believing that our 92%’s aren’t good enough? Did it start in our younger years at school? Maybe even earlier in our homes when the beds weren’t made perfectly, the toys weren’t organized correctly, the dishes weren’t rinsed properly, the clothes not folded correctly? When did our best efforts at living life, accomplishing life, become not good enough? Further still, who gets to make that determination?

I’ve spent my lifetime feeling the weightiness of my 92%’s. Rather than celebrating my achievements, I’ve languished in my desire for perfection. Rarely have I been satisfied with the outcomes of my efforts, and there have been others who’ve been all too willing to agree with my personal assessments. There have been times when a 92% just didn’t cut it.

As a daughter.
As a sister.
As a student.
As a wife.
As a preacher’s wife… twice.
As a mother.
As a friend.
As a writer.
As a homemaker.
As a teacher.
As a speaker.
As a patient.
As a survivor.
As a Christian.

Time and time again, when my best efforts didn’t warrant personal celebration. Times when I was forced to take a second test, a third one, in hopes of getting it right, making my grade, all the while choking through my tears,

I can’t do this … it’s not fair. One stupid problem … one stifling obstacle keeping me from a 100%. I’m not good enough, not smart enough, not spiritual enough to past this test. My learning disabilities are preventing my perfection.

Perfection. Isn’t it time we move past our notions regarding our 100%’s and start living in the realities of our 92’s? Sweet ones, hear me on this one. Our perfection is coming. Each day that we live with Jesus Christ and his Holy Spirit as our compass, we move further along in the process of our perfection. From glory to glory, one beautiful, God-shaped step at a time. We’re getting there, being conformed into his likeness with every deliberate faith-filled choice we make and with every heaven-filled grace we’re given. We’re getting there. But, until we do, wouldn’t it be gloriously freeing if we could celebrate our best efforts … our 92%’s? Why must we continually force an expectation on ourselves and others that is impossible to achieve on the front side of heaven?

Would it be alright for us to celebrate the gains today rather than to unnecessarily focus on our almost’s? Is one stupid problem tripping you up and limiting today’s effectiveness, today’s joy? I know that we should always strive to be and to do our best, to be God’s best. To tell you to live lesser would be a false teaching and not in line with biblical standards. But when our best levels at a 92%, couldn’t we just acknowledge that achievement with joy and call it a win? Call it enough?

I don’t know what test you’ve recently scored a less than perfect grade on. I don’t have to look too far back in my history to find mine. But as I see it today, I’m willing to afford some grace to the situation and to realize that all is not lost with my 92%. In fact, there’s been some great gain because of it. I’m not perfect, not yet, but I’m closer today than I was yesterday, and so are you.

Give your best at living life today. Give it all in the name of Jesus Christ, and then let it be enough. A 92% in God’s book is pretty darn close to glory. Keep to it, friends, knowing that the grace of God is working in your heart and life to finish you home perfectly. Look toward that end while taking the time to celebrate the progression. I love your 92% and so does our Father. As always…

Peace for the journey,

Prepare the Way of the Lord...

“A voice of one calling:

‘In the desert prepare the way for the LORD;

Make straight in the wilderness a highway for our God.

Every valley shall be raised up,

Every mountain and hill made low;

The rough ground shall become level,

The rugged places a plain.

And…

The glory of the of the LORD will be revealed,

And…

All mankind together will see it.’

For the mouth of the LORD has spoken.” (Isaiah 40:3-5)

I had a thought a couple of days ago when first reading these words from God’s heart via the pen of the Prophet Isaiah. Several thoughts really, but one overriding theme that keeps skipping around in my mind, trying desperately to shelve itself alongside other holy truths that have come home to roost in my heart. A thought that I could, perhaps, one day use in conversation with others when trying to explain to them the gift of Bethlehem—the incarnation of God.

Have you tried that lately? Tried to explain to anyone in this season of Advent the reason of Advent? Are you, like me, so tangled up in ribbons and bows and undone lists that you’ve neglected your responsibility to be a baptizer like John—a heralder to the coming Kingdom? When was the last time you doused a soul with the life-giving, Living Water that courses through your veins as truth? In the midst of purchases and planning for the perfect Christmas, what plans have you made for the giving of Jesus Christ? The purchase has already been made… gift-wrapped and hung on a tree nearly 2000 years ago. There is no excuse we can offer for missing it, for missing Him. Even more so for giving Him to others. None.

And here’s my thought…

In giving us Jesus Christ, God leveled the playing field for all mankind to enter into a loving, intimate, eternal, and knowing relationship with him.

Jesus came to our desert, to our wilderness, and with his royal witness… with every holy step of progression he took toward us…

the deepest valley,
the steepest mountain,
the roughest terrain,
the rugged places…

all were made level to make entrance for the King.

With Jesus comes stability. With Jesus comes clear and certain revelation. When Jesus points his compass in our direction and makes pilgrimage toward our hearts, there is no obstacle in our past or present that can prevent his arrival. None. The only obstacle that stands in the way of our receiving God’s truth is our stubborn pride—our ridiculous need to be in charge of our own hearts, our own determinations about our tomorrows which, in the end, will lead us straight to the threshold of hell rather than the gain of heaven.

God didn’t create the obstacles that block our path to freedom, readers.

In giving us Jesus Christ, God leveled the playing field for all mankind to enter into a loving, intimate, eternal, and knowing relationship with him.

There is level ground beneath the feet of Jesus. His way is straight, his steps determined, and there is nothing that will prevent him from making pilgrimage to the front door of our hearts.

Advent. The coming of Christ, the Child. The redemption of Christ, the Savior. The forever with Christ, the Lord! The glory of the Lord has been revealed. It's time for all the world to see it.

Herald Him loudly. Proclaim Him boldly. Take your place alongside John the Baptizer and be the one voice on this desert earth who is willing to make straight the highway for our King. God has leveled the playing field. Time to find your place alongside Him this week. I’ll meet you on the road. As always…

Peace for the journey,

coming home to daddy's arms...

 {dad carrying in mom's Christmas collection, 11-05-11}

My dad is the funniest man I know. Not the stand-up comedic kind of funny, but the everyday conversation kind of funny. As the man walketh, so does his humor. Those of you who know him well, know this to be true. Those of you who know me well, know this also to be true of me. I know this shocks some of you. I’ve even heard it from some of you upon meeting me for the first time.

Elaine, I thought you’d be this serious, contemplative type of person who sits around all day thinking profound thoughts about God. Instead, you’re funny.

I’ve never been offended by the conclusion. After all, I write about some fairly heavy stuff here at “peace for the journey.” But I like knowing that I can be both—contemplative and humorous. I have my father to thank for this genetic DNA. My daddy makes me think and makes me laugh, sometimes within the span of a few minutes. He’s the most generous man I know, giving the best of himself away to all who cross his path. He’s not impressed with things, more importantly, not impressed with himself. He is, however, impressed by the story. Your story; my story; God’s story.

My daddy sees God everywhere, because my daddy is connected to life. To joys and pains equally. To highs and lows. Griefs and graces. Sorrows and celebrations. Regardless of the occasion, my dad has discovered how to live with a balanced perspective. My father lives contentedly and always tempers the tough times with large doses of humor.

I’m so glad I still have him around. He was the first man to ever hold me, to ever love me. The first man to wipe my tears, to tell me bedtime stories, to pray the prayers that all good parents should be praying with their children. He was the only man who loved me when others would not … could not. And his were the arms that stretched wide-open for me and welcomed me home after a long season of loveless wandering in the wilderness. In doing so, my daddy told me the story of Jesus all over again. That one moment in my personal history did more to script the eternal witness of God into my life than any other.

And so, today, I tell you again this story I've told you before via this video that I posted on my one-year blogging anniversary, nearly three years ago. It’s a bit painful for me to watch it, considering the many miles that have been walked in the time since first posting it. But one thing, one thread remains the same to this day.

My daddy is still stretching his arms wide-open to welcome me home. He’s still making me laugh, still telling me stories. Still connected to the world, and still making sure that I know the way back to Jesus. Today, I honor my father by sharing this witness again. He’d want you to know that, even if you’ve never had an earthly daddy to love you, you have a heavenly Father who loves you perfectly and whose arms are stretched wide on your behalf.

I love you, daddy, for so many reasons, but none more so than for telling me … showing me God. You tell him well!

~Lansey 

when a friend crosses to Canaan ahead of you...

Judith made it home to Jesus on Thanksgiving Day. I’ve been living with her absence since then. Four days is hardly enough time to displace my grief. I don’t have a place to put my grief, not really. I can’t send a casserole to the West Coast… can’t stop by the family living room to offer my condolences. I wouldn’t even recognize her family members if I saw one of them on the street. I’ve never met any of them face-to-face. Not even her—my Judith friend. Our lives didn’t connect the regular way. Our lives connected here … in this place, this space that I have reserved for the public sharing of thoughts. A domain named "Peace for the Journey." A home for my words and the birthplace of some rich, kindred friendships.

Judith was one of the first of you, extending our relationship beyond customary comments to include nearly four years’ worth of phone conversations, e-mails, snail mails, all kinds of communication that move a friendship past common courtesy. In doing so, I’ve experienced one of the truest, most honest and encouraging relationships of my lifetime. Judith has been my mentor, my cancer sister, my sounding board, my “middle-of-the-night” friend who listened to me and understood me when others couldn’t. She was the second person I called after receiving my diagnosis and almost always the first person I called when I was hunkered down in the middle of my pain. These last years with Judith have strengthened my heart and my faith in a way that furthers the cause of Jesus Christ.

Judith sometimes worried about her doing enough for the kingdom. She wanted to be used by God but often didn’t recognize the weightiness of her witness to others. Who I am today, in part, is a direct reflection of the time that Judith Guerino invested in me. She was never too busy, too sick, too tired, or too perfect to take me on. She was just willing, and that willingness, friends, is an extraordinary gift to receive. I recognized its worthiness early on in our friendship, and I cherished each moment that I was able to share with my beloved friend. One of those moments came six weeks prior to Thanksgiving.

While out for an afternoon walk, I felt strongly that I should try and call Judith. She’d been in and out of the hospital, not able to take calls most days, so I was uncertain about her availability to speak with me. One of our great concerns for each other (especially during our sick days) was not to wear one another out with conversation. We made a deal. If we couldn’t talk (for whatever reason), we wouldn’t answer the phone, and we wouldn’t be mad about it … we’d just understand.

Six weeks ago was not one of those moments. Instead, six weeks ago hosted a God-ordained moment for both of us.

“Judith, if this needs to be our good-bye, then let’s do it right. Let’s say everything we need to say, and let’s do so with great clarity. This could be our hand-holding, bedside release.”

And so it was. Our final conversation. We talked for over an hour … laughed, cried, prayed, and tenderly released one another to the roads in front of us. We knew where hers was heading, and while it seemed that my road was taking a detour or two that would eventually catch up with hers, I couldn’t escape the fact that no matter the path in front of both of us, we would stay connected because of our kinship in Jesus Christ.

“Wherever I go, Judith, from this point forward, you’ll be with me. I’ll keep your story as a part of my own. I’ll wear this mantle you have given me and place it on the shoulders of other cancer patients who need the love and encouragement of a friend like you. I will do so in honor of you. I’ll carry it for both of us.”

It’s not easy to speak words like these … not easy to articulate the inevitabilities of our up-and-coming departures, but when it happens, it’s a sacred gift to those who are standing at the portal of heaven and to those who are left behind to wonder, to imagine, to believe and to grieve. Judith may have crossed the Jordan River into Canaan ahead of me, but she didn’t do so without me. She carried my story with her and, in return, she left her story with me. This is the unity we share as believers in Jesus Christ—the eternal thread that links us together and that pulls our heartstrings forward in faith.

We don’t enter into the presence of Jesus Christ without the present witness of others. Those we love and those who have loved us, well, I believe they’re part of the cargo that we’ll carry with us into our forevers. When our crossing-over day comes and we arrive on the shores of Canaan, not only will we step forward into the arms of our Father, but also the testimony of a great many heart-investors will step with us. It’s just how it works, friends, this investing of love. Eternal love rooted in Christ’s love plants seeds, and all eternal seeds harvest hugely for the kingdom.

It matters what we do here, how we love here. How we give and share God here. And while we aren’t privy to the arrival of others when they finally meet our Father face-to-face, wouldn’t it be wonderful to know that a part of us arrives there with them as a lasting witness to our willingness to love on the front side of heaven?

Yes, Judith went home to Jesus on Thanksgiving Day. Part of me did as well, friends, and I cannot tell you the joy this brings to my sadness—knowing that as she steps in glory, so do I. A little bit of my faith, a little bit of my heart is already dancing in heaven, alongside my kindred friend. Oh that I… that we would take each step, live each day, love this way with eternity in mind!

Our stories belong to one another, and I can’t think of a finer group of people I’d rather carry with me into Canaan when my crossing-over day arrives. Until then, let’s keep planting God’s eternal seed into the hearts of those we love, and let us celebrate the thread that binds us all together as one--Jesus Christ.

Let’s do it right … say everything we need to say and do so with God’s great clarity while today is still today. It’s the best we can do. I love you each one.

Peace for the journey,


PS: To read the guest post that Judith wrote for me last summer, click on this link.

being near to God...

“But as for me, it is good to be near God.” (Psalm 73:28)

It is good for me to be near God.

When I am not—when I move away from his presence—my eyes, like the Psalmist, are easily fixed on lesser pursuits. Lesser things. Littered and lower things. Things of the world. Things that will never lead me into the folds of heaven, but rather things that will keep me temporarily tethered to earth. When I go there … look there … live there, my heart and my mouth are prone to fruitless wanderings that often lead me to believe,

“Surely in vain I have kept my heart pure; … ” (Psalm 73:13).

Very loosely translated (and I would encourage you to read Psalm 73 for yourself):

There are those who are seemingly more fruitful than me, richer than me, happier and healthier than me and who, by all outward appearances, don’t seem to possess any tangible relationship with Jesus Christ. I have a relationship with Jesus Christ, yet I have little to show for it. How can this be? When does my commitment to my faith start being fair? When will the scales tip in favor of faith? Surely in vain I have kept my heart pure.

Indeed, when I go there, my heart is prone to fruitless wanderings. But, when I go to God, when I enter into holy truth, I gain a higher perspective.

“When I tried to understand all this, it was oppressive to me till I entered the sanctuary of God; then I understood their final destiny.” (Psalm 73:16-17)

Final destinies. This is when the scales begin to tip in favor of faith. When I begin to measure my earthly commitment to God in terms of the eternal gains that will come to me because of that commitment, then I, like the Psalmist, re-establish my faith’s foothold. The backdrop of an eternity spent in God’s presence is the best benchmark for measuring daily gains, because at the end of the day … at the end of my life … what I have with Jesus will always be more than what they have without him. No amount of health, wealth, pleasure, and prosperity will be enough to surpass the inescapable, certain reality of God in my forever.

None.

I cannot fully hold onto or grasp that kind of wealth in my “here and now.” But what I can hold onto and grasp is the hand of Jesus that will lead me to my “there and then.”

“Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory.” (Psalm 73:23-24).

I have the steady hand of God in mine. He holds me; guides me; strengthens me; hides me. To have the hand of God—to hold the Holy and to be held as holy—is to live a kingdom inheritance on this side of eternity. The treasure stored beneath the visible is the treasure that will lead me into the folds of heaven. What glory! What gain!

Surely, in faith and with hope, I have kept myself pure. Surely, it is good for me to be near God this day. Surely, it is good for you to reside there as well.

Hold onto the Holy, ye pilgrims of faith, and give thanks for the hands that hold you in return. As always…

Peace for the journey,

And the winners are...

Thanks to all of you for the support you offered "peace for the journey" over the past week. I greatly appreciate your kindness and generosity. Amelia just drew the names of two winners, and they are...

Nancy @ "The Olive Leaf Ministries"
Linda @ "My Hands His Glory"

Congratulations, ladies. I'll have these in the mail this week. Please let me know if you'd like them autographed in a particular way. For the rest of you that might like a copy, don't forget the Christmas special I'm running through December 10th.

I hope to be back here tomorrow or Tuesday for a regular post. Shalom!

Just in time for the holidays... peace arrives!

Need a little peace in your Christmas season? I know where you can find some.

I'm so pleased to be able finally tell you that "peace for the journey: in the pleasure of his company" is now available in an e-book format through:

Winepress (DRM free version, allowing you to read it on all popular readers)

Kindle

Nook
Sony 

In addition, "peace for the journey" is available in paperback from many online retailers, including:

Winepress
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Lifeway
CBD

Also, if you'd like to order an autographed copy from me, I'm running a Christmas special from now until December 10th. Books are $12 each with free shipping (U. S. mailing address) on up to three copies. E-mail me at: elaineolsen@live.com for details.

Finally, I'd like to give-away a copy of my book to two readers who leave a comment with today's post. Even if you already have a copy, you can win one for a friend. Earn an extra entry by posting about this on facebook, twitter, or at your own blog (include the link for this post). Be sure to leave me a separate comment letting me know about your participation.

I greatly appreciate the support I've received for my book since it's publication in May 2010. I would be blessed by your continuing support of it, especially as your making out your gift-list this Christmas and thinking about what to purchase that one person who has everything.

Couldn't we all use a little more peace for the journey?

Blessings, 

a trunk full of love...

 

I love my husband. He speaks life into my weariness and watches over my heart as if it were his own. When the crumbling begins, he comes alongside me to tenderly cradle my pain and to keep it safe from further intrusion. I cannot measure the worthiness of such a gift. Over the course of our marriage, even well before we said our “I do’s,” my Billy was loving me the Jesus way—the Ephesians 5:25 way. Without his protection and his careful attention to the details of the “all” that makes up me, I’d be off-balance and more confused. I’d be lesser of a woman, lesser of God’s woman, and I would be lonely. Thank God for the good sense that fostered my saying, “I do” nearly fifteen years ago. Thank God for the current emotions that have finally caught up to my reasoned decision back then.

Billy and I are in love. It’s an easy love these days, but this hasn’t always been the case. We’ve grown into our love, and today I thought it would be a worthy use of time (and ink) to reflect back on that day when I knew that I knew that I knew that I loved Billy Olsen. I thought maybe you’d like to come along for the ride.

The year was 1996. The autumn colors had just begun their descent onto the rolling hills of the Kentucky bluegrass. Soccer season was in full swing for my two young sons, adding to my burgeoning load as a single mother. My days were spent working at Asbury Theological Seminary; my nights spent managing the lives of my children. It was a good season of living for us, added to by the fact that a certain preacher-in-training had taken an interest in the three of us—a strong interest. At this point, Billy and I had been dating for several months. Early on, he professed his love for me; I, however, was a bit more cautious about declaring the intentions of my heart.

Until that day.

A call came into my office in the morning. Billy was checking on me and interested in seeing what our evening plans might include. Soccer and grocery shopping ranked high on the agenda. This wouldn’t be a good date night. Too much to do; too many responsibilities pressing their urgency into an already full schedule. There would be no wining and dining for us that evening. Just more of Billy living with the realities of dating a single mom. Romance would have to wait, or so it seemed. Prior to finishing the work day, I received a second call from Billy.

“Elaine, I know tonight isn’t a good night for us to get together. I know how busy and how tired you are. I’m fine with that, but do me a favor before heading out to soccer practice. When you get home from work, be sure to look in the trunk of your car. I’ve put a little surprise in there for you.”

I thanked him for his kindness and assured him of my cooperation. Billy was brilliant when it came to surprises. I, however, fell short of remembering to look for his that particular day. The afternoon routine quickly moved in and any prior anticipation about the contents of my trunk was buried beneath homework, soccer cleats, and the gathering of grocery coupons. It was only after my sons and I were buckled into the car and had begun our descent down the driveway that I remembered my surprise. I thought about delaying its unveiling until we reached our destination, but fearing that the surprise might wilt or melt, I put the car in park.

“Boys, we’ve got to check something before we leave. Billy left me a surprise in the trunk, and I need to get it out before we leave for practice.”

The three of us unbuckled our seatbelts and made our way around to the trunk. What could it be? What had his love for me done for me this time around? What measure of romance could he cram into the back of my ’94 Nissan Sentra? Would it really be enough to move me past my hesitation of love’s declaration and closer to saying “yes” to a forever with this preacher-in-training?

It was enough to move me, friends.

When I opened up the trunk, there wasn’t a bouquet of flowers awaiting my collection. No chocolate in sight. Nothing I could wear; no perfume to sweeten me. In fact, most would say there was nothing romantic about the gift inside, but I would say differently. That particular day, Billy Olsen surprised me with a token of love that emphasized his willingness to take care of my boys and me.

He’d done my grocery shopping… packed my trunk with many of the non-perishables that he knew we used on a regular basis. From cereal to soap to laundry detergent and beyond. I couldn’t believe my eyes, and in that single moment, my heart swelled with love for a preacher-in-training named Billy Olsen. On that day, I thought to myself…

Billy Olsen may not have a job yet; his hair is long, he hates wearing shoes, and his clothes are always wrinkled. Granted, without knowing his heart, I probably wouldn’t pick him out of a line-up as future-husband material. But I’m pretty sure that his love for me will keep him doing these kinds of things for me for a long time. When I’m eighty, he’ll still be going to the grocery for me; he’s still going to watch over me, maybe even change my diapers if need be. Billy Olsen is the keeping kind. The real deal. He won’t let me down. He’s always going to love me and my boys, no matter the cost. Billy Olsen is here to stay.

Billy’s generosity that day had been the best kind of loving, sweetest kind of romance moment that I had ever been given. And here he is, some fifteen years later, loving and serving our marriage with the same level of genuine romance that was displayed on that autumn night during our courtin’ days. Billy still calls to check on me, goes to the grocery for me, and has (on occasion) had to lend a hand at cleaning me. I don’t mind telling you this, because I happen to think that I’ve snatched one of the last good, godly men left on this earth. If every man would love his wife this way—the way that Christ loves the church—then there would be far more women willing to love the same.

Billy and I share a good love. I probably could have survived with less, but God saw to it that I would flourish with more. Our love feels like life and grace and hope to my heart, and I’m so grateful that I get to wrap my arms around its tender comfort today.

And Billy… if you’re reading this… would you mind picking up some milk, eggs, butter, and a full box of encouragement on your way home? No one can stock a pantry… no man can strengthen a heart quite like you! I love you, my preacher-for-real.


When has someone filled your "trunk" with love? How might you do the same for someone else this week?

when the words don't come...

You know the feature at the bottom of blogging posts… the one that suggests other posts “You might also like”? Well, every now and again I go there—click on previous posts I’ve written, some dating back to my beginning days as a blogger in 2008. There are a lot of posts to choose from, nearly 500 of them. Hard to believe. Where did all those words come from?

Sometimes it’s fun to look back and reflect upon a certain situation that fostered my creative juices; sometimes, incredibly painful. Regardless of the emotions that surface with the remembering, one certainty emerges for me each time I read one of my older posts.

Words came more easily for me back then, sometimes effortlessly. Today I have to fight for them—so much so that I sometimes question whether my writing days are coming to an end. It’s hard for me to type that. I suppose I don’t really believe it, but this I do believe. What was once the absolute passion of my heart has now been stymied by a season of pain and physical struggle. Prior to my cancer diagnosis and even in the midst of my cancer journey, writing was surprisingly easy for me. But now, as I’m cycling back toward health again, there is an ever-present struggle in me to be creative. To write what I feel, what I learn, what I truly want to say. Words get lost somewhere between my thinking of them and my putting them down on paper.

I grapple for the “want to.” Sometimes it all feels very hard, and I cannot express to you how incredibly painful this new reality is for me. So here I am tonight, caught in the darkness, praying for the light to dawn and to lead me back to what once was—a writing life that I enjoyed. A writing life stoked by the fires of creativity that once burned as strong passion in my bones.

For all the time I’ve spent writing and talking to you about the ways that cancer has given back to me, I’m wondering if just maybe this is one area of great depreciation... great reduction. It hardly seems fair. I’ve given so much to this cause… to this healing. Why must my words now also pay the price of my cancer?

God and me? Well, we’ve talked this one over. A thousand times over. Perhaps this is one of my “Why’s?”. Not, “Why did I get cancer?” I’ve never asked that question. Never. But just maybe I’ll ask it as it pertains to my words. “Why this, Lord? With every other surrender I’ve made, why now must I suffer with this deficit? Where have the words gone? Why have they abandoned me? Why does it have to be so hard?”

I wish I had the answer, friends. I also wish that I was more adequately able to express my heart to you with creative and powerful prose. I want the words of my heart to move you closer to the heart of the Father. My heart certainly resides there… in close proximity to God’s, but as I’m wondering and thinking and turning things over a thousand different ways in my head, for whatever reason, I seem to struggle with leading you there. And I am not at peace about it, not yet.

Yes, this is my why for this season. Maybe you harbor one as well. Maybe what you thought would be your case has, instead, become your question, your struggle, your wrestling with God. You want nothing more than to step back a few paces and recapture the magic of yesterday’s passion, yesterday’s dream, yesterday’s up-and-coming “sure to be.” Instead you hold your confusion out to Jesus and whisper the frustration of your heart—your “Why?”

I don’t know the “Why?” behind your “Why?”, but I believe the asking of it is relevant, is worthy, and is needful for each one of us to get back on track and to stay on track with Jesus. At least with the asking, we’ve opened up the dialogue. A good “Why?” is never wasted with Jesus. God always enters into our questions, and I believe that, in time, our hearts will resonate with an answer that allows us some measure of peace. Maybe not perfect understanding but at least enough peace to push us past frustration toward contentment. Until I arrive there, I whisper this prayer of strong hope…

Bring my words back to me, Lord. Cycle them back around to warm me. To comfort me. To write my life into remembrance. To write your truth into remembrance. Loosen their silence and fuel my pen with their refrain so that the meditations of my heart might be found acceptable, profitable, and beneficial for the kingdom. Let my laboring feel less like obligation and more like privilege. And when I am tempted to stay stuck in my “Why?” answer me with the truth of your promises for me. Let your words flow through me, not be hindered because of me… because of my cancer. I want to survive beyond this surrender. Walk me past this moment, past this famine, and let me thrive in the land of the living. You have saved me for a purpose. Please use me accordingly. Amen.

a soul-shift

“There was also a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, and then was a widow until she was eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem.” (Luke 2:36-38)

Tears rolled down my cheeks yesterday morning while talking to my Bible-study group about this particular scripture. Even though her story lives in antiquity, Anna’s witness has become a fresh word for my heart in this season, shifting my soul and moving me forward with deeper conviction.

Soul-shifts. A movement of God that relocates the soul, the heart, and the mind to a new location. A higher level. A better way of "thinking, doing, and being" that is reflective of the heart of Christ.

Have you had one lately?

I have. It’s crept in over time. Subtle on the front side of its arrival but now more obvious to me as I’m in the midst of this sacred relocation. Undoubtedly age and experience have aided in bringing me to this point of transfer. Pain has also wielded its certain influence. And who can forget faith… always faith, working itself through the filters of time, experience, and pain. Faith being refined over time, through experience, and in the midst of pain. Indeed, all combining together to serve as the fertile soil for a soul-shift. An Anna soul-shift. One that…

• daily lives in and tends to the temple;
• comes forward to embrace visitors at the temple;
• speaks boldly about the Christ-child who is building us into his living temple.

A soul-shift that simply and profoundly believes myself to be Jesus material, and then, out of that knowledge, begins to witness that understanding to others by believing them to be Jesus material as well.

Perhaps my soul-shift isn’t great revelation for you. Perhaps you’ve been living at this location for years—always seeing others through kingdom lenses. I’d like to tell you that this has been my default response to everyone I meet, but it’s not. There’s still a lot of judgment lurking beneath my flesh. Not everyone I encounter receives the kingdom appraisal they deserve. But that’s beginning to change for me.

There’s a deep appreciation growing inside of me for all of humanity. For the least of these to those who deem themselves to be the best of these. My tolerance for God’s created is increasing in swift measure along with the boldness of my convictions. With each day that passes, each moment of actively making faith deposits into my spiritual bank account, I become more impassioned and empowered to minister God’s kingdom to others. This doesn’t mean that I always get it right; it just means that I’ve become more willing to try. Instead of passing the ministry “buck” onto someone else, I’m owning the responsibility and holding it as personal privilege.

I get to love others. So do you.

So… do you? Love others? All others?

What conditions are you placing on your love? Where does your love begin… end? What keeps you from embracing humanity? From speaking about the Christ-child to others? Have you tended to your temple today… taken stock of your reserves—the surplus and the need? Is your "thinking, doing, and being" reflective of the heart of Christ? When did your soul last shift in favor of the kingdom?

This is it, friends. Our one opportunity at loving the Jesus way. When we get home to heaven, it will be too late to live our todays differently. We won’t get a do-over. We’ll simply get a look-back—a reflection of what was… perhaps even what might have been. I don’t know about you, but I want those moments of look-back with Jesus to be moments of kingdom loving. Moments of remembering how I embraced others with the arms of Jesus. Moments when I spoke with others about the truth and love of the Christ-child.

That would be glory to me… to bring glory to God through my loving. Accordingly, I take on this soul-shift. Receive it, believe it, and promise to tend to it as this new season unfolds. I pray for the strengthening of my convictions, for boldness to speak those convictions, and for a Jesus-love that builds a safe and certain platform for ministry to his people. I pray the same for you.

Live the kingdom like you mean it, brothers and sisters, and let the love of Jesus be your guide. As always…

Peace for the journey,

love stretches the soul...

Love stretches the soul.

When was the last time that love stretched your soul? Reached inside your heart and pulled it outside for exposure, for adventure, for remembrance, for renewal? How long has it been since you left the safety of your carefully constructed, four-walls in order to explore the world that’s been waiting for you just beyond the back stoop? When did love last remind you that your world is too small, too guarded, too inward, too stuck?

Love stretched my soul over this past week. Love carried me some 500 miles northwest through stormy weather to land me safely in the arms of a friend who’s been walking this journey with me for nearly twenty years. She’s a native to the small town where I spent a few of my yesterdays… five years’ worth of my yesterdays.

Our friendship began on a hot summer night in the sanctuary of my small church. Parents from the church and the community had gathered to hear about their children’s adventures during our annual Vacation Bible School. As part of a follow-up program designed to target un-churched families, we visited several homes in order to extend personal invitations to come and worship with our growing congregation. One of those homes belonged to my friend, Juanita. From that moment forward until today (nearly nineteen years later), I don’t suppose she and her family have missed many Sundays at that church. That’s a lot of Sundays, friends. And while I’ve not actively worshipped with her for most of those nineteen years, we’ve shared an active friendship throughout the course of that time.

Some told us that our friendship wouldn’t last… that miles and time would be enough to separate the deep bond that we share. They were wrong. Yes, miles and time have separated us in a way that neither of us wanted, but our friendship is just as real and certain as it has always been. Last week’s visit held the proof. It was as if (you could probably finish this sentence for me)… we’d never been apart.

We laughed, cried, ripped up the roads down through Amish country. We stopped for cheese bread, apple fritters, and chocolate-covered peanuts and raisins from Walnut Creek’s Coblentz Store. We dined on broasted chicken from Der Dutchman and roast beef from The Amish Door, as well as shared a table of tortillas with three of the Drake sisters (Juanita’s sisters). We even caught a viewing of Courageous. Yes, we crammed a lot of living into a few days, and then we hugged our good-byes at the airport.

It’s never easy saying good-bye to my friend, and this time around was particularly difficult for me. I’ve spent a couple of days mulling it over, and here’s what I’m thinking.

Love has stretched my soul. Love moved me beyond my borders and landed me smack dab in the middle of humanity. For the first time in a long time, I spent a few days living in the real world—a world separated from the safety zone I’ve carefully created for myself over the past year. Last week, I exposed my heart and made it vulnerable to outside influences. In doing so, I became painfully aware of how closed-off I’ve become. It’s not a good fit with my heart.

God didn’t save me to bury me. God saved me to release me. To release Him. To be a soul so stretched by the power of love that a kingdom bridge between heaven and earth might emerge as a footpath for those who fill up my days. For those who linger with me through the dark nights. I want to be that bridge… God’s active participant in the world. A heart anchored in heaven, yet a heart unafraid to linger a while longer in the setting I’ve been given.

Love is a game-changer, friends. God’s stretching love for us changed the world and forever planted a bridge between heaven and earth so that we might find the footpath that leads to home. If God had remained closed off to his world, kept his Son safe from the world, then you and I would know nothing of grace and heaven. God would be there, and we would remain here. As it is, Love came down, planted a cross, and secured a forever for each one of us. Loved stretched far and wide, long and deep, encompassing a world-view that best fits with God’s heart. Two thousand years ago God hit the roads with his Son and his story, and now he’s entrusted us with the same mission.

Love stretches the soul. Indeed, it has moved me to a better place this past week. Love put me in the path of humanity in a way that best fits with my heart. As I move forward from here, as I try to put traction to my thinking, I do so knowing and believing that love is a strong motivator for change. Love has the capacity to stretch my soul and to put it within arm’s reach of great, kingdom influence. It has the capacity to do the same for you.

Would you be willing to allow love to move you to a deeper place of surrender, a deeper place of influence this week? It’s time for some of you to come out of hiding, plant your feet and your heart along the footpath of humanity in order to stretch the influence of Jesus outward to those who still need to hear the greatest love story ever told. In doing so, you’ll be stretched… perhaps uncomfortably so. But all worthy love stories… lasting love stories… are stretching ones.

Reach deeper, friends, pull harder, stretch further… all for the love of Jesus this week. You are God’s game-charger in this world. Even so, keep to it. As always…

Peace for the journey,

trash day...

“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” (Psalm 139:23-24).

Sometimes we don’t have to pray this searching prayer from the psalmist in order for us to know the offensive ways of our hearts. Sometimes we just know. Sometimes it’s just that obvious.

Let me explain.

Things are breaking around my house. The washing machine. The telephone. The remote control. The doorbell. My husband’s watch. My shoes. Unanticipated collapses in and around our home, small annoyances yet big enough to foster our frustration. Not big enough to move us past the point of reasonable responses but just enough to remind us that at any given point on any given day, breakage of temporal things can and does occur. Those breakages can be managed.

But what about the other ones? The breakages not related to temporal things but rather ones related to eternal hearts? Fractures that are not easily fixed, managed, or controlled? Breakages that occur because of the carnality that simmers just beneath the surface of our skin? What do we do with those collapses when they burst forth as "unreasonable and out-of-control"?

Last night I went to bed with some breakage. So did the other members of my household. Someone spoke breakage into someone else, which in turn began a chain of brokenness throughout our household. It doesn’t much matter how the chain began. What matters is the fact that breaking words have a strong tendency to spread like a virus. Before long, everyone is infected, and hearts begin to ache for the greater good they once felt—the greater good for which God created them.

We should know better. Live better. Speak better. A better way of doing life is what God desires for each one of us. When we don’t act on that better—when we deliberately choose to live as a people unchanged by the cross of Calvary—then we continue to live as a sin-sick people in desperate need of a heart’s examination.

To know that we need one … a heart’s examination? Well, I suppose that is a good starting point. So many Christians are walking around with blinders on, unaware of their simmering sin. Worst still are those who are aware of their sin yet are unwilling to do anything about it. Those who choose to linger with yesterday’s rotten, stinking garbage and who have somehow fooled themselves into thinking that stink doesn’t stink and that the flies gathering around are an indication of some remaining goodness.

Time to take out the garbage, friends. Time to pray the prayer, to acknowledge the sin, to put away childish things. Time to stop breaking one another with angry words, forced agendas, human manipulation. Time to work from the heart outward, rooting out those carnal tendencies that simmer just beneath the surface of the skin. Time to push them out completely so that our tomorrows aren’t filled with the stench of yesterday’s struggle.

This morning, I’ve taken time to collect the garbage of my heart and hauled it to the curb of Calvary. Laid it down before the Son of God and begged his pardon for my sin. It hasn’t been a difficult collection process for me. Some stink… some sin, is just that obvious, just that offensive.

Oh for a heart that is quick to notice the quickening truth of the Spirit of God within! Oh for a heart that is willing to listen to conviction, to act on that conviction, and to move forward with repentance and grace-filled renewal! What would it take to get us there, readers? What lingering sin is still simmering beneath the surface of your skin today? If you’re willing to open up your heart for examination, then I invite you to pray the prayer that the psalmist prayed so long ago, the prayer that I prayed just moments ago. It’s time to stop breaking ourselves and those that we love with the sins that so easily entangle us.

Search me, O God, and know my heart completely. Try me, test me, examine me under your microscope, and point out my insufficiencies. Make them obvious to me, Lord, and press my flesh to the point of releasing them once and for all to the cleansing work of the cross. This is the only prayer I know to pray today, the only prayer I want to pray today. You are my standard. You have called me to holiness. Only You can bring about a change in my heart. Humbly I submit it today for your sacred scrutiny. Lead me forward in the way everlasting—the path of eternal consequence. You are where I’m headed, Father. Save me from myself, and bring me safely home. Amen.