Black Friday with Me and my Man

Just in case you missed Black Friday shopping, here is a re-cap of my day with my man in tow (what a trooper he was... is). I trust you've all had a good week; I hope to be re-aligned with my "pen" in the coming week, thus getting away from all the blah, blah, blahing of video-living! As always...

peace for the journey,

it's beginning to look a lot like crazy...

Just a quick greeting from my house to yours as we enter into this week of calendared "thanks"--a practice that should follow us every day of our lives. I'll be offline most of the week, but wanted to send you a pre-Christmas tour of my life!

I pray God's peace and blessings to you all as you center your hearts around an intentional day of gratitude for the freedoms we enjoy in our country and the freedoms we know because of Christ Jesus. As always...

peace for the journey,

PS: In the video I reference Mary's post from Refreshmoments. You can read it here. Also, would love to hear about some of your plans for the week or some of the ways you're beginning to prepare your home and your heart for the upcoming Christmas season. Shalom.

the darkness before the dawn

Morning is breaking.

I am ready for its arrival. The night’s pause has been a restless one for me. And while I’m not ready for the noise of a new day, I’m ready for the security of its light.

The quiet and dark of night often startles me. I hear things in the night that I don’t hear during the day. Bumps and creaks… fragile sounds that force my notice—force my trust. I cannot always determine the source of those sounds. My imagination tries its hand at identification, but it is not reliable.

Imagination is tricky business. Imagination creates. Imagination births. Imagination cultivates the seeds of my thoughts, and therein lies the rub. What my mind thinks is what my imagination grows.

I cannot help but think in the restless ache of a long night’s retreat. When sleep eludes me, thoughts invade me. When thoughts invade me, sleep eludes me. It’s an unforgiving cycle of give and take that sometimes depletes me for a next day’s living … sometimes energizes me for the same. My night’s imagination has served me in both directions.

Honestly, I’d rather be sleeping, but most nights I don’t. Instead, I grapple with this restless ache on a regular basis, trying to decide what to do with the time that exists between the darkness and the dawn.

Between the darkness and the dawn—a good soil for a good growing ... a faith’s growing. A bridge between that which cannot be seen and that which is readily visible. That which is imagined and that which is reality. That which is shrouded in darkness and that which is unveiled in daylight. That which is secret and that which is revealed.

A night’s ending and a day’s beginning is a good edge to stand on if one is longing for faith’s interpretation. Faith teeters between these two extremes.

Faith accepts the mystery of the night while anxiously stepping toward the daylight.

Faith struggles with the unseen noises of the night, pondering their authorship and authenticity.

Faith looks intently into the darkness rather than retreating behind closed eyes.

Faith writes new words, new chapters in the darkness because the night insulates and isolates the “pen” from competing, daytime distractions.

Faith walks through the night because faith is certain about the morning.

Faith allows the night her witness because faith has seen the brilliance of its contrast.

Faith grows in the darkness because darkness has always been a good soil for faith’s good beginning.

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.” (Genesis 1:1-2)

The first darkness before the dawn.

The pregnant pause before the proclamation.

The cultivation before the coronation.

The imagination before the illumination.

The faith edge I’m teetering on in this moment—between night’s grip and day’s break.

I’m almost there. Morning is breaking. The light is beginning to filter in through the blinds, arriving just in time to strengthen my understanding. To validate my night’s wrestling. To buoy my faith and my steps for another day’s journey until the sun and moon collide, once again, to wrestle out their witness within my soul. How I long to embrace the beauty of them equally. Thus, I pray…

Hold me, Father, in the in-between times—those moments between the darkness and the dawn. Cultivate your strength in me as I struggle to reconcile my imagination with your truth… my questions with my faith. When the night seems too long, too dark and too confining, lighten my spirit with the witness of your eternal flame. Burn it strong; burn it certain. Settle my heart in sacred confidence regarding the surety of the day’s arrival. And should I falter in my fear before I get there, find me in my struggle, hold fast to my frame, and pull me through into your morning’s light.

Dawn. Proclamation. Coronation. Illumination. Where I want to live in faith, sweet Jesus. Amen.

PS: I've added this song to my thoughts this morning; I can't seem to remove myself from it... it brings me into lavish worship with the King. Worship as well, sweet friends.

Copyright © November 2009 – Elaine Olsen

growing up honest

for a boy who grew up to be an honest man... I love you, son.

Out of ninety-eight people scheduled for traffic court this morning, only half showed up. Of the half who made the effort, only three pled an initial “guilty” during the roll call moment. Those three were moved to the front of the court docket to have their cases resolved first.

One of those three was my son. He was part of the three percent willing to take ownership of his mistake. In doing so, he saved himself some time and received a reduced sentence for his crime.

Traffic school (to which he presented his certificate of prior attendance) and $165 in court costs and...

No points on his license.

Honesty wins the day! Honesty doesn’t come without consequences, but honesty often tills the soil for favor in the eyes of the judge. Being able to “own” our issues, our mistakes and our sins, is a key to our continuing growth as a human being.

As it goes with our flesh, so it goes with our faith.

Honesty wins the day. Confessing our sin before the Judge always merits his kind favor, his grace, his forgiving love. Never once does our Judge turn aside an honest confession. Instead, he listens intently for our intent and pronounces judgment accordingly.

No traffic school. No court costs. No points on our license. None. Done. Dismissed from judgment with nothing more than the loving grip of grace to accompany our steps home.

Why?

Because long ago on a hillside, another stood in our stead and received the verdict for our crimes. A once and for all “guilty” so that we might find favor with the King. Instead of allowing us to linger with our punishment, Jesus Christ surrendered his body to our pain. He paid the cost. He absorbed the sharp prick of the “points” applied to his flesh and the lengthy stay required in the courtroom until the work had been accomplished, finished and completed for all eternity.

His admission of guilt freed us from having to continue in ours. His willingness to “serve the time” freed us from unnecessary seasons behind bars which, in the end, could never adequately proffer in fair exchange for the crimes against God that we’ve committed.

Jesus Christ became “sin” for us, so that through him, we might become the righteousness of God (2 Cor. 5:21). What does that mean?

It means that we are as clean before the King. That what Christ did 2000 years ago was enough to purify us so that we can stand before the Judge spotless, guiltless, free to speak our witness because of Christ’s witness on a cross.

A familiar truth to most of us; in fact, one so well-worn that when we hear it again, read it again, we’re tempted to move past it without re-absorbing the impact of its witness. Familiarity often breeds passivity—a complacent forgetfulness regarding the merit of the witness.

Would you be willing this day, perhaps even in this moment, to play that courtroom scene out again in your own heart? To relive that moment when you first tasted God’s grace in full measure? To picture yourself there, before the Judge, when the roll call commences?

You, awaiting the sound of your name from his lips, preparing your heart for your “guilty” confession when the time comes to answer his question “How do you plead?” You’re shaking, perhaps sweating, wanting desperately to state your case but understanding that any objection you can offer for your sin seems as foolishness in the light of his glorified presence. You’re wanting to get a pass, but fairly confident that none will be offered.

That is, until your name is called, and the question is asked, and rather than looking at you squarely in the eye, the Judge casts his glance in another direction—to the One who stands by your side in your defense—and looks him squarely in the eye and says…

“How do you plead, Son?”

“Guilty, Father, let the prisoner go. She is clean; he is clean. I am the One cloaked with the responsibility… the sin. See me; free them.”

And with those words, and because of that sacred surrender, your time in court is over. You leave the scene a free person. No blemish to your record; no shame attached to your name. It doesn’t make sense… this sacred exchange between your flesh and Christ’s, but you receive it nonetheless. Grateful for the reprieve; mindful of the cost.

And today, if you’ve made it this far with my words and with your remembering, then your heart, like mine, should be filled to overflow with gratitude for the One who stands beside us to plead our worthiness before the Judge.

Today, I walk my grace with continued thankfulness for the gift of Calvary. I am guilty of a great many crimes against God. I’m not sure what percentage of the world’s population is willing to admit personal guilt along these lines; perhaps, three percent is too generous an estimation, but if three out of a hundred are going to make the good confession, then I want to be part of the three. I want the honest admission of my heart to be the catalyst that moves me forward in my growth as a Christian, and I want the favor of the Judge on my behalf.

Honesty wins the day. Always. In the courtroom of life; in the courtroom of grace.

Bend the knee and bow your heart this day; your posture of reverent confession is the precursor to God’s pardon. As always…

peace for the journey,

Copyright © November 2009 – Elaine Olsen

a bit of housekeeping

Precious Readers:

We've come to a point in our journey together where I feel as if I need to address an issue with you; not one I ever intended on having to address, but one that I feel I need to be more vocal about in regards to my writing.

Plagiarism--copying and pasting my thoughts as your own. I feel as if I've been generous to all of my readers with my words over the past, almost 2 years of blogging--giving freely of my pen for God's kingdom agenda. But I've noticed some traffic as of late and some infringements along these lines that, in my opinion, crosses the boundaries of "basic blogging etiquette." It creeps me out a bit, and concerns me to some degree. Thus, I'm asking you as kindly as I know how to, please STOP using my words as your own. If you'd like to reference something I've written, please don't hesitate to send me an e-mail.

Now, I'm all about sharing the good news of Jesus Christ, and quoting anything I've written with proper referencing is fine. But to paste entire posts of mine as your own isn't right. I'm sorry if this seems harsh; many of you might be offended, but the greater offense is to unlawfully "take" something that belongs to me without my permission.

Now, with that being said, I want to move on with my words, sharing them with you because of the trust we share within this blogging community. As always, friends, may God's peace be yours this night and in the days ahead. I want to continue life with you in the blogosphere without having to worry about "word theft." Certainly, God has given each one of us enough words and creative thought to write our own, unique posts. I, for one, am the benefactor of that overflow and so enjoy reading what you have to say.

Thanks for listening.

Good

“This is a time of abundance in your life. Your cup runneth over with blessings. After plodding uphill for many weeks, you are now traipsing through lush meadows drenched in warm sunshine. I want you to enjoy to the full this time of ease and refreshment. I delight in providing it for you.” (Sarah Young, Jesus Calling, entry for November 12th, pg. 331).

***

Surely she isn’t writing these words to me; she’s missed the mark on this one, Lord. Abundance? Lush meadows? Ease and refreshment? Are you talking to me, Lord, about the current season I’m in or regarding the one I knew a few seasons back? Sure, I’d like the romp of lush meadows and warm sunshine right about now, but currently it all feels more like a slow crawl through the dismal swamp. Maybe next season, but right now, I think I’ll save Sarah’s words … your words … for another day. Another time when abundance seems a better fit with my current living conditions.

This is the conversation I had with God a few days ago after reading my morning devotional. Ever felt this way? That somehow the words written don’t quite match up with the dailyness of your life? It kind of bothered me… this “imagining” by Sarah on my behalf regarding the current condition of my life. After all, we’ve never met. She isn’t wearing my shoes, and she certainly isn’t holding the pen for my book—my journey with Jesus. If she were holding the pen, her words would have read more like a tragedy rather than a triumph. Why?

Because these have been some hard weeks for me. Not devastating, just hard. Just more crawling than running. More questions than answers. More frustrations than smooth sailing. As I write this tonight, my heart is full of ponderings and wonderings and hopes that one day soon, all will make sense. But right now it doesn’t, and I realize that I don’t have a clue about how all of my “this” is going to work itself out in the days to come.

And mostly, I’m OK with the not knowing, but sometimes the not knowing fills my heart with heaviness, keeping the lush meadows of God’s goodness seemingly out of reach. But then, something like what happened around our dinner table tonight happens.


A reminder to me about the goodness of my life. About how for every “thing” contrary and difficult that wanders into my world, none of it is enough to diminish the worth of my day. That, in fact, there is lush and warm sunshine and abundance in my every day because I don’t live my days in isolation. I live them with Jesus. And wherever Jesus is, cups runneth over with blessings ten thousand beside. That for all of the ways I could call this day “less,” there is One who calls my day “more.”

Not because I live in temporal pleasure, but rather because I live with eternity in reach.

I don’t wake up each day because I did something to deserve another day’s privilege. I wake up each morning because my Father holds my life and breath in his hands and has decided that another day is worthy of my embrace. I get the bounty of this day because he’s given me this day to enjoy, to ponder his abundance in my life and to find my thanks despite the chaos going on around me.

Life rarely makes sense to me. I’ve long since given up trying to put tidy parameters around my day in-day out. I simply live my days. Sometimes in thanks; sometimes with complaints. But tonight as I sat around a makeshift candlelit dinner brought about through the imaginations of two young children, I quietly confessed my discontent with my day … my life … and asked God for more tea-light treasures to be my portion.

This is my life today, and it is enough … more than enough to warrant Sarah’s pen on my behalf. I feel God’s warm sunshine despite the coolness of my season. I taste God’s abundance despite the famine of my season. I walk the lush meadows despite the rocky soil of my season. And I drink the cup of overflow despite the thirst of my season.

Seasons come and go, friends, but our God? Well, he never leaves. He is the same in all our seasons. Never once has he diminished in his covenantal goodness to us. We may be blinded by the conditions of our seasons in seeing that goodness, but his presence predicates his overflow. His presence assures us of his participation in our dailyness.

And wherever God is, is a place of good living. In my heart. In yours. We are the carriers of an extraordinary “good.” Let us spend this week acknowledging our lives for what they are.

Good.

He has declared us accordingly because he is good eternally. And that is enough to warrant my heart’s thanks in all the seasons of my life. May it be the same for you. As always…

peace for the journey,

PS: The winner of the Gatlinburg give-away is #17 Saleslady 371. Congrats to you! Please send me your snail mail via my e-mail, and I'll have this to you this week. Shalom.

Contending

“Dear friends, although I was very eager to write to you about the salvation we share, I felt I had to write and urge you to contend for the faith that was once for all entrusted to the saints.” {Jude 3}

I ran across it this morning; rather, it ran across me. All over me. In me. Through me. Within and without of me.

A verse. A single Scripture that my desperation cried out for like a beggar plowing through a garbage bin for the scraps from yesterday’s fine dining. A yesterday’s fare that still tastes fresh and rich and full of all the nutrients a hungering soul needs.

God’s Word is like that. It feeds our wanton estate with the richest bounty of heaven. All that is required from us in the matter is our willingness to entreat the bounty with faith enough to believe that what we’re looking for will be found in ready supply. With God’s Word our souls never go hungry, never leave empty, never walk away with “less” than what we had prior to our arrival at the table.

God’s Word feeds fully.

Today, he fed me with this verse from Jude. He told me to contend for the faith that he has entrusted to me. To “strive and to fight” for the faith that has been “delivered, handed down” to me. Those words shot through me with a clarity I’d not seen before. The previous underlining of them was a good indicator that I’d read them before, but for whatever reason, today they packed a punch and forced my pondering.

Interesting that this “contending” in the Greek is the opposite of the word eireneuo which means “to keep the peace or to be at peace” (and you know how I feel about that particular topic…). I am not to be at peace with my faith… to be a casual attendee on the road of faith. Rather, I’m to be vigilant in my efforts at faith’s cultivation. At growing and further developing the initial belief that was first transferred to my heart from a loving God who entrusted me with faith’s safe-keeping.

It doesn’t make sense to me to have been entrusted with such a gift. God knows just exactly how many times I’ve failed him in this department. Times when I’ve chosen doubt over trust. Selfish control over selfless release. My shifting manipulations over his tried and true. My plans, my thoughts over his. Indeed, it seems another saint might be a better fit for God’s gift of faith.

Still and yet, he calls me his saint, his “set-apart and his consecrated.” He tells me that faith is mine for the keeping. Not to contend with it, but to contend for it. Why? Because faith isn’t a gift that warrants my rebellious fists. Faith is a gift that deserves my open hands. My willingness to receive, to hold, to absorb, and to clothe myself in the cause of Jesus Christ.

A gift so precious is a gift worthy of my best contending.

Day in. Day out, until all of my earthly days are done and I come open-handed to the throne of my Jesus where I return to him the package of faith I’ve been given. He will put the punctuation mark on this journey he's authored in me. In that moment, there will be final perfection—an end that serves as a fitting conclusion to the story that he and I have been writing together for the past forty-three years.

How I contend for my faith now is directly linked to how I will be commended for my faith then.

They won’t measure out equally, for there is nothing I can do here in the present that will match what I’m going to receive from God in the future. His grace and blessing will always trump my efforts at the same. But I do believe there is something more to be gained from my contending for the faith on this side of the eternity that will matter for the other side of eternity. Something better … something further … something grander because I was willing to go to the mat for my faith and for my Jesus until my final breath.

I don’t want to peacefully find my way to heaven. I want to go there contending for the One who was willing to go to the mat for me on a hillside 2000 years ago. Who looked down through the ages and saw a young girl named Faith Elaine and decided that her life was worth his. That her heart could be trusted with faith’s impartation, with faith’s safe-keeping. A risky calculation in my estimation, but not enough to keep Jesus from making his altared surrender.

I want to honor that surrender with my honest contention. My best efforts at forging ahead with my faith. These are the days when we must move forward in our faith, friends. We are not to shrink back in our belief. We must not waver in our understanding regarding our finish … our end. God is that end. He who began a good work in us is faithful to complete it. He serves as the bookends to all faith journeys, but we must be vigilant in our walking the “in between.”

Faith steps ahead, not behind. For faith to grow there must be movement beneath our feet and progress within our hearts. Otherwise, we’re stuck.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to finish this race stuck. This is the tragedy of an infant-fed faith. Do you realize that we could spend the rest of our spiritual lives stuck right where we are, right now? When we close our eyes on our earthly days, if all we have is an initial belief in Jesus, then we’re going to make it home to him. But I don’t want to just make it home. I want to make it home with something more to give him—a package of faith that was well-contented for and well-lived. Not some half-hearted attempt at the process.

Thus, I choose striving over peace-keeping. Moving on rather than staying stuck. Keeping the faith rather than casting it to the curb. Pressing in, pressing further, pressing through until my faith becomes my eyes, and I hear the commendation that my heart is contending for even today.

A good fight for a good faith all the way through to a very good finish. Keep contending for the King, friend. He still contends for thee. As always…

peace for the journey,

Me and Beth E., her Bill and my Billy

I don’t why certain events in my life move me so profoundly, but this past weekend has been one of those occasions, and today my heart is hurting. Thankfully hurting. Seems an odd contradiction, but the “hurting” signifies that my past weekend meant more to me than simply an enjoyable weekend between friends. A thankful hurt signifies something far deeper. It means that there is love attached to my heart, and, right now, I’m not quite sure what to do with it. I’ve been trying all day to get my thoughts down on paper, but the words are mostly vacant. Not because they’re not there, but rather because I can’t seem to pen them with the justice they deserve. Some memories just write me rather than me writing them.

This past weekend deserves more than a few words. It deserves a chapter all its own. And while this chapter in my life known as “Elaine and Beth E., her Bill and my Billy” may never make it to print, it certainly has scripted its remembrance into my heart for always.

I like knowing that my “life book” now includes a chapter specifically designated to the companionship I shared with my husband and a Virginia couple on a beautiful November weekend in 2009. It cannot be changed, altered or tweaked to read any differently than it lived. It simply was and, therefore, continues to be because it is now a part of my history. A history that I am better for living through because of the beautiful friendship that was birthed in the end.

Beth and Bill are the real deal. I already loved Beth for so many reasons (even though we’d never met face-to-face), and Bill quickly warranted my genuine favor as well. He’s funny, laid back, talkative, and very kind to his wife. Very kind. It’s obvious to me why they’ve made it to almost thirty-one years of marriage. Kindness in a marriage does that. It births longevity, and as I watched them interact with one another, I couldn’t help but hope for the same in my marriage with my own Billy.

And for more weekends with them. Lots of them. In fact, if we lived closer to one another, I’m confident we’d spend lots of nights eating Hillbilly Salsa together and allowing our “Bill’s” plenty of time in the man-cave to do, well, whatever Bill’s do in a man-cave. Some friendships just seem to arrive automatically, genuinely and without a lot of effort on the front end.

That’s the friendship me and my Billy now share with Beth and hers. Our lives are similar in too many ways to chronicle here, and our hearts deeply connected because of the love we share for our Lord. I’m not sure what that means for the four of us down the road, but my heart tells me that another trip to the mountains or to Montana or to the movies would be just fine with me. I know that heaven will be filled with fellowship akin to this past weekend, but until I get there, I wouldn’t mind a few reminders like this past weekend to “hold me” until then.

Only God could dream this up, friends—these cyber connections culminating into weekends and retreats and all manner of gatherings that he intends to endure for all eternity. I imagine he’s dreaming now and that, before long, those sacred dreams will birth deeper friendships in many of us. Until then, let’s keep connecting, keep opening up our hearts to one another, keep praying for one another, and keep writing the truth of the One who threads all of our hearts together with the single chord of Calvary’s love.

It’s my privilege to be in community with you all here. And while it sometimes hurts to love so much, I wouldn’t miss a good hurt for anything. A good hurt is the foundation for a good growing, and this past weekend, I grew at least an inch. Thank you, Beth and Bill, for fueling my heart’s development. Until next time…

peace for the journey,

PS: Leave a comment for a true mountain give-away… a Christmas dove ornament, hand-crafted by Liza Bach and showcased at the Highland Craft Gallery and a pair of earrings, hand-crafted by me at the Smoky Mountain Bead Bar and Gallery. I’ll draw a winner later in the week.

And now, meet two blogging friends who had an idea not long ago... (I apologize in advance for the quality of this video/slide show. I don't know what I'm doing, so if anyone knows how to make a slide show using a specific song as background... would love some tips!).

vacation anticipation

Me and Beth E.,

along with her Bill and my Billy,
are headed for a rendezvous in Tennessee,
for some food, fellowship, and long-overdue revelry.

Not sure what we'll find,
although God's mountains come to mind,
and as long as He's there,
a deep communion we're guaranteed to share.

OK, Laura, so I'm not a poet, but I felt the upcoming weekend deserved a little tribute. Beth, I'll meet you in the mountains, and Lord willing, I'll "see" the rest of you next week. I might even pick up something crafty for a give-away! Until then,

"Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, whether in word of deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him." (Colossians 3:15-17)

As always, friends, God's peace for the journey,

there will come a day...

~Alex Christopher Mercado~

Your day has come... rest in the sweet arms of Jesus, precious boy! I'll meet you there soon.

PS: For those of you who haven't read the previous post, this is the young child who inspired my heart-felt response. Apparently, yours as well. Thanks for weighing in with your thoughts and support.

Hold onto your faith, friends ... there is coming a day.

innocence lost...

Today I’m writing with my tears.

It’s not always good to write from a place of strong emotion, but for some reason, I’m compelled to say something. To offer a few words on behalf of a young life that has passed from this world with little more than an on-line epitaph that reads…

“Body of four-year-old missing boy found in a dryer”

In a dryer, friends.

A young life disposed of and temporarily hidden in a place designed for wet laundry, not for the fragile frame of his innocent understanding.

It shocks me, repulses me, angers me, and reminds me that I am living in the middle of a world’s evil. It’s extreme and callous, prevalent and intentional. This is just one story amongst thousands with enough “sensational” value to land it on the front page of an Internet search engine, alongside rumors of "Scientology fraud" and a “rare murder in Mayberry.”

More evil. More senseless acts of violence. More sin. More depravity. Have mercy. Is that all there is these days?

This seems to be the case, at least to a public without the eyes to vision beyond temporal atrocity. Everywhere we turn, everything we read, every news’ broadcast that anchors in our homes and via our computers is littered with the stories of evil and the depravity of humankind. Why?

Because evil sells. Evil roots at our deepest fears, and while our “senses” warn us to run away from the invading headlines, we sometimes cannot help but be drawn to the story. If we’re not careful, we enter into the story and, before long, our minds and our hearts are filled with thoughts that run contrary to what God desires.

True, we cannot turn a blind-eye to the problem of sin in our world. Evil speaks to the very reason of its contrast … God’s good. Evil sets the stage for a final showdown between heaven’s grace and hell’s determined intention for destruction. And while, as Christians, we know how that’s all going to flesh itself out one day, today I cannot help but wonder when that might be.

I’m ready for God’s final showdown. For an end to the enemy’s temporary “reign” upon this earth. I don’t want to read any more headlines regarding evil being perpetrated against God’s children, especially those who are unable to retaliate and who blindly trust their “elders” because God has created their young hearts for trust.

I don’t want child sex offenders to receive a “light sentence” because of their perceived "rights” in the matter. They gave up those rights when they made the decision to give into their depravity rather than seek help for their problems. Their excuses regarding their own depraved childhoods hold little water with me.

I’m not unsympathetic to their need to find resolution to their sin; I am, however, unsympathetic to them finding that resolution in a half-way house or group therapy session that sits within reach of a neighborhood school or playground. God’s grace can and does mediate its way behind prison doors—a controlled environment that sometimes better serves the cause of evil’s transformation (just ask my friend Mike, who spends a lot of time behind those closed doors dispensing God’s grace to the needy). Some soils are better left untouched by evil—protected and “out of reach” for the enemy’s intention.

I don’t want any more babies to be aborted in the name of a “mother’s rights” to her body. Our bodies are not our own. We were bought with a price; time to get on our knees and find our thanks for the fact that we’ve been given this moment in time, these few breaths to live our purpose on this earth, because our mothers better understood the value of their seeded womb. There is coming a day when every murdered child will have his/her day in court. The King will hear their cries, and if grace hasn’t been pled over the perpetrator’s heart, then God will exact a sentence in keeping with the crime.

I don’t want any more children to know the physical abuse and torture from adults who claim their “mental instability” as the culprit rather than calling abuse by the name is deserves—evil… sin. Those who decide that having “control” over their children allows them unlimited authority in the matter are those who have never sat under the authority of Jesus Christ. Children were not created for beatings, for the hammering out of our own “issues” upon and within their feeble flesh. Children were given to us as a blessing from God to be a blessing unto him.

No life arrives upon this soil without God’s planning; God’s notice; God’s love. None. Kids are not our mistakes. They are our treasures and are meant to experience their own walk of grace and discovery upon God’s earth. To think otherwise, is to cast our lots into the cradle of evil that births these heinous atrocities like water from a faucet.

Like a young girl being gang raped outside a high school dance while others stood by and did nothing.

Like a child being chained as a prisoner for years in her basement while giving birth to several children, fathered by her captor.

Like a young boy dying after being tied to a tree for days as a discipline strategy to get him to comply with parental rules and regulations.

Like an unborn baby being extracted from his mother’s womb prematurely to meet out a woman’s fantasy about being a “mother.”

Granted, these are extreme examples, but when children are diminished in the eyes of those who are charged with their keeping—with their “rearing” and their shaping—then intention plants a seed toward evil. And seeds of evil, when watered with years of neglect and a refusal to grow in a healthier understanding, eventually grow into a field of sin that harvests as tomorrow’s sensational headlines.

We must stop this, friends. All children of this world deserve better. They deserve our time and attention, our looking at them as our Father looks at them. Some of us are in the middle of our parenting years. Some of us on the backside of them. Some of us have never known the fruit of our own wombs. It makes no difference our “parenting” station in life. God’s children are meant for all of us. And I bet this day, there is a child within your circle of influence who could use your witness.

You prayers, your presence, your time, your gifts, and your wisdom that, in the end, will harvest toward kingdom gain rather than toward hell’s determined intention.

The only way that I know to combat this kind of evil in this present age is to invest my life in its contrast—in the lives of the children I’ve been given and in the lives of others who sit under my influence. Some of them are children. Some at other various stages in life. Regardless of ages, all of us are in need of a better response to the problem of evil in our world.

May the grace of the cross be the “rooting” that forces our contemplation in the matter and that leads us forward to make a change in our world. Any other “rooting” proffers little in the cause of God’s children.

And God's children, well, the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.

Thanks for listening to my tears and my words today. How grateful I am for a public canvas that allows them both a safe place to land. As always…

peace for the journey,