Monthly Archives: August 2015

a teacher’s apology and thanks …

I’ve been thinking about them some … my last-yearers. It’s been odd seeing them so close-by yet realizing that they’re “hands off” – not mine, not this year. I’ve kept my professional distance, and they’ve kept theirs. A few of them have made their way to my door, even stepping into the classroom a time or two, surveying the surroundings to see what’s familiar and what’s different. They’ve been quick to notice the changes:

“We didn’t have that last year, Mrs. Olsen. That’s not fair.”

And my laughter regarding their assessment is quietly accompanied by the truth of their judgment. In the secret recesses of my heart and soul, I know that they are right. What my students had last year isn’t and won’t be what my students have this year, at least to a certain degree. The curriculum remains the same, but the teacher? Well, she’s changed a bit. I still answer to Mrs. Olsen, but I am a wiser version therein, seasoned and shaped by my previous year’s, hard obedience.

When asked six months ago about my returning to the classroom this year, I didn’t have a solid answer. The stress attached to returning to teaching (after a long hiatus) had taken its toll on me. I was overwhelmed by the many responsibilities, and I was unconvinced that another year of more-of-the-same would be good for my health and for my family. Still and yet, I had a feeling (really more of a willing response) that I owed it to myself and to the countless hours already invested into the teaching process to see if a second year might be kinder to me … an easier fit.

Eight days in, and I have my answer. This will be a better year for me and for my students, not because the crop of children is any “better” this year than it was last year, but rather because I am better. The difficult “yeses” of my last year – all those times when I yielded my hands, my heart, and my flesh to the sharp edge of the Farmer’s spade despite my gut reaction to flee – have cultivated for me and in me a seasoned understanding of what it means to be a teacher and what it is to be God’s servant therein. That’s a win for everyone concerned, and that’s the reason I can heartily agree with my former students’ assessment of the classroom.

“We didn’t have that last year, Mrs. Olsen. That’s not fair.”

And for that, I offer them an apology. I also offer them a word of thanks. Shaping seasons – those that change us for God’s better – require fallow soil and a willingness to receive the blade of the farmer’s plow. What grows there, in that difficult soil of obedience, is often the sweet harvest of holiness. It may not seem fair at the time, but in the end, it’s always better.

I’m better, and I have a sneaking suspicion that most of my last-yearers are better too. To God be all the glory, great things he has done. Great things he will continue to do. As always …

Peace for the journey,


Forever grateful to Shirley Jones for this likeness.


It’s been a sobering day for me. A day for remembering. A day for grieving. A day for gratefulness. A day for tears. 

Five years ago. I remember it well. Most days I don’t … remember it. Most days I live beyond it. But today I take time to remember the impact and the forecast of those words spoken over my life on that day:

Mrs. Olsen, you have breast cancer.

One doesn’t forget a day like that. This is my “I remember where I was” moment that folks often speak about when recalling a turning point in their history.

A two-hour trip home from Dr. Habal’s office in Greenville. A phone call to family. A phone call to Judith. A detour to Campbell University to find my first born and a detour to Methodist University to find my second. And then home to loving arms – to a mom and dad and children not quite ready to absorb the news. And then, that trip to Arby’s with the living tree growing next to our table. If you’ve read my story, then you know about that tree and those surreal moments surrounding that hallowed meal.

And here I am, five years out—a benchmark for cancer patients I’m told. Survival rates for us are measured in five year increments. By the grace of God I’ve made it to this milestone. Soberly, I await the next one, whatever that might be.

This is my one life, from start to finish, this is it. And while I’d like to say that I’ve masterfully handled the five-year journey toward this milestone, I won’t because I haven’t. Truthfully, I haven’t understood most of it. It’s been mostly a limp toward the finish line.

But there is something – a pretty important one thing that has emerged in these past five years:

My obedience to the day in front of me.

Not tomorrow’s obedience. Not next week’s. Not next year’s. Simply (and I think rather profoundly) an obedience to the unfolding of life in a single day and my participation therein. It’s an obedience that offers more personal yeses and fewer nos; more open hands than clinched fists. Just an obedience to the day – to live it, come what may, knowing that I am deeply loved and sincerely safe.

If we know this, friends, truly understand in the marrow of our bones that we are loved and that we are safe, then we can remain obedient to the day we’ve been given. Five years ago, I didn’t know this kind of security. I didn’t recognize the depth of God’s love for me, and I didn’t always feel safe in his arms. And so he gave me the love and the arms of others, and through their touch, God got bigger for me. In his bigness, I understood (maybe for the first time) that I was covered, completely and certainly safe in the shadow of the Almighty Father who calls me his child.      

And that’s something – a pretty important one thing that has trumped the scars required to get here.

Today is the day that the Lord has made. He has given it to me. In return, I yield my obedience therein. Come what may – a tomorrow, a next week, a next year, or maybe even five.

Today I raise my glass and offer a toast to August 23, 2015. I am loved, and I am safe. It is good to be here and to be sharing this day with you. As always …

Peace for the journey,



“As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him.” –Luke 10:38

I listened to my daughter read this familiar story to me a few days ago. She was draped across my bed, dressed and ready for the day, hoping that I would soon follow suit. We had a full agenda set in place long before the August sun brilliantly heralded its morning chorus. But instead of diving head-long into our “to-do” list, I decided to drape myself alongside my daughter on the bed and, together, we had morning devotions. There’s a sweetness wrapped up in that – draping and devotions and a daughter – a tender, gentle, eternal reminder of home, of what awaits me just on the other side of this veil.

Her words caught me off-guard, as is so often the case when I hear God’s Word read aloud. She read five verses; my heart and my mind, however, remained solidly fixed on the first one – the one printed above.

“As Jesus and his disciples were on their way ….”.

It’s a familiar posture for our Lord, both in practice and in spirit. His feet and his heart were always moving forward. Places to go; people to see. A path to follow; a hill to climb. Never once did Jesus lose sight of his final destination. But along the way and as he went, there were some glorious pauses of holy revelation, occasions where he left his divine calling card in the soil of humans souls so that they (and we) might know how to live our lives forward with purpose and with his final destination in mind.

I like this. This particular weaving of my doing with my being makes sense to me. It anchors my heart in this season when I have a destination in mind but with a lot of open road in between my now and my then. That open road? Well, there are multiple routes that will lead me to where I’m going. That used to bother me; not so much anymore. Why? Because Jesus is my now. Jesus is my next. Jesus is my then. I don’t need to get all fussed up about the details. I simply need to lean into and alongside the One who’s walking the road with me. Jesus will not abandon me, and the weight of my details always lands easily on his broad shoulders. Along the way and as we go, he will direct the rest stops – those unforeseen pauses requiring our presence where we’ll have the rich privilege of leaving a divine calling card in the soil of human souls.

This has been a season of unforeseen pauses for me. I haven’t liked most of them, but I haven’t lost Jesus in any of them. And this is how I know that I am heading in the right direction. With Jesus, I don’t need a compass. Jesus gloriously and holy is the compass. Accordingly, I worry less these days about the road to the finish line – the miles in between where I am now and where I’m headed. Instead, I give more attention to the One who will carry me there.

I am a daughter deeply devoted to her Father, willing to drape my days with his presence and with the truth of his Word as my covering. There is, indeed, a sweetness wrapped up in that – an eternal anchor that (every now and again) pulls me beyond the veil to catch a glimpse of my forever. I pray it is the same for you, that the details of your current detour aren’t weighing you down too heavily but that, instead, you are sharing the road with Jesus. His yoke is easy; his burden is light, and he will not abandon you. Jesus will carry you.

This is enough grace for the road we’re traveling, friends. This is enough Peace for the journey to lead us safely home. Keep moving forward. The best is yet to be.

How might I pray for you today?

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