Category Archives: knowing God

You’ll do.

Our Sunday School roster of teachers was down to slim pickings today. The regularly scheduled facilitator and her substitute were otherwise detained, and I offered to step in at the last minute. Attendance numbers were slim as well, but what we lack in quantity we make up for in quality. These people I do life with are some of the finest folks I know.

After an initial greeting and my pre-emptive apology for serving as a fill-in, a generous soul in our midst offered me, perhaps, one of the most sincere and beautiful commendations I have ever received:

“You’ll do.”

Generous laughter followed his proclamation, along with an inward tugging in my spirit. He attached no harm to his words; instead, they rolled off his lips as a compliment of the highest order. And therein I felt safe. Wanted. Warmed by his genuine assessment of me.

“You’ll do.”

Oh, to be welcomed to the table of holy conversation with a hearty handshake of acceptance! It’s a gift to me … to be graciously received and, further still, to no longer need any weightier accolades attached to my name. That’s not always been the case. There was a season when I clamored for a bigger stage, a larger audience, and a calendar filled with invitations to validate my spiritual prowess.

That season didn’t last long. And while I knew that I was naturally and (at times) supernaturally gifted for the stage, it wasn’t to be. Instead, God simplified the matter for me, took my hand, bowed my heart, and led me down a quieter path of holy privilege.

There’s nothing “lesser” about a quieter path, at least in God’s eyes. It just means that kingdom work doesn’t always need a stage to get results. Sometimes the good seed falls to a few good souls who gather on a Sunday morning to say “yes” all over again to the holy deliberation of God’s Word. To be awed by the wonderment, the workings and worthy practice of chewing on a few verses and believing that, with the chew, something profound and beautiful happens.

Jesus happens. Every single time. In the midst and in the muddle of a week and of a world that is often void of his voice. When the Bible is open, Jesus takes the stage regardless the size of the audience. He makes no apologies for his presence. He simply and profoundly stands there on the pages of holy writ with all truth embodied within his frame. Like a brilliant shard of light dispelling the darkness, Jesus illuminates and fills the empty pages of our souls. And when that happens, when the hunger of our hearts is satiated by the love in his heart, then the kingdom moves forward. The kingdom expands.

Eternal deliberations with the eternal God yield eternal results.

I’ll get up every day for that kind of spiritual progress, friends. A step toward home is a step in the right direction. And to step it alongside a few hungry saints, is, indeed, the path of holy privilege.

Maybe today you need to be reminded of such things like quieter paths and open Bibles and friends who trust you to lead the holy deliberations therein. These are not lesser stages of significance and your participation isn’t a lesser point of privilege. Rather, these are great works of grace with a great and awesome Jesus.

You’ll do, friend. Bring what you have to the table in obedience.

He’ll do … the rest. Even better. Even more.

On earth, even as it is in heaven. As always…

Peace for the journey,

Find Him

“Now when he saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him, and he began to teach them …” (Matthew 5:1-2)

This world.

What a mess.

Spiritually speaking.
Emotionally speaking.
Physically speaking.
Politically speaking.
Relationally speaking.

A world-wide catastrophe in the making. A catastrophe come home to roost.

A world-wide population that is, at best, directionally challenged. We don’t know where we’re headed; we don’t know what to do next. We’re bumping into walls, and we’re bumping into one another. Bumps lead to bruises, and bruises leave us feeling damaged.

Lost and damaged. Indeed, a mess.

Jesus Christ has an answer for us. Not long ago, I heard (and saw) his answer dramatically portrayed on the screen in the Season 2 finale of The Chosen. Are you watching it? You should be. Dallas Jenkins and his array of writers and actors have given us a gift – God’s truth wrapped around dynamic dialogue and tender portraits. I’d be hard-pressed to name a favorite scene from the first two seasons; there are just too many. Each artistic license taken by the writers is carefully framed against the backdrop of scripture, leading me (and millions of other fans) to reach out for more. More truth. More Jesus. More conversations with our Savior.

And so it was a couple of weeks ago when the finale aired.

Jesus is discussing his upcoming inaugural, kingdom address (the Sermon on the Mount) with his disciple, Matthew. Jesus is working on the “intro” for his sermon throughout the episode, as Matthew takes notes. After a few days of wrestling with his thoughts, Jesus awakens Matthew in the early morning hours to let him know he’s worked out the particulars to his opening statement. Jesus tells Matthew that it’s a map of sorts … directions … where people should look for him.

And then Jesus begins his oration of the Beatitudes while tender scenes from the series mirror each of the “blessed.”

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. (Matthew 5:3 – 11)

As the scene finishes, Matthew is curious as to how the blessed are equal to a map.

Jesus’ response pierced straight through to my heart.

“If someone wants to find me, those are the groups they should look for.”

I was undone by the dialogue. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

Could it be that the way to find Jesus in this lost and damaged, catastrophe-in-the-making world, where bumps and bruises are now the norm, is through the blessed? Are they a map that can lead us to a deeper, divine intimacy with Christ?

I think The Chosen is onto something. I find peace just thinking on it.

Accordingly, count me in. Give me the map. Wherever Christ is, that’s where I want to be, even if it means I have to course-correct … take a few steps in a new direction. Venture into some places that are less comfortable for me but, perhaps, more sacred. Crowds that are better suited for soul-development rather than destruction. Dots on the spiritual map where Christ is content to make himself manifest in the consecrated blessed ones.

In those who are poor in spirit.
In those who mourn.
In the meek.
In the spiritually hungry.
In the merciful.
In the pure in heart.
In the peacemakers.
In the persecuted.

Christ in the blessed.

In finding them, perhaps I’ll find more of Jesus. They are the blessed ones; he has named them so. And whomever he calls blessed, surely, he dwells in their midst.

Friends, I want to find them, and then I want to be found amongst them. Blessed. Next to Jesus and next to the Gospel that distinctly marks me as one of his and that dramatically points me in the right direction … toward home.

In the messy now. In the glorious then. And in every dot on the map in between.

In every place, the very blessed kingdom of God.

I’ll meet you on the road. As always…

Peace for the journey,

gathering information

I watched the faint blip of light hop through the night sky. It was barely noticeable set against the clear, brilliant backdrop of the crisp January evening. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have noticed it during my walk; ordinarily I’m not looking up.

But two nights ago, I did – look up. Some nights require it.

Accordingly, I took to my back-porch stoop and quieted my heart before God.

Look up, child.

After an agonizing couple of days of looking around, I was more than willing to look up.

It was then that I saw it – a dim light passing through the heavenlies. I spoke my heart out loud with a chuckle:

“Probably not a plane; probably just another drone gathering information on me.”

No sooner had the words left my mouth when God let a few of his own words leak into my heart:

“Me too, Elaine. I’m out here gathering information … on you.”

Tears began to flow, and I was deeply comforted by that singular thought.

God is gathering information on me; my God is an evening-gathering God.

I don’t know what it is about the darkening of night that seems to reveal more clearly the whispers of the Father. Perhaps the slowing down of a hard day’s laboring better hosts his inclinations. Our days are mostly cluttered, overstuffed with noise. But when the sun steps off the daily stage, the hours open up a bit more. And in that widening space, our souls begin to breathe … begin to look up and behold the heart of the Father.

Two thousand years ago, Jesus took an afternoon walk with two strangers. As the sun began its descent, the strangers made a simple invitation to Jesus:

“… they urged him strongly, ‘Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.’ So he went in to stay with them.” (Luke 24:29)

And in those evening hours, Jesus did something that Jesus does willingly for all those who urge him to stay – 

He revealed himself to them while breaking bread with them.

He wrapped up their hard day’s laboring with a soul-breathing, life-giving revelation of just how far he was willing to walk on behalf of kingdom expansion.

Jesus was willing to walk to their table. And two nights ago, he was willing to walk to my back-porch stoop and break bread with me as well.

What a moment of tender grace … to look up and then to look in and sense the assurance of my Father. The lights above me were no match for the Light within me. God was there, gathering information on me. Checking on me. Surveying my heart and allowing me to survey his.

It is the same for you.

Jesus sees you; he loves you; he’s with you. Even now, he’s gathering information on you.

Jesus wants to know how you’re doing. He has some tender moments of grace and time reserved just for you. This is your privilege as children of the one true God.

No other god sees you; no other god loves you. No other god is gathering information on you because no other god is real.

Only Jesus. Simply and profoundly, holy Jesus.

So tonight … look up, child.

Give your soul some room to breathe in these coming hours.

For it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.

Let us strongly urge the Christ to linger around our tables for a few moments longer.

Revelations await our hungering souls.

Revelation comes to lead us home.

Peace for the journey,

on the edge of something

It’s 4:00 AM; I can’t sleep. A strained shoulder and a pack of prednisone are to blame. I’ve started and finished a 350-page historical novel that’s been sitting bedside for weeks. I’ve read the book of James. I’ve prayed over my family. I’ve shed a few tears. And now, out of a restless need, I dare to open this blank page wanting to say something, but not completely sure I know what it is.

I’m on the edge of something.

There have been a lot of those edges lately, a lot of tossing and turning, reflecting and remembering, wondering and wishing my way through my nights.

I’m standing in between … teetering precariously on the edge of yesterday, just before the dawn breaks on today, and God pierces my edge with a truth I’m often prone to forget:

I still have a plan for your life, Elaine.

I am undone by the hushed voice that penetrates the darkness, so certain in my spirit that I have heard from his. This is the edge we share, God and me … a moment of teetering between things unseen and things perceived. And it is a very good place to stand, here in this hour …

On the edge of something, even if I cannot see it.

God and I have been on these edges before, all of my life in fact. He’s been with me from the beginning. And while I cannot remember a day when I was unaware of his presence, it wasn’t until I was in my mid-30s that I began to really open up my heart and my mind to understand the deeper things of God.

With two young toddlers in tow and a barely used high-school graduation Bible tucked under my arm, I dragged my soul to my first ever, in-depth Bible study in Little Washington, NC. It was Beth Moore’s To Live is Christ, a study on the witness and ministry of the Apostle Paul. Two weeks into the study, I remember lying on my bed in the parsonage on Respess St., Bible and study book wide-open, tears streaming down my face, with the most honest confession I could utter …

I am sorry, God. I have wasted so much time.

That was an edge for us, an exhilarating jump onto the next page of my life with Christ. Fifteen years later, I’ve yet to recover. I have loved standing next to Jesus on that edge of discovery. Every single minute we’ve shared on the pages of his Word has fed me, shaped me, and enlivened me for the road ahead.

Along the way I’ve been so privileged to share that road with countless others through my speaking, leading Bible studies and Sunday Schools, writing books, teaching Bible for four years in a 4th grade classroom, and shaping my own children with the truths I have learned.

It’s been my great joy, and it’s been for God’s good. I know that deep down. Truly.

But just now, right now, before the birds begin their morning chorus, I need to know that there is more. My body is weak and my mind is cluttered. I’m having trouble standing on this particular edge because I so long to see that which remains hidden. And that kind of blind faith sometimes feels just out of reach for me. The edge of something isn’t always as certain as I would like it to be.

How about you?

Where are you standing right now? What edge hosts your in-between? Has the new day brought with it a new hope, a fresh dispensation of daily grace and forward steps? Is your agenda filled with God’s? Has he made it clear to your heart what is dear to his? Is your edge a place of release or has it become, instead, a place of refuge? Is the uncertainty you have about tomorrow shattering your confidence therein?

If so, then might I lend you an old truth on a new day almost arrived?

God still has a plan for your life.

Despite the darkness. Despite what’s happened. Despite your flesh. God still thinks thoughts about you and would like nothing more than to stand on the edge with you as you prepare your heart for your next steps.

Fresh grace. Forward steps. The edge of something … more.

A very good place to stand here in this hour.

Welcome to today! 

As always, I pray for you God’s companioning peace for the journey,

the sermon that was never heard…

I had a dream last night. So strong in its witness, I needed to “get it down” on paper this morning. Perhaps in doing so, it will get down to a deeper place inside of me so that I might more fully live it outside of me.

The sermon that was never heard.

Allow me to explain. In May of 2016 my father was scheduled to preach at the Garner UMC. There was nothing particularly unusual about this event. Dad was often called upon to “fill the pulpit” on occasions when the pastor wasn’t available. As a professor of preaching at Asbury Seminary for over thirty years, and as a pastor of several congregations in the last fifty years, my dad has always been a natural choice for such occasions. His spiritual journey, as well as his giftedness in and eloquence for telling a story, have allowed him notable stages from which to deliver God’s message. But no stage was more glorious and important to my father than one holding a wooden pulpit overlooking an audience of Sunday morning seekers. Accordingly, dad rarely refused an opportunity to fill a pulpit.

I had planned to make the two hour trip to Garner to hear my father speak that Sunday. My mother texted me early in the morning to tell me not to come, that dad wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to preach. Later that day, when pressed for more details, dad revealed that he was having trouble reading his sermon notes, that his thoughts were jumbled up inside of him. And while he didn’t have any manifestations of a physical illness, he knew something was wrong. So did we. Thus began the unraveling of the diagnosable mystery known as a stroke.

For the last nineteen months, we’ve walked with dad through this period of redirection. The adjustments have been numerous. And while dad’s aphasia has altered his daily routine, it hasn’t changed his heart or his passion for telling the story. Certainly, the “stage” has changed; they’re smaller now, more intimate. His words are fewer and, sometimes, aren’t delivered as eloquently as he would like. But the warmth is there, the smile, the laughter, the love … always the love from dad. And through it all, we’re all learning to make peace with…

The sermon that was never heard.

The words that were never spoken that Sunday morning. The “text” that (some would say) would be my father’s final declaration from the pulpit. And this morning, after tossing and tumbling all night long, after mulling over what my father’s final benediction might have been from the pulpit that morning in Garner, I have decided that God is still writing that sermon. That after nineteen months of altered steps and interrupted dialogue, the sermon that was never heard is still preaching its witness.

And therein, folks, lives and breathes the greatest story ever told. When the curtains are drawn, the script is lost, when the words won’t come, and the audience has departed, what remains is the sacred echo – the deafening whispers of the sermon that was never heard.  

Like my father, perhaps even like you, I have a few more stories I’d like to share, a few more moments of dialogue I’d like to give to the world. But I am no longer convinced that these are the “sermons” that God will most thoroughly use to live and give his witness. What I am growing convinced of, however, is that…

Not every sermon needs a stage.

Not every manuscript needs eloquence.

Not every word needs to be spoken.

Instead, our “sermons” just need to be lived in the shadow of Almighty God. With warmth. With smiles. With laughter. With love … always the love.

If we can get to that place of settled peace, friends, then the sermon that was never heard surely will be boldly proclaimed with a depth and with a clarity that may not come otherwise. So…

Thank you, Daddy, for teaching me how to live with an unwritten, unspoken, and unfinished script.

And thank you, God, for making it count eternally. As always, 

Peace for the journey,

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