Elaine Olsen

Confessions of a Reluctant Juror {handling the truth}

Elaine — Tue, 21 May 2013 15:26:24 +0000

Truth exists. Truth isn’t relative. Sometimes, however, truth gets buried beneath the details—layer upon layer of story that muddy up the process of discovery. Why conceal it? To quote Jack Nicholson’s famous line from the movie A Few Good Men . . .

“You can’t handle the truth.”

The truth is, once the layers of a story begin to accumulate, once personal involvement becomes so thick and entangled in the details, and once a step or two is taken across the line that exists between honesty and deception, well, handling the truth means handling the history related to that truth. For some people, it’s impossible to go there, to live there . . . with truth.

Handling truth. Handling lies. This has been my portion over this past week, sorting out the intricate details of a civil case. With the invaluable aid of the other eleven jurors sitting next to me, we did our best to dig through the layers of one particular story. In doing so, we reached a conclusion based on the minimal amount of evidence presented to us.

Yesterday afternoon, we walked away from one another and back into our own lives—our personal stories that now include a chapter called Room 327. The truth? Well, I think some of it remains back in that courthouse, buried in the hearts of the plaintiff and defendant involved in the case. Between the two of them, truth exists. I’m fairly confident in my conclusion, though, that neither one of them willingly wants to handle it. The story is so deep and its layers so thick that truth no longer has a commanding voice in the matter, perhaps only a faint whisper every now and again.

Handling truth. Putting our hands on the Bible and promising to tell it, so help us God.

So . . .

Help us, God. Help me, God. To handle the truth. To reverently, passionately, confidently, and with full assurance hold truth. Speak truth. Mean what I say and say what I mean. Put my hand on the Bible and have it signify something . . . signify everything, knowing that as I live my life before men, I first and most importantly live my life before God.

God is Truth (see John 14:6). He knows truth. And when I have failed to get to the truth of the matter as it pertains to my own life and to the lives of others, God alone holds the key to perfect understanding. He has sorted out the details, sifted through the layers, and that which remains hidden to us (sometimes by us) has already been found by him. Truth cannot be concealed from God’s eyes; truth is revealed . . . always, ever-present and crystal clear. Sometimes, however, our vision is blurred by the fig leaves we use to hide our many sins, our shame, and the overwhelming pride that led us to believe we could live independently from truth.

To live truthfully, is to bow soul-naked before God. Those unwilling to do so are those who have no fear of God. Instead, they fear man, a tangible fear to be certain. But it’s not an eternal fear. If we could really take hold of the everlasting, take hold of the truth that what is happening down here on planet earth is but a dress rehearsal for what is to come for our eternal tomorrows, then we’d no longer have to place our hands on the Bible and swear our allegiances to truth. We’d just live truth. Our word would be our oath and our souls would breathe easier. Our crosses would be fewer and our burdens lightly carried.

Handling truth. How goes it in your own life? Where does your allegiance lie? Who do you fear most . . . man or God? When was the last time you bowed soul-naked before your Creator and allowed him to sort through the layers of your story to get to the truth? You may not be able to handle the truth, but God can. God does. God is. And with the help of his Holy Spirit, he will release you from the fig leaves that are preventing you from your freedom walk in this earth-garden.

I pray that kind of freedom for each one of you today. I’m praying it for myself, to live so honestly before God and before you that we don’t have to waste a moment in the courtroom of life to get to the truth.

The truth is . . . my soul has been profoundly affected by my experience this last week. My heart is open to all the ways that God may want to use it to teach me more about him, more about his people, and how better to live that more in this earth-garden until he calls me home to his heavenly one.

Soul naked before the Father. Even so I come, Lord Jesus. Teach me to handle your truth. As always, friends . . .

Peace for the journey,

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On the Backside of 180 {lessons from the lunchroom}

on burying the blue sweater . . .

Elaine — Mon, 06 May 2013 13:41:16 +0000

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” –Isaiah 43:18-19

It’s time to throw-away the blue sweater (modeled here by mini-me, a.k.a. Miss Amelia).

How do I know the time has come? I just know. Sometimes a heart just knows.

It might be obvious to you and others that I probably should have let this one go a long time ago, but it’s been my friend for over twenty years . . . a lot of memories and a lot of back story to this particular sweater. It’s tough letting go of a friend like this.

Perhaps you understand. Maybe you have such a friend—a “holding on to” that is holding on as well, tenaciously gripping your hand and heart and unwilling to release you on your way. Could it be that years of comfortableness (of living with the old and with what’s easy) have robbed you of something new, something better?

Maybe, like me, you’re blinded to your need. To others, your need is obvious; your sweater is old, torn and tattered by years of overuse but rather than releasing it to the junk pile, you’d rather squeeze a few more wears out of it. You won’t force the issue, because forcing the issue means facing it as well.

If this is you, might I offer you a checklist of sorts, a few diagnostic prods when assessing your need for a new sweater? And lest you think I’m solely talking about the clothing that hangs in your closet, let me assure you that, greater still, I’m talking about the clothing that hangs in your heart, your mind and soul as well.

How do you know when it is time to throw out a sweater?

When it has outlived its usefulness.
When it reveals more than it conceals.
When the color fades.
When it prevents space in the closet from being available for something new.
When it adds to your load rather than easing it.
When it no longer warms your frame.
And most importantly (at least for me in this season), it’s time to throw out a sweater when it becomes a stumbling block to others, especially to those who sit beneath my influence. If I can’t let go of an old sweater from time to time—if I cannot release that which is no longer beneficial to my well-being—then how can I expect them to release theirs? What is modeled is often what is lived. I must be willing to rid my closet of the non-essentials so that my children might experience the freedom of doing the same.

Indeed, sometimes a heart just knows when it’s time to let go. Today I bury this sweater. Tomorrow, possibly something greater. It’s all in keeping with God’s “new” for my life.

I challenge you to do the same. Take a look in your closet today; examine the frayed edges of your heart, soul, mind, and spirit. Do so with this checklist in mind. Maybe there’s a sweater or two that needs to join mine in burial. It’s not always easy saying good-bye to a well-loved, well-worn friend, but sometimes, it’s required if we want to make room for God’s new dispensation of grace.

May our Father grant you his discernment, his strength, and his peace in the “letting go.” I’ll meet you graveside, friends, and we will glory together in the release and in the freedom that is ours in Christ Jesus! As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

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On the Backside of 180 {lessons from the lunchroom}

Elaine — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 18:26:50 +0000

The sound of Nerf guns blare from the living room – background noise to accompany my thoughts this afternoon.

Make it stop! That’s what I’m thinking. Goodness, mercy me! How in the world have we survived this experiment, this year-long foray into the world of homeschooling? Month upon month, day-in-day-out of intentional bonding with my kids. Three days more and we’ll cross the finish line . . . and we still like one another, this lunchroom lady and her pupils. Some days it’s been too much; some days a good fit with family routine.

All days . . . yes, each one of them grounded and founded in prayer. It’s the only reasonable explanation for our being able to reach this milestone with any measure of grace and tangible accomplishment. Early on, God impressed into my spirit a daily requirement: Feed your soul, Elaine, before feeding others. And so I have. So we have. A collective, morning requirement.

We start the day with prayer, followed by individual Bible lessons. Jadon in the kitchen. Amelia in the living room. Me in the bedroom. Each one of us opening up the Word of the God and allowing him a moment or two or thirty at the lectern of our hearts. For my children, perhaps, it’s a practice that’s felt a bit perfunctory at times. I suppose the same could be said for me. But I know something they have yet to fully grasp: Faithful obligation yields a firm foundation. A daily dose of truth roots us deeper within the everlasting soil that is touched and tended by the loving Gardener of our souls. He is where we must start – each day, each thought, each hope – anchored within the eternal.

To God belongs the success. He’s been the key to our learning – a schooling that has far exceeded any information contained on the pages of textbooks. Yes, God has required more of us this year than what can be calculated and quantified by end-of-grade testing. He’s required heart growth, a garden of Spirit-led expansion that includes fruit like patience, kindness, gentleness, self-control, and a love without limits.

Oh the lessons we’ve learned! Some through tears. Some through wounding. Some through joy. Some through laughter. I imagine we’ll spend this next season discovering the fullness of what this means for us as a family. But today, as I stand on the backside of something I was sure I wouldn’t be able to accomplish of the front side of its unfolding, there is one thing I know for certain.

I’ve given my all for my students. I’ve not always given them my best, but I have willingly surrendered my heart to the process so that their hearts might grow in a right and good direction. In years to come, I don’t know how my kids will remember this time. If they take nothing else away from these last 180 days spent together, my hope is that they will remember our morning prayers and their daily digs into truth.

Faithful obligation yields a firm foundation. From here, God can grow a kingdom . . .

In Jadon. In Amelia. And in the one they call the “lunchroom lady.”

It’s been my joy and privilege to serve you, sweet ones.

Peace for your journeys of grace and beyond. I love being your mom.

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Running my race . . .

Elaine — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 13:21:03 +0000

Safe . . . protected under the shelter of God’s wings.

Those were the phrases that surfaced in my mind and the feelings that settled deeply within my soul when I awoke at my parents’ home yesterday morning – a Sabbath morning. Certainly the fact that I was with them and under their watchful care had something to do with the peace that I felt. Even more so, knowing that I was under God’s watchful care and firmly attached to his will and his strength, well this was a great grace for me—to know that I know that I know that all is well with my soul and that I could firmly and forcefully approach the day with certain confidence.

And so we went, Jesus and me together, sowing kingdom seed during the three morning services at Garner UMC. This is a big week for the folks in Garner. Their annual Relay for Life event will take place on Friday night at Lake Benson Park. The community will come out in force, none more so than the community that gathers each Sunday at Garner UMC. Their hearts are passionate about Relay, about this race for life. In a small way, my preaching was to be a rallying cry of sorts—a central meeting point for the saints to begin their intentional steps of pilgrimage toward Friday night’s festivities.

By the time the noon hour rolled around, I had a strong feeling that we had done what we came to do . . . God and me. His call to me to go and preach grace and my obedience therein—a corporate venture toward kingdom multiplication. A call not to solely reflect on my cancer survivorship but, more importantly, to address the issue of my soul survivorship. In doing so, in talking about what it means to survive this life with Jesus as my compass, everyone who made it out to Garner UMC yesterday morning was able to find their place and mark their paces in the survivor’s lap of the most important relay they will ever run—a relay for everlasting life with their everlasting King.

Safe . . . protected under the shelter of God’s wings. There we stood yesterday morning, linking arms for the kingdom cause, and I am undone with the memory of it all, unable to fully reflect in a few words what it meant to me. What it meant to my family—daughter, sons, husband, and father on the front pew, mother in the choir loft. What it meant to the congregants. I just know that it meant something special for all of us, and on this Monday morning, I am exceedingly grateful for yet another undeserved blessing from my Father’s heart and for the privilege of joining him on the front lines of grace.

I leave you with a few words my father wrote to me last evening; forgive me if they seem self-indulgent. Perhaps I’m not writing them for you. Perhaps more so, for my children and for their children for a season yet to come so that they, too, can hold this memory as part of their spiritual heritage and remember a day when Faith Elaine took to the pulpit and rallied the troops in the name of soul-survivorship and exclusively for the name and renown of Jesus Christ her Lord.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It isn’t very often that a preacher gets to sit at the feet of another preacher; especially when that preacher is your daughter. I sat on the front pew this morning—watching, listening, and feeling some very deep and heart-warming ‘moments’, as I heard Elaine preach. Tonight, to reflect or write on what I experienced would be fruitless—some things are too deep, too precious, and too sacred. Silence is often the best response to the ‘deepest of things’. One of these days I might be able to, but not tonight. So, let me offer a prayer instead—a prayer that I keep nearby and use it often. While the author is unknown, it comes out of the 17th Century, entitled, A Nun’s Prayer.

“Lord, thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing old and will someday be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all, but thou knowest Lord that I want a few friends at the end.

“Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others’ pains, but help me to endure them with patience.

“I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.

“Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a Saint—some of them are so hard to live with—but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people. And, give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so. Amen.”

Goodnight, Elaine, sleep well, and when the morning greets you with the rising sun, you will hear music, the kind of music we all heard this morning. Keep singing that Song!

Dad

Image credit: yanlev / 123RF Stock Photo

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Elaine — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 18:20:16 +0000

Messy and mad.

Life is. I am.

Messy life. Mad me. There’s no prettying up this one, not enough shine and polish to make it less obvious to others. Anyway, what’s the point of a cover-up other than to possibly fool someone into thinking I have it altogether?

I don’t. On my best days, I’m always one step away from behaving badly. My flesh doesn’t consistently keep pace with my faith. Today has been one of those days for me.

The messiness that surrounds me creates a terrible ache inside of me for calmer days, although at the moment I’m having a difficult time remembering what they look like, feel like . . . live like. Accordingly, a less than gracious display of emotion bursting forth onto the pavement in front of me and into the lives of those who sit most closely to my influence.

My influence. I type those two words with a penitent heart and with a few questions to the Father about why he has allowed me so much of it, especially on days of amplified tension. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Or so I think. But my supposition doesn’t change the facts.

Life is hard, messy too. And every now and then, living within these constraints gets the best of me. Perhaps you understand. Perhaps you know something about the “hard and messy” of life.

We don’t get too far in our walks of faith and not experience the push for transformation. God will bring our “hard and messy” to the surface so that we might accurately assess the condition of our hearts. His assessment is always clear; we, however, are sometimes a bit slower in recognizing the inward ticking of a sometimes veiled reality. And while I’m not a fan of painful disclosure, I am a fan of fleshing out the hidden contents of my heart in the safe and loving presence of Father God.

Honestly, I just wish we’d already taken care of this years ago.

Messy and mad.

Life is. I am.

Gracious and loving.

God is. God does.

And therein I find my compass.

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an opportune time . . .

Elaine — Thu, 11 Apr 2013 17:10:46 +0000

A couple of nights ago, I called my older boys and offered them this caution:

“Be on guard, sons. Apparently our family is now Satan’s new, favorite chew-toy.”

The next morning, my mother called with a similar warning:

“Elaine, I’ve been standing here in front of the mirror, curling my hair and thinking about all that’s been going on in our family over the past couple of weeks. We’re fighting something we cannot see, a battle of spiritual proportion.”

It seems as if my family is standing up against a formidable foe in this season, feeling the constraints of our faith in overload. Accordingly, I go to God’s Word this morning and allow it to speak truth to my soul. In thinking about Christ’s struggle against the enemy, I am strengthened in my own efforts at resistance.

“When the devil had finished all this tempting, he left him until an opportune time.” –Luke 4:15

Two things strike me about this verse:

An opportune time known as desert testing.
An opportune time yet to come.

There’s a plurality to the devil’s scheming. Funny how often we’re surprised by this reality. It’s not as if one opportune time is more difficult than the other. Opportune times are straining times, all of them stretching the comfortable boundaries of faith and requiring a step beyond what feels reasonable. I don’t imagine many of us go looking for opportune times (especially ones involving a forty day fast in the desert or a gut-wrenching surrender to nails and a hammer); instead, they seem to find us, pulling us in without notice. Almost accidentally.

Almost.

Opportune times. The Greek word kairos, meaning “season, opportune time. It is not merely as a succession of moments, which is “chronos,” but a period of opportunity (though not necessity). It is a critical or decisive point in time; a moment of great importance and significance; a point when something is ready or favorable, a propitious moment.” (NIV Key Word Study Bible, 1635-1636).

Read that again slowly and consider Christ’s conflict; consider your own. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Opportune times are not accidental occasions. Instead, they are orchestrated, carefully selected, and purposely planned. Whether schemed by the devil for our destruction or willingly allowed by God for our perfection, opportune times are those hinge moments in our life’s history that swing faith in one of two directions: a right one or a wrong one. Really, there’s no middle ground in opportune seasons. Either we live them right—live them forward and in faith—or we live the lesser road. A road of regression, wrongful conclusions, and regrettable distrust.

I don’t want to live on the side of distrust. I want to live rightly on the side of faith, fully believing that no weapon forged against me will prevail. That, in fact, victory is my heritage as a servant of the Lord (see Isaiah 45:17). Accordingly, I must pick up the sword of the Spirit and strap on my spiritual armor, because the opportunistic arrows of the enemy will not be quenched by feeble, weak-minded, and weak-willed faith. No, to stop his forward progression, I must stand in the strength of who I am in Jesus Christ.

I am God’s child. I am his chosen bride. I am the apple of his eye.

So are you.

Be on guard, friends. If you’re not in the middle of an opportune season right now, I imagine one is waiting for you down the road. Don’t fear its advent; rather, recognize it as it arrives and for what it has the potential to be—a hinge moment in your faith’s history that will strengthen your understanding of God and will catapult your witness forward for the exponential increase of the kingdom.

Satan may have come to me and my family in what he thought to be his opportune time. However, he seems to have momentarily ignored that my times (opportune and otherwise) are in God’s hands. They all belong to him, and his purposes for my life override any schemes to the contrary. God holds the chain to the short leash attached around Satan’s roaming, and today my Father has willingly and forcefully yanked it a few times so that the devil remembers who’s in charge.

I am grateful for God’s strength in this season and for your prayers that have, undoubtedly, tightened the noose around the devil’s neck. What privilege there is in standing alongside you, my mighty warrior friends! As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

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hearts on pilgrimage . . .

Elaine — Sun, 07 Apr 2013 20:01:54 +0000

“Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.” –Psalm 84:5

Her heart spilled over into mine as I read the struggle in her words. Another pastor’s wife, just like me, living the itinerant lifestyle—a nomadic calling of sorts, requiring that the tent pegs remain pliable and the baggage minimal. She asked me if I ever felt “stretched and thinned” by it all, ever really felt settled in my spirit about the ministry road and my calling to stand jointly alongside my husband as a harbinger of the kingdom of God.

Stretched and thinned. An apt description for those (not just pastors and their families) who pick up the Gospel torch and who covenant with the Creator to carry it forward. Stretching and thinning is part of our trajectory of faith. From “strength to strength” with the line in between tethered to tomorrow’s promise while being restrained by yesterday’s productivity. A sacred tension between our future and our history and, if not carefully protected by perspective, a rip or two in the fabric of our souls.

Yes . . . stretched and thinned, even unsettled at times. This is where I’ve been in recent days, standing next to the man I love with one hand clasped around his and the other hand loosening the tent pegs at my feet. The last time I felt this kind of pull was three years ago when we moved to our present location. The road to arrive here was a bumpy one, and my heart was torn in two at the thought of having to start all over again.

Today, my heart feels the same, a difficult tug between all that’s been and all that will be. Stretching and thinning, desperately trying to keep in step with the Spirit and with the preacher-man whom the Father has so generously given to me for this life. Together, we’ve set our hearts on pilgrimage, knowing that the time has come for us to move forward in faith. In June, we’ll make our trek southward to a small community just north of the South Carolina state line.

I don’t imagine it will come as easily as I would like for it to, and I’ve long since given up trying to forecast the future. I can only live the stretching and thinning of this day and commit my forward movement to God’s forwarding grace. He will see to my next steps, and he’s too thorough with my sanctification to leave one stone unturned or untouched by his refining love.

Oh friends, would you pray for us, all six of us? We’re all being stretched and thinned by God’s good pleasure and because of his strong desire to move us further along in our perfection. But along the way and as we go, it’s good to know that we have friends who partner with us in the advancing of God’s kingdom through prayer. If you’re so inclined, we covet your prayers for:

a collective faith unafraid to move forward;
a resolute-passionate spirit to get the job done;
an unbridled, heavenly joy to keep us company as we walk it out.

If I’m going to be stretched and thinned let it be so for the glory and renown of my faithful God who has yet to waste a single, surrendered moment of my life. He’ll work with what he gets, and today I’m putting my all back into his hands.

Peace for the journey, ye pilgrims of grace. I’m so blessed to have you partner alongside my heart as we all move onward and upward to take hold of all of that for which Christ Jesus has taken hold of us. I love you dearly.

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Easter tears . . .

Elaine — Mon, 01 Apr 2013 19:18:46 +0000

“As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, ‘If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes. The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you and hem you in on every side. They will dash you to the ground, you and the children within your walls. They will not leave one stone on another, because you did not recognize the time of the God’s coming to you.’” –Luke 19:41-44

Easter tears. I cried a few yesterday, somewhat like the ones Jesus must have cried over his people on his approach to Jerusalem.

There are still so many who’ve yet to recognize the time of God’s coming to them. It seems to me that the time is now. There’s no time like the present time to take hold of truth and the Truth-Giver. Or so it seems.

Maybe it’s my heart that is clouded by too much expectation—my great desire for friends, family members, and strangers alike to finally wake up to the realities of Jesus and to get down to the business of their salvation. What could be keeping them from making this life-altering decision? What possible rationalization could be offered that would make their delay a reasonable choice?

I don’t see it. I don’t get it. Apparently they don’t as well.

A frustrating wait. A grief painfully carried. Thus, my Easter tears.

If only they knew what would bring them peace.

They may not know, not yet. But I know. The answer to my Easter tears is my Easter Jesus. He is the Peace-Bringer – the Sword who slices through joint and marrow and pierces the soul with undeniable strength and clarified precision. Only Jesus is able to cut through the veil that shrouds the ignorant heart, exposing rotten flesh and offering his fresh grace in exchange.

Only Jesus. He is what they (the lost) need to know.

What about me? What about you? What do we need to know moving forward? What will bring us peace while we linger with our Easter tears?

Only Jesus. He, too, is what we need to know. Every day. Intentional investments in the curriculum named Jesus. Allowing the Teacher to pour into our souls so that we might, in turn, pour out to others.

To walk where he walks. To weep as he weeps. To pray as he prays. To speak as he speaks.

Only Jesus. This is our responsibility. It doesn’t get more responsible than this, friends. When we take on the mantle of Christianity—when we dare to call ourselves by Christ’s name—then we become responsible for something far greater than ourselves. We become care-takers of the kingdom, extraordinary shareholders of a lavish grace. A people who willingly release Easter tears for those who’ve yet to realize what would bring them peace.

When we no longer weep for the lost, then perhaps our souls need a divine sword-piercing as well. It’s not about us, Christians. We know the way home. It’s about them—those who wander aimlessly without a divine compass and who foolishly reason their navigational skills as adequate.

If only they knew what would bring them peace.

If only.

May God quicken our hearts with a response and moisten our eyes with heaven’s fuel to get the job done.

Peace for the journey,

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Elaine — Sun, 24 Mar 2013 01:35:03 +0000

“It’s the people . . . all about the people for me. They are where I find God.”

So I told my new friend from the 7th year, both of us participants in Alicia Chole’s Leadership Investment Intensive. Half-way between her house and mine rests Bellamy Manor and Gardens – a home with a 140 year history, beautifully restored and generously shared with patrons desiring a peaceful getaway. We were two of them, my friend and me. I can’t take credit for the idea; I can only take credit for taking her up on the idea. I’m so glad I did. In doing so, I didn’t just find another friend, I found Jesus . . . in her. A little peace for my journey.

Funny thing, this amazing grace. It stretches some 2000 years down through the landscape of history to unite the lives of those whose hearts are set on holy pilgrimage. My friend and I were strangers to one another prior to 2013, living differently and apart; yet because of that one single moment on a hillside named Calvary, we now live similarly and together, united under the single banner of grace. It doesn’t get more amazing than this.

Certainly, some people find God in the world around them. In a garden or on a seashore. In the mountains and in spring bloom. In the bumping of clouds up above and in the shafts of sunlight that intermittently break through. At a riverbank. In a field of red poppies. A soaring eagle overhead. A fragile chrysalis delicately dangling on tree limb.

A crackling fire.

An afternoon tea.

A room with a view.

All of these, noteworthy nods from God. But for me, these are not where I find him most available, most readily seen. For me, God is found in his people—the walking, living, breathing door-keepers of the kingdom. Those who make gracious entryways for others to step over the threshold from flesh to faith, from mystery to revelation. Those torchbearers who hold God’s light in their eyes and who cast the long shadow of grace onto all who risk standing in mercy’s pathway. They are the eternal pulse of Father God, and in their presence I am reminded that I am not alone. That I am not forgotten. That I am but one amidst a great cloud of witnesses whose knees bow only to the King and whose eyes are fixed on the unseen, counted, and generously collected treasures of the kingdom.

Sister pilgrims. Easter pilgrims. This is what we are. This is who we must be. This is how we should live. In doing so, the collective grace of Calvary continues to stretch outward and carries on the amazing work of the cross.

I’m so honored to have stood in my new friend’s shadow in recent days. She’s a beautiful release of God’s love in this world. I’m so honored to stand in yours as well, friends. You cast the long shadow of grace over my heart; you are where I find God.

Blessed walk to the cross and beyond this week. I’ll meet you on the road, just clear of the tomb. We are not a people without hope. Let us march on accordingly. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

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Lying Down . . .

Elaine — Thu, 28 Feb 2013 20:33:29 +0000

I’m not a huge fan of the Academy Awards, not because I have anything against honoring quality art via the silver screen but mostly because of the seemingly endless parade of the self-impressed. Couple this with the fact that I haven’t seen ninety-nine percent of the movies up for awards, and well, let’s just say my interest peeks with the red carpet and its dazzling display of gowns.

I am, however, a fan of good words spoken at the right time. Certainly, movies are filled with many such moments, but when those moments happen off stage (when the actor removes the mask and throws the script to the sidelines in favor of real-life drama), I’m duly impressed by the dialogue. Such was the case with Daniel Day-Lewis following his 3rd Oscar win for his portrayal of Abraham Lincoln. Backstage after his win, Daniel was asked regarding his plans for the future, about what character he might like to play next. His response immediately gripped my heart:

“I need to lie down for a couple of years. It’s really hard to imagine doing anything after this.” (see source)

He’s going to lie down. Take a lengthy sabbatical with his family on his fifty acre farm south of Dublin, Ireland. Work on other things, like perfecting his cobbling (shoe-making) abilities or learning the rural skill of stonemasonry. Just “happily working away at other things.” (see source) Daniel Day-Lewis is going to lie down for a season, away from the stage and the bright lights of the big city.

What a wise choice.

I am challenged to follow his lead. Bright lights and big stages serve their purposes, but once the curtain goes down and the camera crew heads home, it’s time for a breather. Time to fuel up, rest up alongside the still waters where the only stage beneath my feet is carpeted with green pastures and the only light framing my steps radiates from the candle of the Shepherd.

My lengthy sabbatical with God to happily work away at other things.

Those things? Well, I don’t imagine it’s important to discuss them here. What is important is knowing that those things exist and that only by my lying down for a season will I be able to most happily, most agreeably engage with them. The good that grows in the pasture is not easily grown on the stage. Bright lights and big audiences—too much shine and too much recognition—dim the eyes and dull the senses, kind of like a blundering sheep in need of a wise Shepherd.

Life is changing for me . . . again. I must travel with the shifting wind, not against it. To fight my lying down is to relinquish the merry pleasures of rest. To linger on the stage after the curtain is drawn and the audience has departed is to stand alone and to feel lonely. But to leave with them? To trade in the stage for God’s greener pastures where dialogue is limited to just the Shepherd and me? Well I don’t suppose I’ve ever felt more enveloped in the fellowship of the Beloved.

I need to lie down for a while, friends. This doesn’t mean I won’t be here from time to time. Every sheep needs a flock, and you are mine. I simply need to give myself permission to happily work away at other things.

Soul things. Intimate things. God things.

Lying beside the still waters and on a blanket of green.

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

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