peace for the journey

safely through till morning

2012-01-30T12:37:00.000-05:00

“Because the LORD kept vigil that night… ” (Exodus 12:42)

A few weeks ago, our elderly neighbor, Mr. Jim, called us in the middle of the night. We’d instructed him to do so should a need arise. It did. His bride of sixty years plus had fallen in the bathroom, and he couldn’t get her back on her feet. Billy was able to help out and to save our neighbors another 911 call.

Since that time, I check on them every morning. Not with a phone call or a visit but, instead, with a single glance out my window. I look for the familiar lamplight in their den. If it’s glowing, I breathe a sigh of relief. The lustrous warmth from behind their window pane tells me one thing.

They made it safely through the night till morning.

In many ways their certainty serves as mine. I, too, made it safely through the night till morning. Seeing their light reflects back on that fact that my lamplight is also burning… lit and fueled by a night’s worth of resting. I cannot see it as it’s happening—this collection of rest that gathers in the folds of my flesh as I slumber in the dark. But each new morning, I’m reminded that what I cannot see happening in the dark—cannot manage nor manipulate while in an altered state of consciousness—is often the strength that carries me through the daylight hours.

God is the Keeper of that darkness. God superintends the gathering and collection of strength as I rest. I’m not always comfortable with the conditions of that rest. Many have been the nights when I’ve fought the constraints of my darkness, wrestled with the unknown realities of nighttime, only to arrive depleted by dawn’s arrival. Rather than giving in to a normal, nocturnal cycle, I rally against it. I burn a candle in defiance, refusing to let the night do its work in me. Those are times of lesser faith… lesser trust in the God who keeps vigil for me.

Oh to be a woman of faith who doesn’t run from the darkness but, instead, who believes God to see her safely through till morning. A “kept” woman—kept safe, kept warm, kept closely, kept wholly by the Father who draws his children closely to his heart and who uses their darkness as the growing field of a tremendous, unshakeable trust.

I’ve been through a dark night, friends. A long, drawn-out season of nocturnal growth. As the dawn approaches, I don’t feel as rested as I’d like. Some night seasons require more than others. But of one thing I am certain…

I am stronger for the night I have known, because God has kept vigil for me.

A dark night with a vigilant God grows a stronger spirit. God is the candle that stands in the shadows of our sleep and that keeps our hearts fueled for the arrival of dawn. A new day, a new season to live as a certain witness to the night’s growth that has preceded it.

Today, I’m a witness. You are as well. We’ve made it through another night, and our candles are still burning. You may not be aware of it, but you have a few neighbors—a friend, a family member, a co-worker, a stranger—who are looking through their windows into yours this morning to make sure that your lamplight is on. Your light is important to them. It shines as a testimony to a night’s rest, a night’s trust, a night’s growth, a night’s vigilance by a loving God. He kept you then; he keeps you still.

Thanks be to God for the keeping, reaching hold of grace! God is growing his kingdom in you and through you… even in the darkness. The light from your window strengthens me. Thank you for allowing me a look inward from time to time. As always…

Peace for the journey,

On Nagging God...

2012-01-26T12:27:00.002-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

Nagging notions + wasteful spending = selfish, temporary pleasure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blessed, sweet peace for the journey.

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

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

2012-01-23T00:00:00.004-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace for the journey,

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

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

moving past the unknown..

2012-01-19T12:15:00.000-05:00

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

The unknown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace for the journey,

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

Jesus, her, and me...

2012-01-15T19:21:00.000-05:00

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

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

having Sunday School on the second floor of our church.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He must become more; I must become less.

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

Especially then.

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

Especially then.

Even so, keep to it. As always…

Peace for the journey,

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

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

2012-01-09T11:43:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace for the journey,

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

winter comes...

2012-01-05T22:12:00.003-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Movement wins.

And I keep moving, even on a winter day.

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

Anchor Verse for 2012

2012-01-02T11:49:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace for the journey,

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

the quiet pause of Christmas...

2011-12-26T15:52:00.000-05:00

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

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

And I’m thinking…

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

And I’m thinking…

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

And I’m thinking…

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

And I’m thinking…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace for the journey,

walking to Bethlehem with Jesus...

2011-12-19T10:11:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emmanuel … God with us.

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

Peace for the journey,

living with a 92%...

2011-12-15T10:13:00.001-05:00

My son came home sobbing yesterday.

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

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

“One problem… one stupid problem.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace for the journey,

Prepare the Way of the Lord...

2011-12-12T12:35:00.000-05:00

“A voice of one calling:

‘In the desert prepare the way for the LORD;

Make straight in the wilderness a highway for our God.

Every valley shall be raised up,

Every mountain and hill made low;

The rough ground shall become level,

The rugged places a plain.

And…

The glory of the of the LORD will be revealed,

And…

All mankind together will see it.’

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

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

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

And here’s my thought…

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

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

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

all were made level to make entrance for the King.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace for the journey,

coming home to daddy's arms...

2011-12-06T17:22:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Lansey

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

2011-11-28T18:12:00.002-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace for the journey,

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

being near to God...

2011-11-22T09:37:00.001-05:00

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

It is good for me to be near God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

None.

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

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

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

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

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

Peace for the journey,

And the winners are...

2011-11-20T16:24:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

2011-11-14T00:00:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

Kindle

Nook
Sony

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

Winepress
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Lifeway
CBD

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

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

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

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

Blessings,

a trunk full of love...

2011-11-08T16:11:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

Until that day.

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

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

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

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

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

It was enough to move me, friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

when the words don't come...

2011-11-03T20:29:00.002-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a soul-shift

2011-11-01T10:37:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

Have you had one lately?

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

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

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

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

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

I get to love others. So do you.

So… do you? Love others? All others?

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

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

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

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

Peace for the journey,

love stretches the soul...

2011-10-25T13:52:00.000-04:00

Love stretches the soul.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace for the journey,

trash day...

2011-10-18T09:08:00.000-04:00

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

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

Let me explain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the truth about God...

2011-10-13T12:24:00.002-04:00

{"... longing fulfilled is a tree of life."}

First things first. I wish I could gift each one of you a copy of Lisa Whittle’s new book, {w}hole. It’s just that good. That being said, the family budget only allows for two winners this go around, and those who’ve been chosen through random.org are Tiffany @ Tea with Tiffany and Terri Tiffany. Weird that they both have Tiffany as a name. Congratulations girls. Please e-mail me your snail mail, and I’ll get these to you in swift order.

Now, on to a thought for the day. A question really. One that’s been simmering close to my heart these past couple of days, because my heart has been tenderly bruised by the painful realities that sometime accompany a heart’s vulnerability—a heart’s willingness to lay open for exposure without placing any conditions on how it may or may not be received. Problem is (whether we realize it or not), we almost always place conditions on such vulnerabilities. We long for certain outcomes, and when the outcomes don’t meet up with our initial expectations, we’re sometimes left with a deficit of hope.

"Hope deferred does, indeed, make the heart sick; but longing fulfilled is a tree of life." (Proverbs 13:12).

Deferred hope. Who of us hasn’t experienced this kind of heartache at least once, twice, or fifty times in our lifetimes? When this happens, even as it has happened for me this week, we must practice our faith despite worldly contradictions. We must speak it, rehearse it, pray it, and read it until we finally, again, rise to believe it. If we are to recover from the searing pain of hopelessness, then we must hit our knees to the floor and reach out for truth. God’s truth. Not truth as the world gives, but the truth that truly is and that lives in the heart and witness of Jesus Christ.

So, here is my question for you. A fill-in-the-blank sort of pondering. What answers would you provide to the following statement?:

I know that God is ________________________, because ________________________ .

What one (realizing that there are many) characteristic of God is most relevant, most needful, most apparent to you today—one thing that you “know that you know that you know” about our God? And secondly, you know this to be true because… (try to be specific here using a particular example of when this particular characteristic of God was made evident in your life).

Why the exercise?

Because sometimes we need the benefit, the courage, the strength, and the testimony of other believers to buoy us along on our road toward deeper faith. I certainly could use your witness today. If you’re so inclined and have the time, I’d love to hear some truth about our God. As always…

Peace for the journey

A Choice for Wholeness--a review of "{w}hole" by Lisa Whittle

2011-10-09T00:00:00.008-04:00

I read a book this weekend. I don’t usually do that … read a book in that short amount of time. It usually takes me much longer. I have focusing issues when it comes to reading. Tremendous ones. Rarely do I read fiction, and as it pertains to non-fiction, I really, really have to want to read a book before I make an investment of my time. In addition, I prefer to read material from authors I’ve grown to trust over the years—authors who can write, but even more so, authors who are authentic in their love for Jesus and for me. Most of the authors I read aren’t aware of my existence. So, how do I know they love me? Care about me? Want the best for me?

Sometimes I just know. Their care and concern for my heart as a reader is evidenced by the strength of their words… their story. And while I came kicking and screaming to this particular one—her story—I came knowing that her heart and her pen were worthy of my trust. Accordingly, I quickly dug into her words, and they have quickly taken hold of my heart. So much so, that a second read is a must. I fear I’ve missed some vital information the first go-around, but as first go-arounds go, this was a good ride. A hard ride. A necessary, painful ride, but a ride that will push me further along my road of healing.

Enter Lisa Whittle and {w}hole: an honest look at the holes in your life—and how to let God fill them.

I saw Lisa back in July at the She Speaks conference. In fact, as I was laboring to haul all my baggage indoors, she met me at the elevator and offered to help me to my room. I was grateful for her help, even more so for the gift of friendship extended to me. I don’t think she had a clue as to how vulnerable I was feeling that day. I was a sweaty, hurting mess just trying to find my place within that arena of 600 women—a place where I sometimes think I no longer belong. I don’t suppose I’ve ever felt so “under the radar” as I did that weekend. There’s just something about a gathering of Christian women that now triggers insecurity for me. It hasn’t always been this way, but life changed for me in August 2010—moved in and rattled me, shook me, challenged me, and frightened me. And while on any given day many people only see my confidence… maybe even prefer to see my confidence, few of them ever take the time to look deeper, ask deeper, live with the deeper shadows of the woman I now am. A woman just trying to leave her mark on this world, yet a woman who sometimes feels inadequate to do so.

Lisa Whittle is a woman who is brave enough to go deeper with me. I imagine she’s that way with most of the people she meets. She’s worked hard to get there. Authenticity doesn’t come naturally for most people. It takes years of shaping beneath the kindness, mercy, and certain prompting of the Holy Spirit to arrive at a place of genuineness, a place of wholeness. And while Lisa would probably be the first to admit she’s still on the journey toward wholeness, her witness speaks clearly to the transformational work of the cross that has come to her because of her willingness to bring her “holes” into the light of God’s love. You can’t miss it in her—wholeness. It’s just that obvious.

I love Lisa’s book for so many reasons, but none more so than for the hope that it has brought to my heart. A hope for wholeness of my own. A wholeness not based on experience, but a wholeness based on Jesus Christ. In one of the many particularly moving moments from {w}hole, Lisa writes…

“There’s something that happens to you when you wake up from a difficult experience and realize you are still breathing. Just as a colorful bud on a flower defies the weight of the heavy mound of snow it’s buried under to show signs of spring, so does the breakthrough of a new day prove its viability despite life’s deep complications. The decision, then, is whether or not to welcome it… .” (pg. 142)

Waking up. Still breathing. Not quite sure of my readiness to welcome it. Does it get any rawer, more real, and more authentic than this, Christians? How many of us are waking up to our lives, realizing that we’ve survived great horrors, only to find ourselves unable to move forward to wholeness? What holes in our skin serve as gaping wounds to our soul’s discontent? What salve are we slapping on them in hopes of suppressing the pain for another day? Wouldn’t it be better to really examine them? Bring them into the light of God’s love, even as Lisa has, and allow God to heal them with the truth of himself?

I don’t suppose I’m the only one with some wounds. We are a holy lot, and where there is holiness, there is sure to be wounding. Wholeness doesn’t arrive without scarring. To be whole means that we have, at one time (maybe even this time) been less. Tonight I feel the profundity of it all—the cavernous holes that I carry with me—and the hope and wholeness that is offered to me through Jesus Christ, despite their severity. I don’t know how long it will take me to reach a place of wholeness. I don’t imagine there’s a usual, typical benchmark to gauge my progress. But as I close the pages of Lisa’s book, I believe I’ve taken a step or two in the right and very good direction.

Lisa wants God’s best for me. I just know it. She wants God’s best for you as well. God’s best? {W}holeness, Jesus-style. If you are willing to bring your holes, your heart, and your humility to Jesus, then I believe that he will bring his authentic, grace-filled restoration to your life. I’m believing God for the same. And while I’m honest enough to admit that I’m not sure how to get there, I’m more than ready and willing enough to try.

Thank you, Lisa, for giving us your story—your holes and your experiences. You’ve lit a spark of hope in my heart this weekend.

Peace for the journey,

PS: I'm giving away two copies of Lisa's book. Leave a comment, and I'll draw a winner with my next post. To see the book trailer to {w}hole, click on the screen below. Shalom.

Whole trailer, by Lisa Whittle from Tyndale House Publishers on Vimeo.

movement wins...

2011-10-05T15:25:00.000-04:00

Movement wins.

So whispered the Holy Spirit to my heart while I was out walking a couple of days ago. His strong encouragement came to me as I struggled to complete my customary three miles of moderate walking. In the last nine months, I suppose I’ve logged in nearly 700 miles. For the record, I’ve felt every one of them. There’s been some damage to my nerve endings as a result of the chemotherapy. In addition, my current medication, Arimidex, brings with it the side effect of joint pain … especially in the legs.

And so, there is this great contradiction that exists within my flesh—an inconsistency between what is reasonable and what is risky. Reasonable because, with a choice to forego exercise, I have a better chance of keeping personal pain at a minimum. Risky because, with a choice to work through the pain, it’s likely that I’ll “pay for it” the rest of the night—Epsom salts, hot baths, muscle cramps, and pain meds serving to salve my achiness. Thus, this discrepancy between reasonable and risky. Thus, two words from the Father in the midst of my deliberations.

Movement wins. Despite the pain involved, movement wins.

Movement moves me forward from where I was previously. Movement represents progression. Movement advances me beyond current stagnation and launches me down the path of heart-health. I know this to be true as I’ve witnessed my physical strengthening over these past months. Still and yet, what is true isn’t always an easy decision, especially when the decision is a guaranteed choice for additional pain. One really has to want to stay healthy when choosing risky over reasonable. Choosing the risky route can be a costly decision, but in the end, movement wins. So says God.

Could it be the same for our spiritual condition even as it is for our physical one? Is movement the key to securing the kingdom? Is risky over reasonable the only reasonable choice for our Jesus-hearts? Is a choice for more pain, more struggle, and more contradiction the way through to a break-through? To freedom?

Perhaps.

From the very beginning, we’ve been a people of movement. First from God’s Garden. Every step since those initial ones, mostly ones taken in anticipation of finding our way back there. Without our forward progression, we stay put … stay anchored to known realities, unwilling to venture beyond safe borders, fixed parameters, and reasonable guidelines. Those who choose to linger there are often those who get left behind, remaining as is. Unchanged. Unmoved. Underdone according to God’s plan for victory. Instead of allowing their struggles to refine them—shape them and move them—they allow their stagnation to define them—keep them and limit them. When that happens, their hearts aren’t winning. Their hearts are subsisting.

I suppose it’s a good enough existence to live with … die with … move on home to Jesus with, but these days I’m not much concerned about good enough. Subsistence living has lost its flavor. I want to give my heart a good work-out, to push it to beyond its current limits, even though there is certain pain attached to those limitations. I want to walk another 700 miles with my heart exposed to the outdoor elements so that it can be moved and manipulated, stretched and strengthened by Jesus for his kingdom purposes.

Is this a reasonable choice? Not really. When has God ever placed reasonable demands at the feet of his children? Moving ahead with Jesus will be, perhaps, the most unreasonable movement of our lives.

Is it a risky choice? Most definitely. Not because God is not definite, but rather because the world says he is definitely not. And who of us isn’t easily shaped by the world? When we allow the world to dictate our choices, we forfeit movement. We risk stagnation. We live as lesser people.

Movement wins, friends. One step from where you are today—whether one inch outside of the box of your security or one foot beyond the perimeter of the garden you’re so carefully guarding—any small step of faith will be enough to move you forward. Reasonable? No. Risky? Yes. Painful? Probably. But in the end, a guaranteed win with the Father.

I need to move today. Maybe you do as well. Something tells me that the risk will be worth the reward. Someone reminds me as well.

Movement wins.

May God grant you and sustain you with his Peace for the journey as you move forward in his direction.

Tuesday Take-Away on Friday {1 Chronicles 28:20-21}

2011-09-30T12:25:00.002-04:00

Scripture reading is a fantastic discipline for the Christian, a privilege as well. As I open up God’s Word and crinkle the pages beneath my fingertips, I almost always hear the heartbeat of God ringing in my ears. I didn’t always hear it. In my younger seasons, I didn’t know to listen for it. With years of practice and personal need as my compass, I now view the Word of God as a necessity rather than as a reference guide. Certainly, it is a reference guide, but as reference guides go, they stack alongside other referencing material and can easily be covered up by the latest, greatest “must-have” being touted on the Christian market.

Nothing can replace God’s Word. It isn’t just seasonal, topical, historical, and practical. It’s so much more, so much so that on any given day and with any given scripture, God’s Word is applicable … right where we are. Certainly, a verse taken out of context may yield very little application to our current life circumstances. However, by digging a little deeper into God's truth, thinking a little longer about it, and applying it a little wider, we harness the power behind that particular scripture to do a transforming work in our hearts.

Along those lines, I came across these two verses in my quiet time this morning. Really, they came across me, but I won’t quibble about their arrival. I’m just blessed to call them mine.

“David also said to Solomon his son, ‘Be strong and courageous, and do the work. Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the LORD God, my God, is with you. He will not fail you or forsake you until all the work for the service of the temple of the LORD is finished. The divisions of the priests and Levites are ready for all the work on the temple of God, and every willing man skilled in any craft will help you in all the work. The officials and all the people will obey your every command.’” (1 Chronicles 28:20-21).

What’s my take-away? How can this be applied to my heart in my today when it’s obvious that these verses were meant for those who would build the temple of the Lord nearly 3000 years ago? Here are a few thoughts I’m thinking:

God is still building his temple, and he’s using my life, alongside the lives of other believers, as his building blocks.
There is work to be done. I have been assigned as a co-laborer in that work.
The work will require my strength, my courage, and my faith in the face of fear.
God is with me in my work. He will not fail me nor forsake me.
The work will be completed.
There are others who are ready to help me in my work—others with the necessary tools, craftsmanship, and commissioning from God to bring about a completed work through me… in me.

As I linger over these thoughts, I realize that every one of them is important to my heart and my thinking if I am to move forward in this season. Every one of them must be believed, must be applied, and must be harnessed as truth if, in fact, God’s work is going to be most fully accomplished in my life. A breakdown at any point in this trajectory of understanding will, more than likely, leave my assigned work as is—undone and unfinished. And while God can use even that—my incompleteness—I’m thinking it would be far better to finish this race in tandem with his desires. I want nothing more than for God to finish in me that which he began in me on a hillside 2000 years ago. I want to go home to him as a completed work of grace.

How about you? As you look over and consider these thoughts, where does the breakdown happen for you? I challenge you to open up these verses in your own Bible, open up your heart as well, and linger with God in your deliberations. These two verses just may be the encouraging word you need to move you a step further down the path of your completion.

Be blessed in Jesus this weekend. As always…

Peace for the journey,

When Cancer Comes Calling...

2011-09-26T21:38:00.000-04:00

She called me to tell me that her cancer had returned. Truthfully, neither one of us thought it had gone anywhere, but we didn’t mention it. Instead, we just held the moment together. Paused long enough to breathe in and out a time or two and then continued in our conversation. Inwardly, I was gasping for air … careful not to fill the moment with my fret. It wouldn’t have been fair to her, to her news, her disappointment, the painful reality that was about to unfold for her … again.

More chemo. More testing. More spreading of the disease she’s fought against so valiantly in the eight months I’ve known her. I don’t really have the words to give to her. She doesn’t need empty promises or half-truths based on sentimental notions. She certainly doesn’t need false hope or a casual toss of faith-speak in her direction. No, she needs more. Something solid, real, tender, and truthful. A safe place to place her trust. A refuge in which to plant her seeds of pain. A retreat from the cruelty of blood draws, intravenous drips, and the stale taste of poison in her mouth.

She needs a friend, and she chose me. Silently, I struggle for the right words, questioning my qualifications. How can I mend this one, love this one, help this one through the struggle this go around? There are so many of us, Lord. So many cancer friends.

One who’s just finished her chemo.
Another one just getting started.
A mentor beautifully gracing the stage of her Stage IV.
Another fourth grade mom swollen with lymphedema.
A farmer who buried his daughter—my friend—and who now wages the cancer battle himself.
One of my “ancients” struggling in isolation from the rest of them, from me.
Several of us in a holding pattern—caught between our last year and the year to come. All of us quietly wondering if maybe the cancer’s just napping beneath our scars.

Yes, so many of us walking the ribboned road. Trying to be brave. Trying to hold the banner of hope high so that others won’t worry. Trying to be friends, be comforters, be supporters, and be the hands and feet of Jesus to those who need to be touched by truth. It’s a weighty responsibility, yet one gladly accepted by most of us. One I willingly accepted just over a year ago.

Entrusted. Remember?

Every time I want to quit, want to pull away and pretend that I am someone without a story, I look down at my wrist and think on that word. That charge. That privilege given to me—to be trusted with so much. When I go there with my thoughts, I almost always go to my knees, and I say “yes” all over again to the story that is mine, come what may.

Cancer will always be coming for someone. Fifty percent of all men and one-third of all women will personally experience the disease at some point in their journeys. Cancer doesn’t seem in a hurry to retreat, so neither must I. It’s as simple and as difficult as that.

To stay. To stand closely to cancer. To straddle the fence with one foot in the path of healing and one foot in the path of pain, with faith as the sturdy post in between. I will not leave the wounded behind. I will wait with them; walk with them; wonder with them; weep with them. It’s what I choose to do, because I believe it’s what my Father chooses to do every time his children come crawling to the threshold of heaven extending their personal pain in the direction of his heart.

God never fills those moments with his fret. Instead, he offers something solid, real, tender, and truthful in return. He offers his presence. A staying, standing-close-by promise of personal involvement. Why? Because he was the first one ever entrusted with a story. A cross. A red ribbon embedded into his brow, tied to his hands, threaded through to his side, cascading downward to his feet. A ribbon that threads through to our hearts and that pulls tightly on his every time our tears shed their witness.

When we need a safe place, a refuge, a retreat, a friend … we have one in Jesus. Every time he thinks about us ... looks down at his wrists and reads the truth written behind the scars imprinted there ... he goes to his knees on our behalf and says “yes” again to the story that is his. A weighty responsibility to be sure, a worthy gain for all eternity.

Oh to be like Jesus … even a little bit!

There will be no quitting today, not for me. Just more of the road in front of me and more of the ribbon behind me. If you need to, grab on friends. I’m heading in the right and good direction. I’m heading home. As always…

Peace for the journey,

"Go back the way you came... "

2011-09-21T13:25:00.000-04:00

“Then a voice said to him, ‘What are you doing here, Elijah?’ He replied, ‘I have been very zealous for the LORD God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, broken down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.’ The LORD said to him, ‘Go back the way you came, … .’” (1 Kings 19:14-15).

Go back the way you came.

I have no doubt that this is God’s message to me today. Perhaps to one or two of you as well. Thus, a moment of unpacking it with you if you, like Elijah, are…

exhausted from the well-fought battle against Baal on Mt. Carmel;
weary from trying to outrun Jezebel;
worn out from forty days and nights of wandering toward the mountain of the Lord.

Exhausted, weary, and worn. Anyone? So much so that you’re willing to say, “I’ve had enough, LORD… take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.” Modern day translation? “Even so, Lord Jesus, come and rescue me from my misery.”

I know. A hard truth to admit, perhaps even shameful to some of you. But I’m not ashamed to admit it. I’ve had a few days in the last 365 days when, like Elijah, the span between the pain that I was feeling and the peace of God’s mountain seemed insurmountable. Too far away. Too long in coming. Too high a climb. Too much of a requirement for the feeble flesh that holds my inward parts together. Times when the weightiness of the load that I was carrying led to my collapse and my “Enough, Lord.”

Who of us hasn’t felt the chasm between our earthly pain and God's heavenly gain?

I wonder about the motive behind Elijah’s trek to God’s mountain. Perhaps he came for clarification—for the defining purpose behind his next steps. Perhaps to be heard. Perhaps to claim “safe sanctuary” or to cry out “Base!” as I so often shouted as a child during a game of neighborhood tag. But just today, I thought about something else. About another reason for Elijah’s run to Mt. Horeb. Could it be that the memory of Moses’ ascent to Mt. Nebo was running through his mind as he came to God’s mountain? When God called Moses to the mountain, Moses made the climb knowing that he would not return to the valley of God’s people (see Deut. 32:48-52). Moses came to Mt. Nebo to die; perhaps Elijah came to Mt. Horeb with hopes of doing the same. Perhaps Elijah was ready to go home ... to be removed from his struggles and to be at rest with his Father.

God had other plans for Elijah. God has other plans for me, and if you’re reading this today, he has some further plans for you.

Go back the way you came. As hard as it seems, go back the way you came.

Back to the desert. Back down into the valley where Jezebel lives. Back to the forty days and nights of having to depend on God to fuel your heart, your thoughts, and your stomach for the ministry season yet to come. There’s more work to be done. More people who need the witness of your story. More strengthening of the remnant that remains behind.

Go back the way you came.

This will be, perhaps, one of the hardest God-given directives over your life. But it is God’s directive to give; yours to obey. In doing so, you will be given what you need to make the descent off of God’s mountain and to live in the valley below. Your earthly work is not over, friend. You must keep to the faith that you boldly proclaim. Mt. Horeb, Mt. Nebo, Mt. Heaven will come to you soon enough. Until then...

Go back the way you came, carrying God’s kingdom with you as you go. As always, may God’s peace for the journey be your portion as you take your next steps of faithful obedience. I’ll meet you in the valley where we can confidently live out our purposes beneath the protective shadow of our Father's mountain.

STRONG... {the Word of God has spoken}

2011-09-16T10:02:00.002-04:00

My son came home early from school one day this week. Allergies and a corresponding headache were to blame. I quickly developed a headache of my own when I realized the mountain of homework that resulted from his premature departure from the classroom.

Ugh. Big Ugh. Guttural Ugh.

Homework and I are not friends. It is a constant drain on the energy in our household, most of us boasting a few scars from the woundings that have taken place over the years. I’ve been through the fifth grade with my children three times now. Four if you count the first time when I was a student in Mrs. Hitch's classroom at Wilmore Elementary. Images of having to wear a red velvet dress and white sandals for a speech contest flash through my mind. So does the image of Mrs. Hitch disciplining me for chasing Robbie L. around the classroom in order to pounce on him for teasing me about said dress. Unlike my son, I didn’t have an educational learning issue—just a people one. I’ll let you decide which is worse.

But I digress. Back to homework, to a poorly feeling boy, and to his mother who was less than thrilled about completing missed assignments. We started with the easiest—Math. Worked our way through the worst--History, Science, and Language--rounding the bend with Bible. Yes, Bible. Our kids attend a Christian school. Having never worked through a Bible lesson with him before, my curiosity was peeked. The day’s lesson?

Bible tracts. What they are, how they’re used, and the overriding hope and purpose behind a small piece of paper that is easily transferred into the hands of total strangers. The lesson emphasized the powerful effect of a tract by citing examples of real, life-changing encounters that have happened as a direct result of a tract being received. The lesson also made mention of the fact that, with these examples, few words were spoken between the individuals in the exchange. Simply a transfer of material between two hearts, two hands. The question for the student (and for this less than cooperative mother/teacher) was, “What does this tell you about what’s written on the tract?”

Both of us sat with the question for a few minutes, and then I asked my son again.

“Jadon, if this small piece of paper, written with a few words from God’s Word, has the power to change a heart and lead a person to surrendering his/her life to Jesus Christ, then what does it say about the words on this tract?”

He thought for a long time. I could tell the wheels were turning in a right and proper direction, and then he responded … better than I thought he might.

“Strong. They're strong words, mom. If they can change a heart, then they are strong.”

Lesson learned by a boy. Lesson re-learned by a grown woman.

Powerful and effective is the Word of God, strong enough to stand on its own, with or without my own words alongside. God’s Word doesn’t need my words to make it true, to make it right, to make it worthy. Sometimes fewer words from my lips is the better course of action when it comes to the dispensation of God’s truth. Sometimes human dialogue, wordy platitudes, and self-impressed knowledge can hinder truth’s progress. Sometimes it’s just better to let the strong Word of God breathe.

Strong. There’s strength there, friends. When was the last time you released God’s Word into the air, into the heart of a loved one, a family member, a stranger and let it breathe without your manipulation?

I trust in the strength of God’s Word, and I am humbled by the privilege and charge that has been entrusted to me as a child of the King to share it with others. I may not always share it eloquently; more than likely I’ll stumble and bumble my way through the process. But in the end, God’s Word will stand. Not by my might, but by the power and strength of the Mighty One whose Word cannot be undone. Only realized as truth.

Realize Him, this weekend. Recognize Him. Remember Him. Release Him. He will do the rest. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: Travis Cottrell's latest CD, When the Stars Burn Down, is now available. STRONG, indeed! Take a listen...

Living Proof Live - Salt Lake City from Rich Kalonick on Vimeo.

this is my gospel...

2011-09-12T14:49:00.000-04:00

“Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, descended from David. This is my gospel, for which I am suffering even to the point of being chained like a criminal. But God’s word is not chained.” (2 Timothy 2:8-9).

Quietly, she’s entered into my world. A month ago, I didn’t know she existed. But then she slipped in. Courageously and without pretense she came. Settled in close to my pew, even closer to my heart. And there she has stayed.

A single mom of a one-year-old daughter. Broken. Scarred. Frightened. Confused. Feeling like nothing, like forgotten, like trapped with nowhere else to run to but to church. No one else to turn to but to Jesus.

What courage she has displayed with her choosing—with the willing exposure of her heart to complete strangers in hopes of finding solace to replace the aggravation she has known. Something tells me she needs me. Something tells me I need her as well. And in the midst of all the needing, I search for answers—for a gift to give her beyond the customary hug and offer of prayer. I long to do more, to give better, to reach beyond safe borders in order to fix her heart and to remove her pain.

It is immense, her pain. Relevant and obvious. Tender and confrontational. One would be hard-pressed to miss it; still and yet, most will go out of their way to avoid it. Personal pain is hard enough to manage without taking on the pain of a stranger. So I tread cautiously, carefully toward her, creating a safe place for her to share her story. Bits and pieces are emerging to form a clearer picture. As they materialize, I hold them in my heart and try to make sense of it all. Try to manage my reactions; try to reason my responses. Try to figure out what I can tell her that might bring her one step closer to freedom. Try to get the words out of my heart that will usher her to the threshold of God’s hold. Try to give her truth. True truth. Not relative truth, but real faith-in-the-flesh God truth.

Jesus Christ.

This is my gospel. He is my gospel.

Jesus Christ, raised from the dead. Jesus Christ, descended from David. Jesus Christ, God’s Son. Jesus Christ, Son of Man. God incarnate. God made flesh. God with me, Emmanuel.

This is my gospel. My glad tidings and sacred proclamation of the grace that I have found in Jesus Christ. The good news according to the good Book that has led millions of souls down the path toward freedom to arrive beneath the threshold of God’s hold. This is where I begin with her—where the hug extends its witness beyond what is safe and customary.

The Gospel is anything but.

The Gospel is the most confrontational, exceptional, and beautifully dangerous word of truth ever received by and into human hearts. It is the one key to unlocking personal pain. The one salve to soothe suffering. The one road map that will point the lost toward home. It’s all I know to give her. The best I know to give her.

This is my gospel. This is my story. It will be enough to point her home.

What is your gospel, friends? Your story? Your truth? Will it be enough to point the broken, the scarred, the frightened, and the confused back to Jesus? Is the grace and freedom you’ve received as your own the same grace and freedom you extend to others? What life has settled in next to yours that needs the witness of something more than a customary hug or offer of prayer? When was the last time you spoke truth into pain … grace and mercy into brokenness? The last time you stretched your heart wide to include the heart of the hurting?

It’s not always easy to extend welcoming inclusion to others, especially when suffering your own personal trauma. But one thing is for certain. Pain isn’t going anywhere, nor are those who are most affected by its insistence. Pain is all around us and will continue its assault upon us until we’re willing to treat it with the truth of Jesus Christ.

The God who chose to make his dwelling with us.
The God who has suffered as we have suffered.
The God who willingly walked to the cross so that we might walk in freedom.
The God who rose from the dead so that we might, also, one day rise to him.

This is my gospel. A worthy truth. A worthy witness. A worthy Word for all seasons, painful and otherwise. Would you take time to examine the gospel according to you this week? Do so beneath the watchful gaze of the Gospel according to Jesus Christ. Find where you are lacking and strengthen your story. There’s a hurting heart, maybe even nestled in next to you on the pew, who needs the witness of God’s truth. No one can live it, speak it, and give it as well as you can.

Even so, get to it… keep to it. As always…

Peace for the journey,

Get Up!

2011-09-07T11:56:00.001-04:00

“Once again Jesus went out beside the lake. A large crowd came to him, and he began to teach them. As he walked along, he saw Levi son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax collector’s booth. ‘Follow me,’ Jesus told him, and Levi got up and followed him.” (Mark 2:13-14)

Sitting at the tax collector’s booth.

Is that where you’re located today? Parked alongside the road, watching the Lord and others pass you by, all the while waiting to collect on their good fortune?

You’ve heard his preaching from a distance. Maybe even witnessed a miracle or two in his comings and goings, all the while sitting by nursing your curiosity, maybe even nursing a grudge. Feeling overlooked and underpaid, you linger with your coppers in the shadows of his passing grace telling yourself that they will be enough. That they are why you’re here. To collect your due and to do so using the law as your compass, not grace.

Collecting money or receiving grace. Collecting the approval of man or receiving the love of God. Where are you today? Sitting by the road thinking you haven’t been called or walking the road with Jesus knowing you have been called?

You’ve been called. There’s no “thinking” that you have heard otherwise. You’ve been called.

Now it’s time to walk. Time to push your chair away from the table, from what you thought you were supposed to be doing with your life. To leave the security of the few coppers of borrowed grace that have been surrendered to you by others and to start receiving the free grace that rightfully belongs to you as a child of God.

It’s not enough to notice Jesus. To make acknowledgement of his passing. To mentally ascend to understanding and truth. Noticing, acknowledging, and ascending can all serve as precursors to following Christ, but the real work of discipleship begins when you get up and follow him.

Get up from your complacency.
Get up from your comfortableness.
Get up from your high opinions.
Get up from your selfishness.
Get up from your self-importance.
Get up from your self-pity.
Get up from your pride.
Get up from your woundings.
Get up from your sin.
Get up from your excuses.

Just get up from the table of whatever is keeping you tied to the side of the road, and start walking with Jesus. You’ve been called, and the day will soon be over. The night is fast approaching, and the nighttime is not the right time to reason out your calling. The night time is the best time to rest in your calling—to know that you know that you know—that leaving your coppers on the table was the best leaving of your life.

Quit collecting on the grace of others, friends. Start walking the grace that is yours. Get up, and walk forward with Jesus. Today is the day of salvation. I’ll meet you on the road. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: The winner of Nancy's study according to random.org is Rebecca (the original winner, Leah, already has the study and wanted another of you to receive it). For another chance to win a copy, please visit Nancy at her blog and enter into the give-away. Leah, the study will be coming to you directly from Nancy!

"Draw Me Near" by Nancy Douglas {Bible study review and give-away}

2011-09-05T00:00:00.005-04:00

Last week, I posed this question to my friends on Facebook:

What one deliberate choice are you making today to put yourself in close proximity to God's presence? I made my choice early this morning in reading and studying the Word (Colossians was my focus), and God embedded a new promise into my heart! Rarely does a revelation of himself arrive without our active participation. What are you waiting for?

The response was positive. My friends agreed that an active approach is the best approach to growing personal faith. I’ve written about it many times before—these intentional faith deposits. The willing investments we make into our spiritual bank accounts today will be the strong anchor of our tomorrows. We need to cultivate our souls for something more than what meets the eye. We need to focus on what lies beneath—the unseen, yet-to-be-discovered threads that connect us tightly to the heart of the Father.

Along those lines, I’m a firm believer in Bible study, both corporate times of learning and private seasons of discourse with the Father. What makes a Bible study a good Bible study?

Two things. The Bible and a willingness to study. Everything else is just gravy, good gravy. Remember this post?

That being true, I treasure “story” within the Story--someone else’s leanings and learnings as related to Scripture. Accordingly, I’ve always got a Bible study going. I don’t wait for the seasonal gathering of friends to dig into the Word. Ten-week studies are great, but considering there are fifty-two weeks in a year, there have to be some times of individual study in order to fill in the gaps between seasons.

Over the last year, I’ve quietly worked through a few friends’ studies: Leah’s From the Trash Pile to the Treasure Chest, Mariel’s Knowing God through His Names, and Rebecca’s The Beauty of a Disciplined Life. All solid Bible studies. All not getting the press they deserve. All telling a “story” within the Story. I love them all for different reasons, and I love the women who write them. Why? Because these women can be trusted with the Story. They’ve lived it; they are continuing to live it each day, willingly laying down their hearts before the Father and asking him to change them from the inside out. Thank you, ladies!

Most recently, I’ve been blessed by Nancy Douglas’ Draw Me Near. The work lives up to its title. Indeed, in these five weeks that I’ve been applying God’s truth to my heart via Nancy’s pen, I’ve drawn nearer to God. Nancy’s story is embroidered into every lesson, and I’ve grown to respect her witness in a way that might not have come to me had I’d not taken the time to work through this study.

Nancy’s faith journey is a compelling one—a transformational work of grace that mirrors my own. And while the details of our stories are very different, we both have come to a place of whole-hearted, soul-stirring devotion to the God who has claimed us, named us, restored us, and who daily transforms us. I love a woman who is willing to hang on tightly for the finishing of her faith, don’t you? Nancy is one of those women, and her ten-week study is one that, if you are willing, will shepherd you toward having a rich encounter with God.

Here’s what I love most about Nancy’s study. Each lesson is a balanced blend of reflection, scripture focus, and practical application. Each lesson is a fork’s worth of food rather than an entire meal. And while the fork’s worth has sometimes not been an easy “chew” for me, I’ve always left the table feeling full and in great anticipation for what tomorrow’s fork might hold. Nancy gives readers permission and time enough to absorb meaningful truth without wearing them out in the process. I’ve needed this pacing, and I’ve needed room to breathe in the truth of God’s Word without having to rush through to victory.

Thank you, Nancy, for writing your heart. For seeing the need. For telling your story and for weaving it so beautifully into the story of our Savior. Your commitment to write these words has strengthened me in my commitment to grow my faith. The honest, soul-stirring conversations that I’ve had with God, spurred on because of your study, have been a rich blessing to my heart. I look forward to continuing the conversation over the next five weeks.

Readers, if you are looking for a study to further your conversation with God, Nancy’s is a good conversation-starter. Along those lines, I’m giving away a copy of Draw Me Near. Simply leave a comment with this post (even if you don't have a blog), and I will announce the winner with my next post. For an additional opportunity to win a copy, visit Nancy at her blog. She is also hosting a give-away. Ordering information is available there.

Take good care of your hearts this week! Make a choice to put yourself in close proximity to God’s presence, and see if he is not faithful to draw your nearer to his heart! As always…

Peace for the journey,

A little bit about Nancy…

Nancy and her husband Jimmy have been married twenty-eight years and have two children, Drew and Danielle. After the birth of Danielle, born Autistic, deaf, and Failure to Thrive, God began a drastic work in Nancy's life. Amidst the struggle to accept the reality of her daughter's disabilities, Nancy soon discovered God's call on her life.

Founding the Olive Leaf Ministries in 2006, Nancy speaks, teaches, and writes. She has written the 10-week Bible study "Draw Me Near" and "Freedom, Healing for Parents of Disabled Children," her latest work dedicated to those suffering loss.

Nancy and her husband, Jimmy, enjoy spending time with family, shopping, and raising their dogs Cocoa Bean and Ecclesiastes!

God Keeps Pace with Your Pain

2011-08-31T00:00:00.001-04:00

How has God kept pace with your pain in recent days?

What lies beneath...

2011-08-29T10:50:00.002-04:00

I felt the earth move beneath my feet last Tuesday. Literally. Despite the fact that I was 250 miles removed from the epicenter of last week’s earthquake in Mineral, VA, I still felt its tremor. Its duration indicated to me that it was something more than just my imagination. My first thought was to attribute the shaking to Ft. Bragg. Their routine operations are sometimes accompanied by large booms that usually rattle the walls of my home. My second thought was one very loosely tied to the “rapture,” but after a minute’s worth of shaking and no trumpet sound, I moved forward with my third thought—call Billy.

“Billy, did you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“That shaking. Honey, I think we’ve had an earthquake.”

“Do you want me to come home?”

“No. I’ve survived worse. Forget I called.”

Figures. Billy and I are rarely on the same page when it comes to noticing things. Accordingly, I called my son who attends the university just miles from our home. I received a similar response from him, although he made no offers to come home and check on me. Then I called my mom. Same story. Thinking, perhaps, that I did imagine it, I went to the one place where all good researchers go when looking for reliable information.

I logged onto Facebook.

Pu-leezeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Well, it was a start; a fairly good one this time around. At least my friend Shirley directed me to turn on the news where, in fact, I did learn that an earthquake with a 5.8 magnitude had occurred. Not in Fayetteville, but rather 250 miles to the north in Virginia.

Wow. Some earthquake, some shaking, some kind of deep quaking beneath the surface of the earth that it would reach this far. What kind of tremor does that? I know. Those of you on the West Coast are laughing at us; go ahead. Call me when a hurricane threatens your seaboard. I’ve got it all over you on that one. I suppose we’ve all got some shaking, some wind, some storm threatening its witness in our lives, do we not? Better not to compare; better to live prepared!

Which brings me back around to a thought about the earthquake of last week. A good thought. I have my Ohio friend, Juanita, to thank for it. She didn’t know she was supplying it to me; her experience (some 450 miles northwest of the epicenter) spurred me along in my thinking. After talking with my husband, son, and mother and receiving no back-up support regarding the tremor I’d just experienced, I called Juanita to report the news.

“Guess what, friend? I’ve just survived my first earthquake!”

“Really? Me, too!”

“You, too?”

“Yes, I felt it here as well.”

“Where were you when it happened?”

“I was sitting out on my back porch, being still and enjoying the summer afternoon, when I felt the cement slab beneath my feet begin to shake.”

Instantly, I knew. I got it. I understood the reason why she and I felt the tremor and others did not.

We were both being still in the moments preceding its arrival. She on her porch; me on my couch. Think about that for a moment, and let it sink deeply into your heart. You could probably preach the sermon from this point forward, but in case you’re getting a slow start to your thought processes this week, I’ll offer you mine.

What lies beneath—the quaking, trembling, soul-stirring shakings of our hearts—often go unnoticed when we are consumed by the quaking, trembling, earth-stirring shakings of our world. When the noise in our external becomes too loud, too busy, too full of the clanging, clamoring cymbals of temporal value, we are prone to missing the whispers of the eternal. Whispers that, when heard, have the capacity to shake us, wake us, and move us to a place of unparalleled intimacy with God. If we never take the time to be still before the Lord, we run the risk of excluding his voice from our everyday doings.

Rarely will God interrupt our busyness with his insistence. Not that he isn’t speaking, isn’t always presenting himself to us throughout our days so that he might better be known by his children. But rather, God sometimes best reveals himself to our hearts in quiet places of contemplation—moments when we slow down, sit down, and allow our minds room enough and time enough to pause and consider life beyond the externals … the “what and who” that lie beneath our surface.

If we could get this, Christian, if we could see the value of our “beneath,” then Facebook wouldn’t be able to contain the amount of first-hand reports of the soul-quakes happening across our nation. Facebook (as my boys like to say) would blow-up with the witness of the Lord Jesus Christ. So would the news channels. So would the phone lines. If all of us would be willing to take the time to tend to our quietness instead of lending all our time to the noisiness in our lives, then the soul-shaping, heart-stirring work of the Lord would go forth in manifold measure.

God’s shaking, God’s quaking, and God’s tremors not only would be felt in Mineral, VA, in Navarre, OH, and in Fayetteville, NC, but also in and around the place that you call home. The magnitude would far exceed a 5.8 on the Richter scale, because God’s magnitude quakes eternally. There’s no measuring his impact. There are no borders to contain his witness. He’s just that big and beyond and so much more than we’re willing to cede to him on any given day.

And this, my friends, is a great tragedy. To live with less of Jesus is to never really live at all. To stay stuck at Ground Zero without ever considering the “what and who” of our beneath, is to live temporarily, without focus and without an anchor. What is seen above is limited to fixed parameters. What is seen below? Well, his depth is limitless, tethered to the eternal—the Epicenter of all humanity. Tap into that kind of understanding and the earth breaks open with the truth of the kingdom!

Would you take some time to get quiet before the Lord this week so that you might feel the tremors of home? It’s time to give God room enough and time enough in your day to shake you so that you might awaken to the reality of your “beneath,” and so that when friends call you and ask, “Did you feel that?” you can respond with your “Yes, I felt it as well.”

What truth and understanding are ours as children of the Most High God! Be still, and know that he is God. As always,

Peace for the journey,

Thus far...

2011-08-23T11:15:00.001-04:00

“Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, ‘Thus far has the LORD helped us.’” (1 Samuel 7:12)

I thought, perhaps, that it might just slip by. But it didn’t. It hasn’t. It’s here.

Today. A mile-marker in my fight against cancer. An anniversary. One year of survivorship. One year of wearing the pink ribbon. One year beyond hearing those first words of initiation from my doctor…

Mrs. Olsen, the tumor is cancerous … Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.

Her words are as vivid to me today as they were 365 days ago. Not as shocking as they were back then, but just as real. I don’t suppose I’ll ever forget that moment. I don’t suppose I’m meant to forget. Some moments in our journeys are intended for remembrance. Not to serve as an idol but rather as a memorial. A stone or two gathered in our pockets that, from time to time, can be touched, felt, held, and raised in honor to the one God who’s been faithful to walk the road with us.

Thus far, the Lord has helped us. Thus far, the Lord has helped me.

As I’ve thought about Samuel and his “Ebenezer”—his stone marking the place of God’s deliverance—I’ve looked around my house for what might serve as mine. What stone, what tangible “holding” can serve to bookmark this milestone in my survivorship? Seems like there should be something, some way of honoring this occasion with the respect that it deserves. Some sort of celebration to acknowledge the accomplishment.

Alas, no parties. No balloons. No etchings in marble. No altar of stone.

Just life. A new day to live with the rich perspective afforded to me because of a year’s worth of struggle. A few words of remembrance from my pen. A few words of prayerful pause from my heart given to God in thanks for the deliverance I have known. A few moments of looking back at the journey and believing God for the next 365 days that will follow this one.

When I began my cancer survivorship on August 23, 2010, I did so with one overriding prayer in my heart. Knowing what was coming, knowing something about the requirements of my disease, I asked the Lord for his enabling strength to keep me writing from time to time. I knew there would come a “look back” day—a season when I would want to reflect upon the fullness of my walk through cancer. Today, a year down the road with nearly 100 posts written since that time, I’m able to look back and to trace the love and faithfulness of God that has been present in my pain. And therein, I find my “Ebenezer.”

Today I raise this collection of remembrances to God and call them grace. Call them mercy. Call them deliverance. Call them enough. The beauty in my “Ebenezer” is that it is a stone you can gather around as well. Because of God’s empowering Spirit within me, I’ve been able to chronicle some of my journey. Lovingly, you’ve come alongside me and shared in my struggle. Together, today, we can gather around this collection of words … stand around my story, and raise our voices to the Father in thanksgiving for what he has done in the last 365 days.

Thus far, the Lord has helped me. Continuing forward, he will do the same. I am a child of promise. A child of the kingdom. A child who knows who her Father is and a child who trusts him to walk her safely home.

I pray you know the same. As you look back on your previous 365 days, I hope that you are able to trace the hand of God’s faithfulness in your life. Most likely, it wasn’t evident to you on a daily basis. But I imagine that in its entirety, this last year has afforded you some moments of knowing and living the promises of God. Today is a good day for reflecting, for remembering and for speaking the truest witness of your faith.

Thus far, the Lord has helped us all. Continuing forward, he will do the same. As always…

Peace for the journey,

on solving the problem of pain...

2011-08-18T00:00:00.004-04:00

“There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but the same God works all of them in all men. Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good.” –1 Corinthians 12:4-7

Take time to consider your creative side. We all have one—a creative edge to our personalities. Some of us writers, painters, musicians, chefs, singers, cooks, sewers, teachers, marketers, photographers, scrapbookers, gardeners, planners. The list is endless, and while you might not consider yourself particularly creative, you cannot escape the label. Why? Because you’ve been created in the image of God. Accordingly, there’s something about you that resembles the creative pulse of the Creator.

Along these lines, I have a question for you. It didn’t originate with me. It belongs to Jeannie Burlowski. She first asked it of me a couple of months ago during a pre-conference seminar for She Speaks. The session was designed to better prepare writers for their upcoming publisher meetings at the conference. Part of the preparation included writing a book proposal—a thirty-forty page document detailing an idea for a book, a marketing plan, and a few writing samples. As Jeannie was discussing the various components of the proposal and how it should be presented to publishers, she said something that interrupted my note-taking and forced my thinking.

“How does your book … your words help solve the problem of pain?”

Sit with that a minute. I did. In fact, I’ve sat with this question ever since first receiving it. It struck me back then; it strikes me still. The problem of pain and my words as a healing agent therein.

Really? Seriously? Apparently.

You see, no matter how I turn it, consider it, and think about it, I think she’s right. Not just as it pertains to me as a writer, but to all of us who create. We’re all in the business of solving pain. We may not realize the importance of our roll in the matter, but at the root of all creativity is this idea that art solves pain. We create because it brings us pleasure; in doing so, it brings others pleasure as well. Otherwise, why bother to pick up the pen or the paintbrush or the cookbook? Creativity helps to heal the wounded. And who of us haven’t felt some pain? Who of us haven’t “created” in an attempt to salve the pain of others?

And so, as you consider your creative bent, I ask you the same question I’ve been asking of myself over these past months. How does your creativity—whether in music, words, pictures, recipes—help solve the problem of pain? I know. It feels weighty, almost too much responsibility attached to our giftings.

Nonetheless, we cannot escape the reality that our “art” is a direct reflection of our God-given talents. The generous dispensation of creativity that Creator-Father has seeded into each one of us requires that we share it with others. In doing so, we bring joy to the earth. Whenever we create we sow eternal life, goodness, and hope into the temporal soil of pain.

Without art, we all suffer. Without creativity, we tend to forget the Creator. Without vision, we remain as we are, and left as we are, we’re unfinished.

There’s a whole lot of pain in this world yet untouched by the creativity residing in you. Your giftings are meant to be applied to that pain. Don’t underestimate your creativity just because it looks different from your neighbor’s. We shouldn’t measure our artful reflections against the artful reflections of others. It’s not fair to our DNA, and it certainly undercuts the witness of our Father’s fingerprints on our lives.

He made each of us unique, different, and with a specialness that can only display its worthiness through the skin delicately designed to hold its beauty. You are the owner of that skin, and you are given the rich privilege of unveiling your creativity as a healing agent to the problem of pain.

Take your creativity seriously, friends. Live it wildly, and share it liberally with the world. I, for one, have been the direct beneficiary of your giftings; they’ve have gone a long way to help solve the problem of my pain. Keep to it. I will endeavor to do the same. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: What does your creativity lead you to create? How does it help solve the problem of pain? I'd love to hear from you.

on strengthening my bandwidth...

2011-08-15T12:19:00.000-04:00

Two things I know for certain as I begin this week:

1. My emotions and the feelings attached to them aren’t reliable; they are ever-changing.

2. God and his Word are reliable; they never change.

In regards to number one, I’m in menopause … an induced menopause due to my ovaries being removed. Forget the 5-6 years of perimenopause experienced by most women prior to the full onset of menopause. There’s been nothing gradual or measured about my introduction to this new phase of life. Eight rounds of chemo forced my body into a medical menopause; the oopherectomy (ovary removal) following the chemo sealed the deal.

What does that mean? The estrogen/progesterone that my body once produced because of the ovaries have now been eliminated. In addition, the adjuvant course of treatment I’ve been prescribed, Armidex, works to prevent the remaining estrogen in my body (mostly produced by the adrenal glands) from growing. Confused? Maybe this will help. According to EMedTV:

“Arimidex is part of a group of medications called aromatase inhibitors. Aromatase is an enzyme found in various places in the body. These enzymes help produce estrogens (in particular, a certain estrogen called estradiol). In postmenopausal women, most of the estrogen in the body is made by aromatase. By blocking these enzymes, Arimidex helps to decrease the amount of estrogen in the body.

Many breast cancers are sensitive to the estrogen hormone, meaning that the tumor grows with the help of estrogen. When a tumor is sensitive to estrogen, it has receptors on the outer surface of its cells. Estrogen fits into these receptors like a key opening a lock. When this connection is made, the cancer grows.”

So … I think it's fair to say that my emotions and the feelings attached to them aren’t reliable in this season. My body is constantly playing tricks on me, and my reactions are often either “off the charts unreasonable” or “completely unavailable.” There seems to be little middle ground between these extremes as I recently wrote about in this post. My precious friend, Judith, tells me that (as cancer survivors) “We don’t have the bandwidth that we used to have, Elaine.” She’s right. I don’t currently have the range of frequency with which my body can operate effectively, nor the transmission capacity I once had.

For example… a precious lady approached me in church recently, obviously upset as indicated by the tears pouring down her face. She was in deep, emotional pain and desired to share that pain with me. I was mostly with her up until the point that I needed to “feel” for her. I knew what my reaction should be, but my empathy had a difficult time catching up with my should. When this happens, my compassion becomes functional, not felt. For some folks, this is a typical way of handling the issue of another’s pain. For me, this a huge departure from the way I’ve always operated. And friends, I don’t mind telling you that this is a tragic loss for me. Perhaps one of the most costly surrenders I’ve had to make in this journey through cancer.

I don’t tell you this to garner your sympathy. I tell you this solely for educational purposes, so that if you’re someone who is going through the same thing or you know someone who is going through a forceful, immediate menopause, you might better have an idea as to the “goings on” behind the scenes.

All this being said (and I realize it's a lot to digest), all is not lost. Which brings me to number two—my second certainty regarding my upcoming week (really regarding my life). God and his Word are reliable. They never change. They are the consistent underpinning of my heart and life, my walkabout in faith. Regardless of how my emotions are or are not presenting themselves on a daily basis, God is presenting himself as he has always presented himself.

Truthful. Reliable. Strong. Steady. Certain. Fixed. Constant. Unchanged.

Who God IS and everything that he has said about himself in his holy Word is, in fact, reality. The same God who cradled Eden’s soil in his hands and fashioned Adam in his image, is the same God who cradles us, shapes us, and breathes over us his holy validation. The same Jesus who cut through choppy waters and walked his peace on top of those waters to a boatload of fearful disciples, is the same Jesus who walks to us in the middle of our darkest nights to extend his hand of kingdom courage as ministry to our doubting souls.

Creator God, Savior Jesus, Companion Holy Spirit, cannot be anything other than what he has always been. Others have tried to make him less—tried to box him in and call him by another name—but their attempts at renaming him are futile attempts at control. And really, when personal control becomes an issue, then truth becomes relative—easily shifted by the changing winds and temperament of the individual involved.

Still and yet, God does not change, and it is this one reality, this one certainty that keeps me moving forward in my faith. Keeps me digging into the treasure of Scripture to take hold of truth, even though my feelings lag behind my obedience. God’s Word is my anchor, my hope, my “go to” resource as I navigate these strange waters of this new season. In its entirety, it doesn’t feel like it should, but it’s my reality.

The temporal reality of menopause. The eternal reality of God.

In the end, it’s the number two certainty of my season that will trump all others. God doesn’t ask me to ignore the other realities that are present and pressing … just to temper them with the greater reality of his presence. In doing so, my bandwidth increases, and I am better able to engage with the life that he has entrusted to my care.

Whatever temporal reality is staring you in the face today, I pray it tempered by the truth and witness of our living Lord. Spend as much time with him examining eternal truth as you are spending looking into the mirror examining temporal truth. In doing so, your bandwidth will increase and your perspective will regain proper focus.

Lose yourself within the truthful, reliable, strong, steady, certain, fixed, constant, and unchanging God who created you. The Jesus who saved you. The Holy Spirit who sustains you. The Truth that renames you...

Survivor.

As always, peace for the journey!

a new year of learning...

2011-08-10T09:02:00.000-04:00

And so ... we begin again.

Quite a contrast to where we were standing a year ago. A year ago, our nerves were raw with anticipation and expectation for the beginning of a new academic year. New school; new teachers; new friends; new everything. Brother handled the transition better than sister. She couldn't even eat her breakfast a year ago. Today? A big bowl of Cookie Crisp and smiles to go around.

What's the difference? Why the shift from stress to relief, not just for our baby girl but for all of us on this beginning day of the school year?

One reason. The once "new and unfamiliar" feels more like "old and familiar." Like habit. Like routine. Like safety. A previous year's worth of education in a new school has earned our trust, and all of us are better prepared for the learning that is sure to take place in the upcoming year.

As my children enter into their 4th and 5th grade classrooms this morning, they do so with confidence. Alongside them, I re-enter my own classroom. I haven't a clue what the curriculum will include this year, but I'm willing (like my children) to strap on my book bag, pack my lunch, and sharpen my pencils. Several years' worth of education in the classroom of life has earned my trust, and my confidence rests solely on the Teacher behind the lectern. I pray not a minute wasted and for a teachable heart willing to receive and apply the instruction from the Father's heart.

Old and familiar, yet new and necessary. Like habit. Like routine. Like safety.

Even so, Lord Jesus, I come to the classroom today. Show me your heart. Teach me your ways. Strengthen my frame. Lengthen my days. The curriculum belongs to you; the learning belongs to me. Humbly I submit my mind, heart, and soul into your loving tutelage. Amen.

practicing my faith...

2011-08-08T15:52:00.000-04:00

Lumps and bumps. I’ve been feeling them for awhile now. One in particular along my scar line. Left side. Hard and pronounced. Enough to warrant my concern. Accordingly, another trip to Cape “Hope” today where the oncologist pronounced me as “fine.”As quickly as he entered the room, he exited. Abrupt is the word that comes to mind … almost as if my being there was unnecessary. Apparently my concerns weren’t concerning enough, or so it seemed.

He moved on, and I held my tears until his departure. And then I wept. It’s that “noticing” thing again. Feeling overlooked and feeling insecure about my body. My emotions. My standing in this life. My place in this world. My “next.” Feeling my pain, my husband took me to the Bordeaux lunch counter, where I doused my woes with egg salad and sweet tea.

Apparently, I’ll live to see another day, and while I should be rejoicing … all I’m feeling is deep sadness. It doesn’t make sense to most of you. I get that. It really doesn’t make much sense to me, this rallying between emotional extremes. I’ve never lived with these edges before—the swing between highs and lows. It doesn’t feel safe to me. Just wildly out of control with no foreseeable end in sight.

It’s hard to manage the peaks and valleys. I’m not doing a very good job of it; probably even a poorer job of explaining it to those I love—those who need to know, who want to know, who have a vested interest in my health and my being able to move forward. Most days, I mask it in an attempt to keep from having to define it. It’s just easier that way. Truth is, most folks seem to prefer it that way. Pain is a hard handling, and all of us seem to have our fair share without taking on the pain of others.

So I contend with it. Take hold of it. Refuse to bury it, and instead allow it room enough and words enough to work its witness in my heart. I may fool others, but I cannot fool myself. I can only walk it through with the tender love and willingness of God who always notices me. Who understands my heart and who knows my every word before one of them lands on my tongue. He tells me to keep doing what I’ve been doing for most of my life.

Practice your faith, Faith Elaine. Practice your faith.

Practice means praying some strong prayers and rehearsing some strong words. God’s words. His promises to me.

“Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD, the people he chose for his inheritance.
From heaven the LORD looks down and sees all mankind;
From his dwelling place he watches all who live on earth—he who forms the hearts of all, who considers everything they do.
No king is saved by the size of his army;
No warrior escapes by his great strength.
A horse is a vain hope for deliverance;
Despite all its great strength it cannot save.

But…

The eyes of the LORD are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,
To deliver them from death
And keep them alive in famine.” (Psalm 33:12-19)

God’s eyes on me, noticing me. Not removing me from my season of famine, but instead sustaining me through it. Keeping me alive. Making sure that I am watered and fed by the truth from his heart as I swing from one emotional edge to another. Only God can manage these peaks and valleys of mine, for only God has the vantage point from which to see it all. And while my painful extremes are a hard handling for me, they have become the willing handling of God.

No army will save me. No warrior. No horse. No oncologist. No one person. All vain attempts at hope.

Only God and the Hope that springs forth from Calvary’s tree.

Today, I’m practicing my faith, friends. Praying my faith. Writing my faith. Speaking my faith. It’s all I know to do in this, my lean season. It will be enough to walk me through to peace. Peace for my journey—Jesus Christ, the great stabilizer in the midst of edges.

Thanks for listening.

on noticing the care-givers

2011-08-03T09:19:00.000-04:00

I just wanted him to notice me. It had been an hour since he returned home from his meeting at the church. I spent most of that hour in bed, nursing a pulled muscle in my back. Nursing a heart-hurt as well. Seems as if there have been a few of these kinds of aches lately. Internal, soul-pains with no immediate cure but for the passage of time and the tenderness of God. And so I waited for him to make that trek down the hall to our back bedroom … to notice me. To ask a few questions. To join me in my misery.

Ever tried that one before? Using your pitiful estate to procure collective pity? I can’t be the only one out there wielding this emotional manipulation. We all (especially us women) have an arsenal full of management techniques we’re willing to implement in order to secure the attention of others. Unfortunately, mine wasn’t working. My husband is an “S” on the Myer-Briggs Personality Test, meaning that he gains information through his senses. If he can’t taste it, touch it, feel it, hear it, or see it, it doesn’t exist in his cognitive awareness. So, while I’m back in the bedroom nursing my wounds, he’s not thinking about checking up on me; he’s simply noticing the partially shut door, indicating to him that I’m resting and wanting to be left alone.

What I’m wanting is for him to intuitively know my need without me having to tell him—that’s part of my being an “N” on the Myer’s Brigg, an opposite of being an “S.” But really, this isn’t a post about personality types. Mostly, it’s just about my needing to be noticed, and when he didn’t acquiesce to my silently kept expectations, I added a few frustrations to the wounds I was already self-medicating with self-pity.

Why isn’t he coming back here? What’s more important than my pain? He’s usually so attentive to my needs? Why isn’t he taking the time to notice me?

An hour into my self-soothing, I received my answer. Not through him, but rather through the faint sound of silverware clinking together in the kitchen sink.

He can’t notice you, Elaine. He’s too busy noticing the messy kitchen—those after-dinner dishes that never got washed. He is taking care of you, just through different means. By the way, who’s noticing him? When was the last time someone paused long enough to stop his/her personal self-centeredness to ask Billy, “How are you? How are you handling your pain … your wife’s pain?"

Noticing him. The guilt from not having made many meals in that kitchen for nearly a year is bad enough, but to intuitively feel the pain regarding his pain on this one (again the “N” at work in me) added to my heart ache.

I can’t tell you the last time that someone ministered to my husband along these lines. I don’t know if it’s a guy thing or a preacher thing (maybe even a human nature thing), but it’s not right. As the primary bread-winner and care-giver to a sick wife, my husband carries a heavy load. I couldn’t ask for a better help-mate as we have navigated and continue to navigate these uncertain times. But few have been those who have noticed him … have taken the time to ask the hard questions, wait for the answers, and then act upon the pain that is obviously masked by his need to be strong for all of us. Who’s noticing him?

Few.

Why is it that few people take the time to notice the care-givers of sick patients? The friends, spouses, children, extended family members who are caring for the infirmed? Is there a threshold for concern … as if there’s only enough room in our hearts to offer compassion, send comfort to the sick? Is taking on the care-giver simply too much burden added to an already heavy-laden list of those needing care? When did we stop noticing the corporate nature of care-giving? If it “takes a village” to raise a child, then why would it be any different with those who are suffering? Suffering need, needs a village of concerned inhabitants to tend to the sick, care-givers included. They should not be overlooked. Instead, they should be noticed. Be consulted. Be loved, even as the patient is loved.

As the wife of a husband who has valiantly endeavored to “love me as Christ loves the church,” I am sometimes saddened by the response of the “church at large” to love on my man. He needs to be noticed. And I can honestly tell you that he isn’t wielding any weapons in his emotional arsenal to procure attention. He’s just not the type. He’s a humble man with a beautiful heart willing to bend low to wash the feet of a stranger, despite his own feet being sorely in need of a thorough cleansing of communal love.

I don’t tell you this to elicit a response in our direction. I tell you this in hopes that you might consider a care-giver who is within arm’s reach of your ministry today. Someone who needs noticing, who needs a few minutes of your time and your tending. Someone who would benefit from a phone call, a note, a lunch date all offered in the name of God’s love because you understand that loving “the most excellent way” (see 1 Corinthians 13) means putting others’ needs above your own. It’s such a simple thing … noticing the pain of others. It doesn’t take much to abate the human need to be noticed. It simply requires your willingness to re-direct your attention away from self and to channeling that attention in the direction of others.

Perhaps, today, you could give your attention to the care-giver of someone who is sick; in doing so, you give to the patient as well. Don’t wait to be asked. Just do. Do it today; do it because our God has done the same for us.

He noticed us. He notices us still. We must give our hearts--our energies and our efforts--to the same. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: The winner of Michael O'Brien's CD is #13, Stephanie! I'll have this in the mail to you be week's end.

I love you this big...

2011-08-01T08:23:00.001-04:00

“Sons are a heritage from the LORD, children a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. They will not be put to shame when they contend with their enemies in the gate.” (Psalm 137:3-5)

I jokingly commented to my neighbor last evening…

“Of all the women least likely cut out for motherhood and children, somehow I wound up with a quiver full of them.”

I’ve been a mom for at least half of my life—twenty-two years of rearing and raising a brood under my roof. Sometimes getting it right. A lot of time failing miserably at the task of loving, but at all times with the understanding that mothering is a privilege … a sacred trust not to be taken lightly.

With parenting comes pain. Unavoidable pain—good and bad. Good pain issuing forth because of the natural flow of give-and-take while growing a child into an adult. Bad pain because sometimes that growth is accompanied by the willful, stubborn choices of both the parent and the child.

Today there’s some good pain in my heart. An ache not unfamiliar to me as a mother of four beautiful children. Today, my eldest son moves to Charlotte where he will be attending graduate school in the fall. A van load and car load just pulled out a few minutes ago, and my obligatory wave at the end of the drive-way was met with a few tears and the all-too-familiar, wrenching kick to the mothering gut.

I first felt it four years ago when we left the parking lot of Nick’s college campus. Sobbed most of the way home and then sobbed some more when I opened the back door and found a bouquet of flowers waiting for me on the counter. I still have the card on my nightstand.

“I love you so much! Thanks for an incredible 18 years. I am so grateful to have you as a mother and you have my love and respect. Reliant K writes: ‘If home is where the heart is, then my home is where you are.’ Your Son, Nick XOXO” (August 18, 2007)

Today there are no flowers to greet my pain. Instead, I take one from my quiver and give it back to the world. Today I release my “twenty-two-year-old, so-much-like-his-mother” son to his life as an adult. Today I trust and believe in those two plus decades’ worth of heart investments that we’ve made together knowing that they have been enough to grow a boy into a man. A man of honor, respect, depth, and godly intention.

I will “not be put to shame when my enemies come and contend with me at the gate.” My son’s got my back. Nicholas, he whose name means “victory of the people” is strong and courageous and will be a leader in this world. A name well-suited for this man who has overcome many obstacles in his short tenure upon this earth and who has always done so in the light and shadow of the cross.

It’s time for you to run, my boy. Time for you to live your life as a man. This mother will miss you; but even more so, this mother is ready to release you to the world.

Live it like you mean it, Nicholas, and always, always, always, take good care of your heart. I love you this big.

Mom

what crowd are you running with?

2011-07-27T10:30:00.001-04:00

She lapped me twice yesterday. Twice. She an avid marathon runner. Me an avid “hope I get through this jaunt without tripping on a rock” walker. My lap around the neighborhood is about a mile in length. Her lap a bit further than mine. We made our cursory nods at one another the first time she passed me. She’s not much of a talker. Running is serious business for this gal. But when I heard her steps encroaching upon my territory the second go around, I decided to break our customary silence.

“I’m going to ‘facebook’ that you lapped me twice today! I used to run, but I can’t anymore. I’ve been through cancer, and it’s slowed my pace. You’re my inspiration!”

It was then that she did something I’ve never seen her do before. She stopped running (she was now several paces ahead of me), turned around and said…

“No, you’re my inspiration. Look at you. You’re jogging slowly. Someday we’ll run together.”

I nodded my thanks, and we departed company. It’s highly unlikely that I will ever be able to keep pace with her stride, but I liked her idea—this “running together.” It started me thinking about the men and women with whom I currently keep pace. Those who are stepping the path of cancer and who are moving forward with their healing. There are many of us. Too many to name in one post. Another 1.5 million will be added to the roll call this year alone.

And while I may not be able to run with the marathon momma in our neighborhood, I’ve been privileged to run with many valiant cancer-warriors in the course of my last year. Some of them I was able to meet face-to-face this weekend.

All of us cancer survivors. Three of us breast cancer survivors. One a momma-survivor—her precious son, Andrew, marking the path home to heaven increasing our hopeful expectation for what awaits us all at the end of the road. I am honored to call these women friends; they have stood with me, prayed for me, touched me with their love—all from a distance, and just this past weekend, in the flesh. As I recently wrote in my book proposal…

“Suffering need, needs a suffering friend. Not just any friend, but a friend who has walked a similar road.”

Certainly, we need a variety of friendships. But there is something uniquely special about having a "come-alongside" friend who grasps the fullness of our pain, whether that pain issues forth from cancer or from some other type of “disease” that is eating away at our flesh. We need those who will keep pace with our stride, not move ahead of us or lag behind but who willingly enter into our struggles because their stories mirror ours. Out of the comfort we have known we must, in turn, offer comforting comfort to others (see 2 Cor. 1:3-5).

I don’t know what that will look like for you in the days to come, but I imagine there will surface a person in the next week who will need the benefit of your comfort. Perhaps a “suffering need” with which you are well familiar. Promises regarding a “future run together” fall flat to a heart that is suffering. What proffers hope is an offer of willing participation, a decision to stop running ahead and to start keeping pace with personal pain. A slowing down so that the hurting heart might catch up, look up, live up in the midst of trial.

God needs you to minister his comfort to his children. You cannot be all things to all people, but you can be a friend to one. Would you be willing to pay attention to the lives that cross your path today? There is someone who needs the tenderness and kindness of heaven. God has entrusted you with the privilege of this glorious dispensation. Suffering need, needs a suffering friend. Out of the comfort you have known, minister comfort. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: According to random.org, the winner of Glynnis Whitwer's I Used to Be So Organized is Kathy S. And because my friend, Cindy, is the queen of organization and simplicity, I'm sending her a copy as well. Leave a comment today to be entered into a give-away for Michael O'Brien's CD Be Still My Soul.

Legacy (a reflection from "She Speaks")

2011-07-25T09:25:00.000-04:00

She nestled in next door to me, to my left and within an elbow’s reach of bumping into mine. Around the table set for eight, we began our dissection of rolls, salad, and sweet tea. Her choosing a seat next to mine put a smile across my heart. She’s a good fit with my favorite people group, and as things go with my favorite people group—those exceeding me in wisdom and age by at least twenty years—I heartily welcomed her as part of my evening digestion.

Some meals feed the stomach; other meals feed the soul. This meal would provide nourishment on both counts. Thus, the “feeding began” with a few words of initial impartation from my heart to hers.

“Tell me a little about yourself. Where did you come from, and why are you here?”

“I’m from Arizona, although it’s not really my point of origin, and I’m here with my daughter this weekend. I’ve never been to She Speaks before, but I wanted to come and see what the buzz is all about. Mostly I came to support her. Can I show you something?”

(Honestly, she could have shown me a pair of nail clippers at that point; she “had me” at her words about “point of origin.”) Instead of nail clippers, she pulled out a copy of the newly released book by Glynnis Whitwer, I Used to Be So Organized: Help for Reclaiming Order and Peace.

“My daughter wrote this book, and she dedicated it to me; I didn’t even know it until today.”

She opened the book to the dedication page, and we read the words together. Her name was written there—in print and on display as a lasting memorial to the parenting investment … the loving deposits, she’s made into the life of her daughter over the years. Glynnis obviously “had her mother” with these initial words of personal dedication. It was a Kodak moment, at least of the heart kind—one that I mentally snapped and reflected upon throughout the remainder of the evening.

I watched them as they broke bread with one another and wondered about how many tables they’ve shared over the years. The evening was filled with little moments of mother-daughter give-and-take. Caring for one another in simple ways. Passing the salt. Passing softly spoken messages. Passing the tissue box. Passing touches. Passing love.

At one point in the evening, my new friend gently placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. It remained there throughout the serenade beautifully voiced through Michael O’Brien. I could barely contain my tears while witnessing this love pass from a mother to her daughter. A stretch of grace from a mother’s womb to the fruit of that womb.

A grace-filled tribute to legacy.

The keynote speaker for the evening spoke of legacy. Ann Voskamp challenged us in regards to those “book/movie trailers” we’re creating for the next generation. What seeds are we planting? What trails are we blazing? What steps are we marking? What stones are we gathering? What remembrances are we collecting? What will be the lasting memorial of our earthly tenures?

As the evening drew to a close, I thought about the “book trailer” that I had just watched unfold before me at the table. Not the one on the stage screen, but on the screen closer at hand—the 3D, in the flesh trailer that rubbed elbows with me throughout dinner. Clip after clip of loving legacy between a mother and her daughter. I’m not sure anyone else noticed it, but I was privileged to sit ringside to its witness. As I prepared to leave our time of fellowship, I looked at my new friend and said…

"This is the book trailer; the way you love your daughter and the way that she obviously loves you in return … this is the trailer that matters. Keep to it … keep to your loving."

Weary and worn from a day’s worth of peddling my words to publishers, I threw a few more out there; not on behalf of myself, but rather to validate and commemorate a precious love between a parent and a child.

Legacy--a trailer we leave for the next generation.

Traveling with the ones we love.
Talking about the ones we love.
Touching the shoulders of the ones we love.

Not a bad formula for making a life-trailer. Traveling. Talking. Touching. What better words of final benediction could be spoken over our lives? I want them to be spoken of me one day.

She traveled with us. She talked about us. She touched us with her love.

This is the book trailer, friends. The one that matters. Keep to it … keep to your traveling, your talking, and your touching this week. And thank you, new friend, for being willing to rub elbows with me. You had me at your “point of origin.” As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: Leave a comment to be entered into a give-away for Glynnis Whitwer's new book, I Used to Be So Organized. There will be another give-away with my next post for one of Michael O'Brien's CD's. Shalom.

Tuesday Take-Away {Luke 21:1-4}

2011-07-19T16:07:00.000-04:00

Peace for the journey,

Tuesday Take-Away {Genesis 3:8-9}

2011-07-12T16:07:00.000-04:00

{photo compliments of Shirley}

Three years ago, I traveled to "She Speaks" with a completed manuscript in hand. And while all of my publisher meetings exceeded my expectations (a.k.a. they enthusiastically took my proposal), weeks later my mailbox was filled with their (what I assume to be) customary rejections. The manuscript I pitched back then is still sitting on my shelf, collecting dust alongside a few other books I've written. Today, I reach back in time to re-consider the pulse behind this particular manuscript--a collection of thirty, devotional reflections all centering on the questions of God in Scripture. Questions spoken through his prophets, his Son, and his own voice. Questions given to us as an invitation to join with him in sacred conversation.

I firmly believe that as God presents his questions in Scripture, he means for them to jump off the page to become a question that engages our hearts. So, for today's Tuesday Take-Away I'd like for you to consider the very first, recorded question from God to his children as found in Genesis 3:8-9:

"Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the LORD God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and they hid from the LORD God among the trees of the garden. But the LORD God called to the man, 'Where are you?'"

Where are you today? I'll tell you where I am. Knee-deep in the midst of words, rambling thoughts, and wrestlings with my faith. I'm also knee-deep in the midst of God's faithfulness. He is doing a work in me that I never expected; maybe thought about on occasion but never imagined that we would arrive at the point of putting our hands to the plow and some elbow grease to the deeper heart-work that is in front of me. As I reflect on this first question of God to his children in light of where I am this day, I keep these thoughts in mind:

God can always be found walking in his garden.
We have the privilege of joining him in his walk.
We're always within earshot of his voice.
God is always willing to find us, even when we are content to stay hidden.
God intends for us to reveal our hiddenness, to name our "spot", and to stand before him just as we are. Sinners in need of a garden-walking, question-asking, seeking Savior who knows our names and who isn't content to leave us as we are.

Where are you today, my pilgrim friends? Wherever you are, I pray the sound of his footsteps ringing in your ears and the call of your name lingering on his lips. You are God's child; he knows you, and he knows how very much you need him. Keep walking toward Eden. It's closer now than it has ever been. As always...

Peace for the journey,

a little "manna" for your weekend...

2011-07-08T13:26:00.000-04:00

I had an experience yesterday... not unlike the ones I had with her. I've spent the better part of my morning thinking about my experience, writing a few words to memorialize our encounter. I'm not sharing the fullness of that writing in a post, but I thought I'd give you a few thoughts to chew on over the weekend. You may want to re-visit the backdrop for my thoughts as found in Exodus 16. In this piece, I work with the idea of our not "taking more than we need"--about living within the daily boundaries of God's daily provision. I realize this reading it is not in its full context, but I wanted to:

1. Say "hello."
2. Tell you that God has been mighty good to me over the past few weeks in regards to my preparations for She Speaks. His daily manna has been just enough for a day's worth of doing. I pray you know the witness of his manna in your life this weekend.

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

Never take more than you need.

I have a feeling this has been a guiding principle for her throughout her life. Receiving help as she needed it, but declining it when she had enough. Oh for a heart like hers to know when to take and when to give back. When to say “yes” and when to say “I have enough for today. You keep it for your family.”

Our spiritual ancestors had a difficult time discerning that balance. Manna from God was a daily dispensation, their gathering of it as well. A daily obedience not to be taken advantage of, but rather to be celebrated. To say back to God, “Yes and this is enough for today.” When they didn’t—when stocking the pantry took priority over receiving the daily provision of God—the resulting consequences didn’t allow them to imbibe their hoarding.

“However, some of them paid no attention to Moses; they kept part of it until morning, but is was full of maggots and began to smell. So Moses was angry with them.” (Exodus 16:20)

Could it be the same for us in our hoarding of blessings? Could we, in the receiving of blessing upon blessing a few thousand times over, get to the place of keeping them for ourselves? Worse yet, of coming to expect them as our right rather than to humbly receive them as a grace from God? When is God’s “enough” enough for us? Why does abundance sometimes breed greediness? Why can’t God’s daily provision settle down within our hearts as faith rather than as distrust?

I think this is it. I think we are afraid that God’s goodness has a limit. We falsely reason that even though today it’s raining manna, tomorrow it might be raining famine. So we collect and hoard and relish our abundance; in doing so we break ranks with God’s mandate to live daily beneath his provision. We cultivate a deserving attitude because, after all, we are God’s children on the road to the Promised Land. Before long, the stench of maggots have replaced the once, sweet smell of God’s “enough,” and the odor emanates upward to the nostrils of heaven. And we wonder where it all went wrong. When did the manna turn to maggots, and why do we feel so empty on the inside?

Manna begins in its disintegration when we take it upon ourselves to manage the blessings of God. Certainly, we need them, especially the witness of God’s love to us through others in our times of great trial. When the need is great, the manna rains down proportionally—maybe with a generous dispensation to last us beyond the borders of a single day. But when our need is less, we must relinquish our expectations for more and live within the boundaries of day’s worth of manna. When the need is but a day’s worth, the manna will fall accordingly. Out of his abundance, the Father gives to us what we need. We must receive it with thankfulness and then we must release our expectations.

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

For what it's worth, there you go. Love to you each one!

Peace for the journey,

Tuesday Take-Away {John 19:25-27}

2011-07-05T09:41:00.001-04:00

Has it really been a week since I’ve been here? What a week it’s been for me! With the passage of time and as God prompts, I’ll let you in on a little more about what has been going on with me. In the meantime, here’s the scripture prompt for this Tuesday Take-Away, a poignant, telling scene from the life of Jesus:

“Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother there and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, ‘Dear woman, here is your son,’ and to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ From that time on, this disciple took her into his home. (John 19:25-27)

To do this passage justice, you might want to read it in its entirety (John 19:1-27). Here’s how I read it and a few corresponding thoughts to go alongside:

As we make our own walks to the cross of Jesus Christ—our chosen walks of surrender to behold his suffering so that we might better carry our own—our Savior revisits this scene from his own surrender. Never does his blood bleed brighter, his heart beat more tenderly, than when we choose to pick up our own crosses and to carry them forward in faith. It’s just that important to the work of the kingdom, both 2000 years ago and now. He is present.

Suffering their loss, they suffered collectively. As the body of Christ, it is both our charge and our keep to come alongside one another as we tenderly take hold of our own humanity, make our pilgrimages to the cross, and surrender our hearts to the painful, healing work of resurrection.

In our times of pain, Jesus Christ willingly assigns us a “beloved disciple”—a “John”—to make sure we’re taken care of, well-loved, and remembered. Even when it seems as if no one is surfacing to tend to our needs, God has dispatched the witness of his Holy Spirit to minister to our hurting hearts in ways that most perfectly meet the challenge of our pain (see John 14 and 16).

Finally, true, lasting heart-work—soul-work—always happens “near the cross.” Why? Because Pilate had it right when tagging the identity of the One hanging there: “Pilate had a notice prepared and fastened to the cross. It read: JESUS OF NAZARETH, THE KING OF THE JEWS” (John 19:19). Jesus of Nazareth, King of us as well. King in charge of our souls and the transformational work of our hearts.

So, friends, how do you read it? If not this passage, then what scripture have you been chewing on this week? I pray your Tuesday filled with the rich witness of Christ’s presence, and that, if you haven’t already taken the time to sit with him in quietness to contemplate his worthiness, you would take some time now. As always…

Peace for the journey,

Tuesday Take-Away {Genesis 28:10-12}

2011-06-28T08:16:00.001-04:00

I haven't forgotten about you, friends. I'd like nothing more than to spend some concentrated time on-line, visiting you and weighing in on your valuable posts. I'd also like some more time to write some of my own. But beyond what I would like to do, there is another preference that has surfaced for me--my "must do" for the next few weeks.

God is preparing my heart to attend P31's She Speaks conference in July. Thanks to many of you and your investment into my story, I'll be able to share with others some of the wonderful ways that God has ministered and is continuing to minister to my heart during this season--another step in my "living up to my learning" (if you didn't watch my cancer-survivor picnic video, skip this reference or make up your own interpretation).

As a way of managing my time, I'm planning on posting a little nugget of truth at this blog on Tuesdays... something along the lines of Tuesday Take-Away. With God's help and out of the well-spring that comes to me through him, I will endeavor to plant a little seed of truth and comfort into your heart. A small take-away for your day. My goal is not to overly flesh out my thoughts (some of you are shouting "Hallelujah" right about now... not funny). Rather, my goal is to point you toward a few take-aways that leap out at me. More than likely I'll be chewing on them for the rest of the day. Accordingly here is the text and take-away for today:

"Jacob left Beersheba and set out for Haran. When he reached a certain place, he stopped for the night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones there, he put it under his head and lay down to sleep. He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it." (Genesis 28:10-12)

My take-away:

Sometimes a "setting out" from the land of our comfort--our familiar--is required of us in order that we may walk in the fullness of all that God has for us.
There's always a "certain place" of rest.
As odd as it might seem, a hardened "stone" rather than pillow is often the foundation for that "certain place" of rest and for the birthing of God's dreams for our lives.
The "stone" we're resting upon can serve as the portal that God uses to reveal himself to us.

So, my friends, how do you read it? What "setting out", what "certain place", or what "stone" is your portion this day? I love you each one and will get around to visit you as I can. As always...

Peace for the journey,

near...

2011-06-24T09:58:00.004-04:00

“A woman in the crowd called out, 'Blessed is the mother who gave birth and nursed you.' He replied, 'Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it.'” (Luke 11:27-28)

What "word" are your hearing from God this week? Is there a prompting from his Spirit within you, nudging you in a certain direction? A verse, perhaps, that keeps resurfacing through different venues? What sacred declaration? Gentle revelation?

What word?

God’s Word tells us that we are blessed to hear such a “word” and then further blessed when we obey its prompting. It may come to us in unexpected ways and through all manner of godly allowance; but for me those “words” normally first arrive at the doorstep of my heart via the pages of Scripture; God, then, backs up his Word with many moments of earthly punctuation as I continue to meditate and ponder the depths of his revealed Scripture.

It’s not enough to just hold Jesus as a baby at Bethlehem; it’s not enough to walk the road with him to Calvary and watch him die. It’s not even enough to see the resurrected Lord ascend into the clouds. What is enough is holding all of God’s truth within our hearts, believing it, and then obeying it. Have you read it this week? If so, then I imagine he’s been prodding your heart along in a certain direction and making sure that you “hear” him as you go about your daily business. And so I ask you again… what word from God has become your word of meditation in recent days?

Mine has been “the nearness of God.” In the last couple of weeks, I’ve been reminded to consider just how near and close to me is the presence of God:

“Come near to God and he will come near to you.” (James 4:8)
“The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.” {Psalm 145:18)

As I’ve paused to consider the richness of such a promise, I’ve been moved to action. To come near to God, to call upon his name in prayer, to invest some time in the study of his Word, and to trust that with every intentional act of my heart will come his response--the fruition of his promise to draw closer to me.

God is near. Just near. For whatever that may or may not mean to you today, it’s certainly meant a great deal to me this week. Just thinking on that one word—near—has brought a rich measure of peace to my heart. I’m blessed to know the God who is near.

Now, to live what I know? To live the nearness of God? Well, that will be the measuring standard of truth revealed to my heart. I’ll keep you posted on that one.

What word has been your portion in recent days? I’d love to hear about it. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: The winners of Joanne Kraft's book Just Too Busy are Phil, Cindy C., and Pamela. Send me your snail mail, friends, at my new e-mail address: elaineolsen@live.com and I'll mail these out early next week!

"Just Too Busy" by Joanne Kraft {a book review}

2011-06-20T00:00:00.034-04:00

The first time I saw Joanne Kraft, she was sitting on a chair near the big windows outside the conference session we’d both just attended—a session geared toward having an “effective fifteen-minute publisher meeting” at the P31’s She Speak, She Writes annual conference. I noticed Joanne for two reasons: 1) her yellow blouse, and 2) her obvious tears.

I thought, perhaps, she’d just received some bad news from home; what I later would find out is that her bad news wasn’t attached to her home life; rather, to her dream for writing the book, Just Too Busy: Taking Your Family on a Radical Sabbatical. Her hopes had been momentarily crushed by a professional who told her that the idea was best suited for a magazine article, not a full manuscript. This may seem like a small thing to most people, but for writers it’s a very tender, big thing. Dreams (whether you’re a writer or not) are just that important.

Normally, I would have immediately gone over to tend to Joanne’s tears; it’s in my nature to do so… to give hugs, ask what’s wrong, especially if it looks someone could use a tissue, even if that someone is a stranger. But I didn’t this time around because of my up-and-coming scheduled “effective fifteen-minute publisher meeting” with a publisher. Thus, our introduction would have to wait, and although I would see her throughout the remainder of the weekend, I never took the time to officially connect with Joanne. A few weeks later, we somehow managed to slip into each others’ lives through our blogs. Three years have passed since that time; we’ve had numerous chats and e-mail exchanges that have allowed us to grow a friendship—one of the best benefits that comes with having an on-line presence.

Neither one of us left that conference with a book contract that year. However, because of Joanne’s dogged determination and willingness not to cede her dream to one person’s opinion, she can add the title of “published author” to her list of accomplishments. I couldn’t be more thrilled for Joanne. Her pen via her heart is a special gift to her readers. Whether it’s a blog post, an e-mail, or the 187 pages I've just finished reading, Joanne's words have a way of lightening my load and cheering my heart.

Joanne writes like she talks. What you’ll read on the pages of Just Too Busy, is exactly how she “reads” in her every day life. She’s kind, bold, generous with her encouragement, and her comedic timing goes a long way toward making a bad day into one that can be celebrated. We are like-minded in many ways, and I appreciate her willing candor on a variety of topics. You will see a lot these qualities throughout Joanne’s book.

Just Too Busy, Taking Your Family on a Radical Sabbatical is a road map to aid readers in their examining of family life—in particular, calculating the stresses, strains, and conflicts that can often result from the self-imposed busyness that is crammed into a day’s existence. Sensing the strain from busyness in her own family, Joanne and her husband decided to take a radical sabbatical from the chaos of their lives. Radical, because that meant cutting out many of the extra-curricular activities for their four children (i.e. sports, music lessons) and to, instead, trade them in for more family time. Sabbatical, because they made this commitment for an entire year.

Their choice wasn’t based on worldly preferences; their choice was based on godly ones. Joanne and her husband weren’t giving up on developing the lives of their children. Instead, they were reclaiming them... the lives of their children. “No” to the outside world; “Yes” to the family being built within the four walls of their home. Sounds pretty radical to me! Sounds pretty darn smart as well.

Here’s what I love most about Just Too Busy. It’s not another checklist for making readers feel guilty about all the things they’re doing right and wrong as parents. Instead, this book gives readers a window-peek into the lives of six people who are surviving and thriving as a family unit. Why? Because of their willingness to draw some boundary lines regarding the outside influences that daily present themselves as necessities rather than possibilities. Joanne is the first to tell readers that her parenting isn’t perfect. I would also add to that disclosure by telling you that Joanne is an example of a parent who is perfectly willing to make a radical change so that her family might live more peacefully.

Some things you can look forward to finding out about in Just Too Busy include (but are not limited to):

The true definition of A.D.D.
The ten telltale signs of busyness
Keeping your hand at your side when all it really wants to do is fly high and say “yes!”
Joanne’s penchant for school field trips
The importance of Sabbath rest
Why singing “Jesus Take the Wheel” doesn’t count as morning devotional time
The traditional Thanksgiving table cloth
Where Amelia Earhart is currently residing
How to know if you’re “munning” correctly
Ditch days
Scrapbooking for the creatively challenged
Television rehab
Choosing the right “hills” to die upon

Just a few of the “gifts” from Joanne’s pen; some serious, some light-hearted, but all of them connected to one central theme—

Celebrating and capturing the beauty of a family.

In closing, I have a final confession to make. My family isn’t necessarily a good candidate for a radical sabbatical from our busyness, because quite honestly, we’re not that busy. We used to be when our older boys were small. The memories of the season have shaped the way I approach my parenting with this second generation of kids. Accordingly, I do far less (in terms of activity) with our younger children. Reading Joanne’s book has brought this reality to the forefront of my heart and has challenged me to make some radical changes in another direction. Not a change for busyness, but rather a change for family togetherness. Joanne’s words remind me, again, to take hold of these moments, to invest some personal energy into them, so that when my children have grown into adults, sweet remembrance regarding their childhood days will be their portion.

Just Too Busy is so much more than an examination of busyness. Just Too Busy raises the flag on behalf of families everywhere and gives them the permission to say “no” to outside distraction and “yes” to the inward cultivation of strong, healthy, family relationships. I’m so blessed and privileged to share this book with you, friends. It’s an easy read that will make you laugh, cry, think, and arrive at some conclusions about your own family’s busyness.

It seems like a lifetime ago when I first witnessed Joanne’s tears and her deflation regarding her idea for a book. Today I imagine her tears spring forth for different reasons. For a dream realized and for the tenacity and courage it took to make it happen. Today, I raise a flag in her honor and celebrate this milestone in her earthly tenure. I join her in making some radical decisions that will forever change the futures of the generation that sleeps beneath my roof this night.

Thank you, Joanne, for your radical heart of faith that was willing to stay the course despite the odds. I love you friend!

{video trailer for Just Too Busy}

To learn more about Joanne, her book, and her speaking ministry, please visit her website by clicking on this link. While there, be sure to check out her FREE leader's guide to go along with the book--perfect for a six-week, small group study!

To find out how you might purchase your own copy of Just Too Busy, click on this link.

To sign-up for an opportunity to win one of three copies that I am giving away, leave a comment with this post. For an extra entry, link to this post in your facebook or twitter accounts and make sure to let me know in the comment section. I will announce the winners with my next post.

for love of You...

2011-06-17T14:59:00.001-04:00

Today, while running a quick errand with my kids (is there really such a thing... a quick errand?), we were listening to Audrey Assad's For Love of You. I haven't listened to the CD in months; actually, I haven't listened to much music over the course of my last year. Something broke in me along the way; music took a back seat and silence slipped in as a replacement. But just today, while listening to Audrey, I was reminded of something that I wrote a season ago before my suffering began:

~ ~ ~

{from "peace for the journey: in the pleasure of his company", pgs. 6-7}

"Atlantica--the magical waters of mermaids and talking sea creatures--had lost its capacity to sing. Not because it didn't hold a melody within its waters, but rather because a tragic death had beaten its drum upon her shores. Loudly and profoundly it marched, sending song's breath to a watery grave, to be buried deeply within the unseen sands of an untouched grief.

Pain does that. It buries. It may burst forth in all manner of wild expressions at the time of sorrow, but it almost always finds a way to, at least temporarily, suspend the song. When death of any kind marches its cadence upon the soil of our souls, it buries. It digs deeply and cries hard and grasps for fragments of control that don't allow the music its voice.

But here is the truth of the eternal song. Once the music has made its way into a heart no amount of throwing and crying and denying its pulse can keep it buried forever. We can go to the grave refusing it a voice, but in the end, the music remains. It will find is chorus, even without our participation, because the King's music is meant to be sung."

~ ~ ~

All of this to say, friends, the music is returning to my soul, one note at a time. Today I heard its chorus sung through Audrey's beautiful voice. A simple grace given to me by the King whose melody remains, despite our suffering seasons. Even so, Lord Jesus, come and sing your song through me.

PS: Be sure to join me on Monday for a review and give-away of Joanne Kraft's first book release, "Just Too Busy!" Shalom.

zoo thoughts...

2011-06-13T16:42:00.001-04:00

We took our young kids to the zoo last week. Despite the blistering temperatures and the long walks in between exhibits, I managed to have a few, chewing-on kind of thoughts as I went.

Eden isn't as far away as we might think; it's approaching our souls, even now...

No one but God could paint this one; he stands alone and high above the rest as a witness to the Creator's creative pulse...

Sometimes a barrier allows us a bravery and a beauty not yet realized...

One day, I will ride one of these...

One day I will sleep with one of these...

One day, flamingo duty will be just fine with me...

This is, indeed, my beautiful "pink" season...

My kids will not be kids forever...

But my kids will always be my favorites of God's created! I'll be spending some extended time with them over the next few weeks... getting to know them all over again and trying to catch up with their childhoods.

Indeed, Eden is closer now than ever before. Better grab it as it comes, friends! I love you each one. As always...

Peace for the journey,

2011-06-09T11:25:00.000-04:00

It's been a while since I've made mention of my book, "peace for the journey"; I'm not into self-promotion. That being said, when a blogging friend takes the time to give my book a mention... takes the time to invest some of her energy with my words, then I am honored to share her thoughts with you. Click on this link to read Nancy's post. Leave a comment there, and I'll have Nancy select a winner to receive an autographed copy. Shalom!

PS: To order a copy visit Amazon or the Resource tab.

Cancer Survivor's Picnic... my toast to hope

2011-06-05T21:47:00.000-04:00

There are a few things I'd like to tell you about today. They'll make better sense if you have the opportunity to watch the video. I'll give you ample time; I need a break from writing this week so that I can spend some concentrated time of resting with my Father. We have a great many things to discuss.

First, I specifically felt your prayers over this past week. I am grateful and humbled by your kind words; I needed them. They made all the difference for me as I sought to prepare my thoughts and, then, to deliver them with the full peace and assurance of God.

Secondly, last night as I was reading in Romans, I came across this verse in 10:20. Words first spoken by the prophet Isaiah and then reiterated by Paul:

"And Isaiah boldly says, 'I was found by those who did not seek me; I revealed myself to those who did not ask for me.'"

After reading those words, I bowed my head and prayed this very prayer over those who would attend today's event. I talked to the Lord about all the people who might show up at the picnic--in particular those not intent on seeking God, much less asking anything of him, but those whom he might so willingly and graciously reveal himself to in unexpected and unanticipated ways. That is the single prayer I carried with me as I marked the hours prior to my speaking.

{Patsy, Cancer Center Social Worker... one of the kindest people I've met}

Thirdly, there came a strange moment for me early on in my speaking. The microphone wasn't situated close to the tents where the attendees had gathered around tables beneath the sweltering heat of a North Carolina afternoon. I couldn't see the faces of those sitting beyond the first row of tables. Of course, my family was in view, but my eyes fixed, instead, on a woman sitting to the left of them at the edge of the tent's shading. She wore sunglasses, but she looked oddly familiar... like one of you, a twin maybe. And I thought to myself, "Did Sassy Granny fly all the way from Washington to hear me speak today?"

I could tell she connected with me throughout the course of my speaking. Several nods, smiles, and encouraging glances were sent my direction; I made a mental note to seek her out at a later time, but I never saw her again. She helped me, reminding me of Sassy and all of you as well. It was as if you were saying, "We're with you, Elaine... yesterday, today, and for the long haul."

Thirdly, as I was talking about survivorship, I carried the memory of my friend Jeff with me; he went home to Jesus this past week. Jeff was a cancer survivor and valiantly lived each day with godly intention. Cancer was not his undoing; rather the threshold of his emerging... whole, healthy, and home to Canaan with the morning dew of Eden to greet his stride and with the company of his Creator at his side.

I also thought of you, Joy, a cancer survivor as well. You begin your journey with chemotherapy in the morning, and I can say to you as well, "Cancer will not be your undoing, sister; rather cancer will be the threshold of your emerging."

Lastly, I met some wonderful "survivors" today; in particular two people. A woman named Jennifer whose breast cancer has returned for a second time, this time in her liver; an eighteen-year-old-boy named Wayne, a testicular cancer survivor. I was reminded, yet again, of the fragility of life... of how each day should be memorialized with grateful thanks for the earthly tenure I've been allowed.

{Joyce, one of my chemo-friends; we adore Nurse Sarah; we miss her as well!}

Entrusted with a story... with Jesus as my "next." He's your "next" as well. Take hold of your moments this week, friends; plant some kingdom seed, and live each day like you mean it. I'll see you on the other side of a much needed break. As always...

Peace for the journey,

PS: The winners of Cindy's cards are Lidj and Cheryl! Girls, please look over Cindy's cards again and let me know which two are your favorites. Email me your selections. My e-mail has been acting up in recent days, so if you haven't heard back from me in a while, then chances are I haven't received your e-mail. We'll work things out somehow.

surviving...

2011-05-31T21:20:00.001-04:00

Funny how life seems to be laughing at me sometimes. Trust me when I tell you the hilarity is a one-sided affair. I don’t find anything remotely amusing about the predicament I’m in—a responsibility given to me months ago and one I willingly embraced when called upon. Little did I know back then what would be required of me to follow-through in the “right now.”

This coming Sunday.

Me, the keynote speaker for Cape Fear Valley Hospital’s annual Cancer Survivor Picnic.

And here’s the funny part—the moment where the joke cycles back on me. Where the taunting begins. Where the fullness of my previous “yes” weighs heavily upon my back and filters through my mind like shrapnel released from an exploding cannon.

It doesn’t seem that I’m doing very well with my surviving… cancer or otherwise. Some days are just getting through days; some days just pushing through days. Some days just wondering and wandering through days. And I feel so ill-equipped to say much of anything on the topic of survivorship. Certainly, I’ve had a few ideas over the past several months; I’ve chronicled a great many of them before you. But today, just a few days away from Sunday, words fail me.

And that is a very hard thing for me. Why? Because I don’t want them to be just any words. I want to mean them when I speak them. I don’t want to waste this occasion with my “blah, blah, blah” breast cancer dialogue. I want my words to speak better. To lift higher. To raise a toast to hope, not to the current getting through, pushing through, wandering through I’ve been feeling as of late. More than anything, I want to be a hope-giver, but friends, in these recent days, my heart has been living apart from hope. My heart has been simmering just above survival. And it’s been a confusing, confrontational mess.

I’m not sure what’s to blame. Maybe hormones, or lack therein. Maybe the summer heat. Maybe a full house and no room to think. Maybe an accumulation of a great many things. Regardless of the agitators, the end result doesn’t look much like hopeful survival. Rather, more like a gradual surrender to a deep wounding—to a healing process that is going to take far longer than what I had imagined.

Is survival really survival when so much hurt exists inside? When getting through, pushing through, and wandering through is the best you can do? Is that survival? Is that enough to move a day’s doing into the win column? Shouldn’t survival be based on more? Shouldn’t the qualifiers read better? Part of me thinks so; the other part of me, perhaps a lesser part, is willing to cut me some slack.

I’m having a hard time deciding about my days, friends, and I’m having a really hard time reasoning out the hospital’s choice for a speaker this year. I want to rise above the current confusion to deliver a strong confirmation about the hope that I profess to believe. I want this coming Sunday to count for heaven’s sake, not mine. Otherwise, what is the point? Really, what is the point?

Platforms are meant for Jesus; not me. Still and yet, there’s one awaiting my presence this weekend. A grace so undeserved, especially for one who’s just getting through, pushing through, and wandering through these days… wondering if my wrestling brings enough credibility to the discussion of true survivorship.

I know what most of you will say, my kind readers, and I appreciate your affirmation in advance. But I don’t want to just receive your words; I want to firmly believe them. I’ve come to depend on them, for we are the body of Christ. We are pilgrims together on this road of faith, walking side by side and held together by our strong foundation, Jesus Christ. You will be standing with me this Sunday when I step before the microphone and speak my story. You are part of my story, and even when words have failed me, you have not. You share in my survivorship, and I will carry your strength with me throughout this week.

Thank you for not laughing at me when I cry; thank you for not crying when I so desperately need to laugh. But mostly, thank you for giving me a safe place to release my feelings. I’m in a vulnerable position right now, a raw and uprooted place, but I’m still here... getting through, pushing through, wondering and wandering though.

Perhaps in the end, maybe enough of a definition of true survivorship.

Peace for the journey,

PS: Winners for the notecards will be picked with my next post. There's still time to join in; see previous post "PS:" for details.

a steward of inconvenience...

2011-05-25T16:29:00.000-04:00

My neighbor taught me a lesson a few days ago. A lesson about what it means to be a steward of inconvenience.

I call him neighbor, but the truth is I don’t even know his name. He lives down the road and around the corner from my home. I only see him in passing while I’m out walking; he’s a lawn person. You know the kind… those folks who live for the lush and green and blossom of summertime. Those who aren’t afraid to get on their knees and tend to the parcel of land beneath their feet. Those whose water bills double during summertime because of their love for landscaping. Those who potentially get annoyed when any one thing creeps in to wreak havoc upon their hard work.

Yep, he seems to be one of them; accordingly, I felt that he might be irritated by the presence of city water trucks last weekend. Several workers showed up on his front lawn to dig up, tear up, and fix up a broken water line that ran from the middle of the street onto his property. I made a few laps in their direction, noting the consternation on the face of my neighbor and his wife. They kept close watch on those workers, even more so on the lawn that was being dismantled; not a large parcel of land but just enough to inconvenience them both. I quietly regarded the scene, packed it away and didn’t give it much thought until I passed by again a few days later.

The scene was much different this go around. No more workers; no more holes in the ground; no more digging and no more corporate mess. Just a man, his hose, a loosely tilled piece of earth, and a patched, gravel spot where the asphalt had previously known fracture. I paused from my walking and commented to this unnamed neighbor about the condition of his lawn.

“Looks like they really messed up your lawn; I know how much work you put into it. Sure hope they found what they were looking for; sure hope it didn’t cost you much.”

His response?

“Just a little water line break and, no, it didn’t cost me a dime. Just a little patch of ground.”

A smile broke across his face, and then one broke across my heart. As I pushed on past his little patch of ground, I thought long and hard about what he had said; his gracious response wasn’t what I had expected. I anticipated his annoyance. Instead, he spoke his peace. In a few simple moments, he taught me something about what it is to be good steward of earthly inconveniences.

I get the feeling he understands something about the earth… about ultimate ownership and his temporary rights therein. About what it is to tend to earth’s parameters—the ones marked out for him by life’s trajectory; the ones that have become his responsibility for the earthly tenure granted him. And while his great love for his lawn is obvious to all passer-byers, what is greater is his perspective regarding the inconveniences that sometimes mediate their witness into the soil beneath his feet.

Rather than complaining, throwing a fit, and being annoyed by the freshly dug-up “brown” amidst the lush and green of a season’s hard work, my neighbor took it all in stride; took a hose in hand, and hovered over that little patch of ground. He bent to his inconvenience, bowed low and served the soil by watering it with his careful and willing stewardship.

I wonder how many of us could say the same… could live the same. Could see life and all its inconveniences with a similar posture of heart. A perspective that continually looks on the bright side of bothers—the right side—and that says…

This life is not my own; it was bought at a price, and it didn’t cost me a dime. Just a little patch of ground here and there. Just a little bit of soil that really doesn’t belong to me in the first place. Just a little bit of time; a little bit of water; a little bit of tending and bending to make sure that any temporary loss is replaced by eternal perspective, eternal growth. Eternal harvest that leaves our little patches of unearthed “brown” healthier, more vital, more vibrant, and more mature because of the tilling that’s taken place within.

What would it take for us to get there, friends? What if we looked at all of life and the little patch of ground entrusted to our care as the greatest, most precious holding of our hearts? What if, instead of collapsing with every uprooting that takes place in our lives, we just grabbed a hose, stooped low, and simply offered our hearts and hands to the re-growth therein? What if we could live there instead of staying mired in our annoyances? What if we simply consigned our gratefulness to the witness and grace of each new day we’re given, regardless of the intrusions that present themselves?

What if we could be a steward of inconvenience? A willing giver in the midst of taking. A joyful tender of disruption. A gracious gardener despite uprooting.

Indeed, a lesson given to me by an unnamed neighbor. I am thankful for its arrival—a small understanding applied to a great big life that just might make a huge impact for the kingdom of God.

Just a little patch of ground for Jesus. Beneath my feet; beneath yours.

Even so, my good, kind friends, keep to it. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: My friend, Cindy, is a good steward of her camera. I've ordered and used several of her cards that contain some of her photographs. I'd like to gift two of you with a set; if you'd like to be included in the give-away, visit Cindy and tell me which photograph you'd like. Shalom.

relying on a miracle... {growing a boy into a man}

2011-05-17T16:13:00.002-04:00

"One must not only believe in miracles, one must rely on them.”

So says Dr. Barbara Walker, commencement speaker at my eldest son’s college graduation this past Saturday.

It was a beautiful day; one of the best days of my life. Over the past twenty-two years, I’ve often wondered if we’d make it here—to this one moment in time where ABC’s, 1-2-3’s, and 16 years plus of learning would culminate into rhythmic chorus to “sing” to me this mothering refrain that I shall never forget. The depth and witness of this memory has seared into my soul and birthed in me a fresh perspective about my remaining days, mothering days and otherwise.

One must not only believe in miracles, one must rely on them.

Where would we be without the daily, miraculous intervention of our God? Miracles come to us, most days without our ever acknowledging their worthiness. Certainly the big ones get the press—miracles of physical healing, relationships restored, prodigals returning home, financial blessing prayerfully sought after and received. But is that it? Are miracles limited to sacred flashes of light and bold strokes of God’s heavenly paintbrush? Can miracles birth outside the limelight of the spectacular and yet still hold the potent witness of the Divine?

Yes, I think that it is in these lesser staged moments when our reliance upon miracles bares its witness most profoundly. Our everyday living serves as the backdrop for some of the most weighty miracles ever given to us as God’s children. We may not recognize them as miraculous when then arrive on the scenes of our lives, but they are holy relevant and deserve a moment of prayerful, thankful, and humble recognition of the One from whom all miracles initiate. Accordingly, I take a few moments today to give praise for the miracle I witnessed over the weekend.

Some of you might not think that a child graduating from college is any kind of a miracle. I might agree with you if I wasn’t the parent who had lived out these last twenty-two years with my boy. But what would you say about this?

What about a child graduating from college whose parents are both cancer survivors? A boy whose father’s initial prognosis nine years ago didn’t grant him much hope beyond two years? A boy whose mother heard the devastating news that both of her breasts would be removed because cancer had taken up residency within her body? A boy who, at age five, navigated the critical, stinging pain of his parent’s divorce and who has, in recent days, navigated the pain of their life-threatening illnesses? A boy who’s changed addresses nine times in twenty-two years and who changed schools eight times before graduating from high school? A boy whose anger at an early age had his mother wondering if he’d ever cycle around to kindness? A boy whose strong willfulness would have James Dobson writing a second book on the matter? A boy who had to adjust to a step-dad… to live by his rules and to learn by his love? A boy whose bent toward perfection might have crippled his growth? A boy whose introversion might have kept him behind closed doors?

What would you say about him, especially if you knew him now?

No longer a boy, but a man named Nick. A man who, now, has cycled around to immense kindness. A man whose anger has turned into humility. A man whose will is tempered by his Father’s. A man who moves outside his introversion to skillfully function in an extroverted world. A man who is willing to live with one “B” on his transcript despite the “A’s” that surround it. A man who lives, loves, and laughs with all of his parents—biological and step. A man who honors his father and mother, his grandparents, and who actively invests his energies into the shaping of his younger brother and sister. A man who loves the Lord, serves the Lord, and wants nothing more than to be a man after God’s own heart.

Would you call that a miracle? Would you say that, despite all odds, his daily reliance upon God has given him a miracle? That his mother’s daily reliance has given her one as well?

I would say so. I do say so. I’ve relied upon the miraculous, keeping, daily grace of God over these past twenty-two years, and my heart tells me that I’ve just witnessed one of the greatest miracles I will ever know as a human being—

the miracle of growing a boy into a man.

There were days and seasons when I didn’t fully believe it would happen; but always did I rely on the greater heart and hands of God to get us here.

One must not only believe in miracles, one must rely on them.

How is your reliance in miracles living this day? I pray that the witness and abiding treasure of my recent miracle will be more than enough to buoy you along in your belief. Rely on God with your everyday understanding and trust him for the outcome.

This one really blew me away!

Congratulations, son. I love you.

As always…

Peace for the journey,

My Breast Cancer Story...

2011-05-13T17:32:00.003-04:00

As many of you know, I've been chronicling my journey through breast cancer since my diagnosis in August 2010. For a long time now, I've wanted to organize these posts into a format that might make it easier for first-time visitors to catch a glimpse of where I've been and where I'm headed. Several of you are referring friends and family members who are struggling with cancer to my website. I am grateful for the privilege of coming alongside all of you to share a bit of my story. In response to the "trust" I've been given, I've taken some time to arrange my previous posts to make it easier for you to navigate in-and-out of my story.

Readers who are familiar with my style of writing understand that my posts are less about cancer-related information and more about the working out of my thoughts/feelings. With that in mind, in addition to the managing of previously written posts, I've decided to include some further detailed information about my cancer with this post. When I was first diagnosed, it was important for me to find others who were experiencing a similar type of scenario; knowing that I was not alone buoyed me along in my journey of survival.

Accordingly, I begin with a time-line of major events that have occurred thus far:

August 3, 2010 / routine mammogram
August 12, 2010 / follow-up ultrasound
August 17, 2010 / biopsy of right breast
August 23, 2010 / diagnosis {invasive ductal carcinoma/right breast; ER-PR-positive, HER2-negative}
August 30, 2010 / MRI {personal decision to have both breasts removed}
September 1, 2010 / bi-lateral mastectomy with three lymph nodes removed {sentinel nodes tested negative for cancer during the surgery}
September 16, 2010 / initial visit with medical oncologist {cancer staged at IIB / tumor approx. 3 cm. in size}
September 21, 2010 / genetic testing {BRAC I & II} at Chapel Hill; results were negative.
September 22, 2010 / PET/CT scans
September 24, 2010 / MUGA scan {heart scan prior to start of chemo}
October 1, 2010 / port placement surgery
October 5, 2010 / January 12, 2011 / eight rounds of chemo; rounds 1-4 {chemo drugs Adriamycin & Cytoxan}; rounds 5-8 {chemo drug Taxol}
February 28, 2011 / Oophorectomy {ovary removal}
April 7, 2011 / follow-up MUGA scan
April 18, 2011 / hormonal "chemo" therapy begins with drug Arimidex to continue for five years.

Secondly, I want to direct you to a few resources that might be useful to you as a cancer patient and/or care-giver of someone facing breast cancer:

Brenda Coffee's website, Breast Cancer Sisterhood

For those facing chemotherapy, The Chemotherapy Survival Guide {Readable, practical, and everything you need to know about chemotherapy; my husband read it as well. I suggest it for all care-givers.}

To sign-up for a free subscription to, Cure {a magazine dedication to cancer updates, research, and education; one of the few magazines I read cover-to-cover}

For free house cleaning during cancer treatment, Cleaning for a Reason

For hats, turbans, scarves, wig supplies, TLC website

Suggested supplies to keep on hand {thank you, Darlene, for giving me this initial list; I've added a few of my own}:

Thera-Tears Liquid Gel {saline for dry eyes; I used this one a lot during chemo};
Ayr Saline Solution {nasal gel for runny/stuffy nose};
Toothpaste and non-alcohol mouthwash such as Tom's of Maine or Biotene;
Olive oil/Vitamin E oil {not mineral oil} for fingernails and toenails;
Clorox wipes and hand sanitizer {can't say enough about this one!};
Straws, plastic spoons, and forks should you develop a metal taste in your mouth {I kept a set in my purse/car} for eating out;
Chemo-therapy shampoo to treat hair prior to fall-out, throughout chemo, and beyond {I use Brian Joseph's Formula One Shampoo};
LMX cream {to numb port area prior to chemo needle going in; I globbed this on my port about one hour prior to treatment and covered with a 3M Tegaderm band-aid / available at most pharmacies};
Colace & Miralax for constipation;
Claritin {I received the Neulasta shot the day after my chemotherapy treatment; one of the unfortunate side-effects of the shot is increased leg pain. Taking a Claritin the day of the shot and a few days following seemed to help decrease the pain; please check with your physician before taking any extra medications!};
Water, fruit juices, tea {Fluid intake is CRITICAL for flushing out the chemotherapy toxins; even when you don't feel like drinking, drink anyway! Trust me on this one.};
Mixture {1tsp. baking soda, 1 tsp. salt, 1 qt. hot water} as needed for mouth sores and sore throat;
Epsom salts added to a hot bath for muscle soreness;

Other tips to keep in mind:

Your cancer situation is unique; not all cancer patients follow your prescribed course of treatment; not everyone will react the same way to various procedures. Therefore, keep an open mind when asking for advice from others; you'll find the worst and best case scenarios at every turn, especially on the Internet.
Give yourself permission to rest as you can. Cancer treatments are exhausting; I found that days 4-6 post-chemotherapy were my worst ones.
Keeping a small notebook/journal handy helped me to chronicle my physical condition so that when the next cycle of treatment rolled around, I was able to somewhat "predict" (a loose, fluid science) what was coming.
Keep track of questions you have for your doctor(s) so that when you get to your appointment, you can articulate your thoughts with clarity.
Feel free to say "no" to a lot of extra-curricular activities; feel free to offer no explanations for your "no"!
Feel free to say "yes" to all offers of meals, babysitting, massages, cleaning, etc.! Practice saying "yes" in the mirror often, especially if you are prone to carrying a heavy load. Cancer is enough of a burden. Allow others to give to you; this is your "receiving" season.
If you have a primary care-giver living with you, set aside a time each day {Billy and I used my "tucking in" time as ours} to communicate with him/her about your most pressing needs. When the kids are screaming, the phone is ringing, and life is buzzing with activity, well, this is probably not the best time for clear communication.
Take your medications as prescribed by your doctor. Don't think you can do without them or wait until you're feeling sick to take them. Keep a schedule, get a pill box, or hire my husband to keep you on track. Honestly, most days I don't know what I'm taking; I'm so glad to have him as my nurse.
Almost immediately after being diagnosed, I purchased a large 3-ring binder with ample dividers to keep track of all my paperwork {bills, EOB's, bloodwork reports, lab results, helpful e-mails, plastic pages designed to hold business cards with important numbers, etc.}. I keep it on my desk and take it with me to important appointments.
When visiting a doctor, ask for a copy of all your test results, routine bloodwork included. As a cancer patient, I am responsible to educate myself regarding my condition; it can be all-consuming and confusing at times, so I'm relieved to have my "history" in print for future referencing.
Drink your fluids! Did I already mention this?
Let the answering machine get it.
Enough for now; I'll add more as things come to mind.

Click on the following links to read some of my posts about cancer. Please note that when clicking on a link, there will be multiple posts. To read them chronologically, scroll down to the end of the page and read from the bottom-up.

The First Post {August 24, 2010... the day I told the world about my cancer}
Cancer, Volume 1 {pre-chemo posts}
Chemo/video posts {videos for each of my eight chemotherapy sessions}
Cancer, Volume 2 {posts reflecting the friends/family who have joined me on my journey through cancer}
Cancer, Volume 3 {post-chemo posts}
Cancer, Volume 4 {mission and ministry because of cancer}

Below are some stand-alone posts {ones that are particularly meaningful to me}:

An Apology to Suffering
Another Side of Me {hair loss}
The Ugly Side of Me {part one}
A Bloodied, Beautiful Faith {the ugly side of me part two}
On Landing Safely Home {on finishing chemo}
Winter's Work; Wind's Breath {a tribute to my winter season}

My recent words of witness at Cape Fear Valley's Annual Cancer Survivors' Picnic:

I hope this is a help to someone; please feel free to pass along this information to anyone you know who might benefit from the reading. Also, if you are a cancer patient and would like to contact me personally regarding your treatment, don't hesitate to use the e-mail link on my side-bar or included within my contact tab. Thank you, all, for the privilege of sharing my life with you. These are good days to walk the kingdom road in such royal company. As always...

Peace for the journey,

standing near...

2011-05-09T10:17:00.001-04:00

“The Spirit of the Lord told Philip, ‘Go to that chariot and stay near it.’ Then Philip ran up to the chariot and heard the man reading Isaiah the prophet. ‘Do you understand what you are reading!’ Philip asked. ‘How can I,’ he said, ‘unless someone explains it to me?’ So he invited Philip to come up and sit with him.’”

(Acts 8:28-31).

I returned to the chemo lounge this week for my bi-monthly port flush. While many of my cancer contemporaries have their ports immediately removed after their chemotherapy has ended, per the urging of my doctor I’ve decided to leave mine in for the next couple of years. The odds for my cancer’s reoccurrence are greater in that time frame, and I certainly don’t want to have to go through the surgical process of re-inserting the port. It was a painful experience for me (think of knives poking themselves into your neck); accordingly, I’ve decided to live with the inconvenience of my port for a while longer. Thus, the need for a bi-monthly return to the cancer center in order to prevent an infection in that area.

The last time I went there, I became physically nauseated when I made that left turn into the hospital parking lot; this time I did a bit better as I made the usual trek to my usual chair and waited for Nurse Angie (Sarah has since moved to Montana and is expecting her first child!) to prep me, poke me, flush me, excuse me—a process taking about ten minutes. This isn’t on par with my previous five hour stays, so there is little time to absorb my surroundings. But with this brief visit, I did notice one thing—one singular reality that struck me afresh and forced my heart to deal with one of the cold, hard truths about cancer.

It’s everywhere.

As I looked around the lounge at the twenty some faces that filled the chairs with their ample suffering, I realized that they were strangers to me—a whole new crop of cancer patients with whom I had no connection. Some asleep. Some dehydrated. Some reading. Some requiring the immediate attention of the nurses. Very few of them engaging with the process. Most of them keeping to themselves. And it made me tearful… made my heart hurt all over again for the reality of cancer and its debilitating effects. I wanted to hug each one of them; sit alongside of them; strike up a conversation, and leave a little bit of Jesus joy with my passing.

But I didn’t; really I couldn’t. I’ve passed the ownership of my chair onto others, and the hospital wouldn’t take kindly to my just “hanging out to be an encourager” especially since, technically speaking, I don’t have authorization to be there. So I left the hospital feeling sad; feeling lost; knowing that my cancer journey has made a huge mark upon my soul but has, also, left me feeling “hung out to dry” as it pertains to the days ahead. I don’t know what to do with it all, how to process its worthiness, how to take the lessons I’ve learned and how to graciously bestow them upon others… those cancer “others” who might benefit from having a “come alongside” kind of Philip at their side—someone who is willing to “step up” and help with the reading of life and truth and Jesus’ role in it all.

While re-reading the above passage of scripture last night (one of my favorites in all of the book of Acts), I was reminded again about the nature of the learning process—about what it is to be a teacher in the classroom of life and what it is to be student. Really, there are two types of learners when it comes to spiritual matters and otherwise.

The first learner is represented by the Ethiopian eunuch—a person longing to learn the truth, yet unable to fully grasp its meaning because of language barriers, historical barriers, familial barriers, religious barriers, traditional barriers. His upbringing hadn’t allowed him the privilege of first-hand knowledge. Thus, when it came to his understanding and the grasping of truth, he began at a deficit. It wasn’t his fault; it simply was his reality. Accordingly, he could have chosen to settle for current understanding—for the “reading” of the story without ever really engaging with its witness. This kind of thinking represents the first type of learner—a learner that never makes his/her way past the print on a page. A learner that chooses ignorance over understanding. A learner that never progresses past the first grade and that is willing to spend a lifetime reciting the ABC’s (a comfortable education) rather than moving onto writing those ABC’s into a meaningful manuscript (a sometimes less comfortable, more laborious and struggling education).

The second type of learner is also represented by the Ethiopian eunuch—a person longing to learn the truth and who is fully willing to accept the teaching of one more knowledgeable, more experienced—a teacher who is willing to come alongside, to step up into the chariot of elementary understanding, to invest personal energies, and to unfold truth in the light of practical, first-hand knowledge and experience. The student-learner who is willing to receive a helping hand as it pertains to furthering his/her education recognizes that, without the help of another, he/she is likely to remain stuck in earlier perceptions that will never really advance personal education. A wise student is willing to share the chariot with a teacher who has previously walked the desert road and who has leaned into his/her own personal learning as it pertains to all of life.

I have been as both learners on my journey through cancer. A student longing for truth but unable to fully interpret it because of never “having been this way before.” I’ve also been a student willing to allow a couple of teachers to join me in the chariot, because I understood that their previous learning would be invaluable to me in my own quest for truth. Like Philip, they have graciously “stayed near my chariot” and, per my request, jumped on board to answer all of my questions and to gently point me forward toward personal application of truth. I am a better learner and survivor because of their generous investments into my understanding. And I am grateful that when they, like me, looked around the “rooms” in their lives and saw a whole new crop of cancer patients, they didn’t shrink back from God’s calling to “stay near my chariot.”

It is my heart’s desire to walk in that same calling, for I have, like them, have walked this desert road. As I look around my “room,” I want to follow God’s promptings toward a chariot or two where I might invest this heart-hurt of mine—a stepping up and into the lives of other cancer patients who need the benefit of my previous education. A few people who might be willing to allow me some personal investment into their personal quest for the truth. It’s not always easy to find them, those who are willing to move past elementary understanding and into the struggling strains of furthering their education. Harder still, is finding someone who is willing to trust my desert heart with the teaching, but I believe that this is what God is calling me to—to stay near the hurting and to gently offer God’s grace, peace, and understanding for the journey ahead.

We’ve all been called to the same… to the “staying near” to a few chariots where we might be used by God to reveal his truth. Not everyone will invite us into their private confusion. Some are content to live within the parameters of their well-recited ABC’s. But every now and again, there will be a few who will bend to their learning, those who want to further the story and who will need the benefit of your previous desert walk.

They are everywhere… a whole new crop of confused and suffering patients in desperate need of our nearness to their pain. How I pray for eyes to see, ears to hear, hearts to listen, and then feet to step up… to stay up until the work of the cross is done. Even so, keep to it friends, and if you’re so inclined, let me know what chariots God is calling you to “stand near” to in this season of living. As always…

Peace for the journey,

a girl, her pink guitar, and a Sunday morning learnin'...

2011-05-03T14:12:00.001-04:00

I had a moment this past Sunday. Just a small one, but one big enough to linger throughout the rest of the day.

It happened while I was teaching a new song to the kids in my Sunday school class, Victory Chant. Per usual, I had written the words on newsprint and pinned them to the bulletin board. We talked through the song before hearing it for the first time, going over the pronunciation of unfamiliar words and the meaning behind the song. Satisfied that enough background had been covered, I cued the music and listened for their participation—those students who came with their parents to church that morning.

My students. The only kids under the age of eighteen in attendance. My kids… the only two sitting as audience to my instruction, well three if you count Preacher Billy. And I thought to myself,

Why in the world am I doing this, Lord? What’s the point? They get all of this at home. Besides, they’re not really listening. Why am I working so hard during the week to prepare a lesson when the only kids that come are mine and, sometimes, an occasional few others? Where are the crowds of yesterday, the audiences of many… my Tuesday night girls, my Sunday morning “ancients”? Why so few? Remind me again why this is important because right now, it feels more like obligation rather than adulation.

Like I said, a moment or two. A thought or two. A question or five… all cradled up within a single pause, and it was all I could do to finish the lesson. A lesson (oddly enough) about a doubting disciple requiring the proof of nail-scarred hands and a few words about “seeing as believing but blessed are those people who’ve never seen yet still believe.” People like us, living 2000 years beyond Christ’s resurrection moment—a people who’ve never “seen” the physical flesh of Jesus but who are devoutly tied to the truth of that moment in history.

The class ended. The earth didn’t shake beneath anyone’s feet, and my family moved downstairs for corporate worship where slightly more gathered in the pews for the 11:00 AM service. And there was a big hurt in my heart… an ample ache for previous ministry seasons now seemingly hidden, buried beneath the burden of hopes dreamed but not yet realized.

Did I miss it, Lord, what you seemed to be saying to me a few years ago? Did we miss it, Lord, what you seemed to be saying to us a season back? Where am I, where are we headed with this? This is hard faith, Father. This has been a hard year for us. How can I keep hope alive when all around me seems to be giving way to despair?

I wish I could say that God’s peace entered immediately into my soul, but it didn’t. Questions of faith usually initiate a wrestling out of thoughts before the Father prior to a peaceful conclusion being reached. This was the reality for most of my remaining Sunday. Wrestling. Struggling. Being mad and being sad. Feeling down and giving up. Wishing for more; expecting less. Thinking about yesterday; living in today. Wondering what’s the point of service if no one comes to be served?

And then I heard it… the point of my seemingly small, morning commitment.

Quiet at first, muffled behind wooden walls and closed doors. A strum of a pink guitar, and the voice of a pure angel named Amelia… trying her best make the out-of-tune strings fit the melody of a recently learned song.

“Hail Jesus you’re my King.

Your life frees me to sing.

I will praise you all my days.

You’re perfect in all your ways.

Hail, hail Lion of Judah.

How powerful you are.

Hail, hail Lion of Judah.

How wonderful you are.”

Her words weren’t perfectly matched with the correct ones, but her heart was… perfectly matched with the correct Word. She wanted to put some feet to her morning learnin’; in doing so, she put some feet to mine. She reminded me, again, of something Alicia Chole said a few seasons ago regarding all levels of Christian leadership:

“Focus on what is small not big; near not far.”

Small and near. My Sunday school class, my two kids, qualify. If they are the only ones who show up on Sunday mornings (per strong persuasion from their parents), then their hearts are ample, fertile soil to seed kingdom increase. When seen through those lenses, my teaching becomes less about mass production and more about investment into detail that will, eventually, harvest in larger proportion. I’ve got to believe this is what is at work here. Something I can’t see, but something that God sees. Something that is far beyond my current perception; something that roots at a higher level and that says,

No investment made on behalf of the kingdom is ever wasted. Every seed planted is a choice made for sacred increase.

I do believe this; I do fervently hold to the idea that our every interaction with another human being is an occasion for depositing the kindness, love, and truth of Jesus Christ. I try and adhere to this understanding, but there are times when reasoning gets cloudy. When God’s leading in the past—his thoughts regarding my “next”—seems slow in coming to fruition in my present.

So I step back today, again. I take a look around, breathe in the landscape of my life, and lean into the learnin’ of my Sunday. I hear the voice of a little girl in my mind; her name is Miss Amelia, but it might as well be Faith Elaine. Sometimes it’s hard to differentiate between the two of us.

A girl and her pink guitar and a God who is willing to be “sung” despite strings that are out of tune and words that sometimes get mixed up.

The melody is still the same. The heart is just as pure. And the Lion of Judah? Just as powerful and wonderful as he’s always been. Indeed, a moment this past Sunday. Just a small one, but one big enough to linger throughout the rest of the day.

I pray for the rest of my life.

Some of life’s most important ministry moments aren’t meant for the stage, friends. Sometimes, they’re best taught and lived in the smallness of a Sunday morning song. Perhaps you understand. Keep to it… keep seeding and living your difficult obedience, and I will do the same. God is faithful to grow the holy rest of it. As always…

Peace for the journey,

a Royal Wedding recap... sort of

2011-04-29T10:17:00.001-04:00

In keeping with the theme of the day...

You're invited to a Royal Wedding... of sorts!

{The keepers of the Bride}

{Not the Queen Mum but my mum}

{Just to prove I was once as skinny as Kate!}

{My keepers not having very much fun...}

{Grand entrance...}

{Not Pipa, but Dionne, Juanita, Janelle, & Elizabeth}

{The kiss... he couldn't wait for the balcony!}

{The Royal Family photo}

{My carriage}

{The ring... not his mother's, his grandmother's}

And just in case you're wondering, the Royal Couple (after nearly 14 years) are still going strong, still living and loving our way through spoken vows. Never have they meant more to us than now.

{The keepers of the bride are looking a bit happier here and still keep watch over their momma.}

Precious, sweet love all around. Thank you, Jesus.

faith gives a good offering to God...

2011-04-26T11:45:00.001-04:00

I’ve been writing this morning, trying hard to edit and rewrite portions of my current work-in-progress. In particular, I’ve been focusing on Hebrews 11:4 and Abel’s great contribution to our walkabouts in faith. The title of the piece is “Faith Gives a Good Offering to God {Abel}.” All characters mentioned in Hebrews 11 make their own personal contribution to the definition of faith. My goal is to broaden our understanding of faith by giving each person and his/her story a tangible characteristic that can be applied to our daily living. Accordingly, with this particular piece I examine what a “good offering” is and how faith is connected to the process. I wanted to share with you a bit of what I wrote this morning, and then I want to connect it to something else. Here’s a portion…

“...Good offerings initiate from a pure heart. A heart that is willing to release the best to God’s altar—the fat portions, the first yearlings, the choicest lambs… even the diseased flesh— is a heart ready to see the exponential increase of the Father’s kingdom. Such lavish surrender reaches the portals of heaven and burns as sweet aroma before the throne. As it arrives and moves into the loving heart of the Father, it then becomes a sacrifice for all humanity, which begs a further question.

How is faith connected to a good offering?

Surrendering for surrendering’s sake—as a formality or as good, religious practice—isn’t an offering of faith. An offering of faith believes forward, beyond the act of surrender to take hold of God’s bigger picture. Good offerings made in faith understand that, in God’s hands, the law of multiplication is at work. When faith gives with God in mind, an enlargement takes place, not just in our own hearts but in the grander scheme of God’s greater purposes. When we release our best to God, he takes the gift, breaks the gift, and begins to share it with the world. Our small sacrifices seed largely into God’s soil of increase.

We may not be privy to the resulting grace around us; God’s work and ways are mysterious to most. But we can be certain that as we lean into our good surrenders, God willingly uses them for his good, his glory, and his gain. The kingdom increases when we give our good offerings to God. Not only are we changed, but the world around us reverberates with the witness of our sacred contributions.”(ElaineOlsen.4-26-11.allrightsreserved.)

With that being said (actually being typed), here’s the connection I want to make today as it pertains to good offerings and the law of multiplication.

Friends, you have blessed me in recent days with your good offerings. Many of you know that Sheri started a scholarship fund for me to attend P31’s She Speaks this year. Because of your generous contributions, I’ll be able to attend and to share my heart and work with other women and professionals in the publishing world. Given our family’s strained budget in recent days, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable attending this year’s conference. You have made the difference, and in doing so, have invested in God’s work through my life. Who can fathom the increase to come? I cannot, but I certainly believe that whether small or large, the gain is a direct result of your loving, good offering to God on my behalf. Thank you.

Secondly, I want to thank Kathie for sending me this beautiful table covering. I saw one that she had made over at her blog and commented about its loveliness. A few weeks later, this one was waiting on my doorstep. Thank you, friend, for the good offering of your hands. Your sewing love will grace my dining room for many seasons to come.

Lastly, I want to thank Deborah for writing this song for me. Several weeks ago she contacted me about writing such a gift. I heartily agreed; Deborah has been a reader of the blog for a long while, so she already had a good sense of my heart. She spent a lot of time reading and reflecting on my posts before writing the song. I’m so tickled to be able to share it with you today. Please make sure to visit this post for a listen. Thank you, friend, for the offering of your hands. Your musical love will rest in my mind, heart, and soul for many seasons to come.

Good offerings. I have been the recipient of many of yours. Offerings, first made to God and then trickling downward to me. I am blessed to be a part of your faithful “increase.” May God continue to multiply its witness in me and through me in the seasons ahead. Some day soon we shall all be privy to how our “good offerings made in faith” have genuinely and exponentially impacted the kingdom of God.

Keep to it, friends. I love you each one. As always…

Peace for the journey,