Peace for the Journey | Elaine Olsen

Will I See You in the Morning?

July 17, 2026

Granny Camp ended on Tuesday when her parents came to pick her up after their four-day getaway to celebrate their anniversary.

What a time we had – Granny, Poppy, Aunt Mimi and our grand-girl, Finley. As a six-year-old, she has turned a corner on former interests. Gone is Paw Patrol. Come is Super Smash Brothers. It’s a joy to enter into and to be a part of her shifting season, even if it means accepting the reality of a clock that never stops.

Time.

It spends easily. It passes quickly. It leaves a mark. It writes a memory.

And she left me with one – a mark. A memory.

On Monday evening, while putting her to bed, Finley asked me a question that has been echoing in my spirit ever since. Knowing that she was leaving the next morning and that I had to go to work prior to her departure, she threw her hands around my neck and softly whispered in my ear,

I knew what she was asking. I knew why she was asking.

Granny Camp, by all accounts, was a success – a time of championing and lifting up a little girl who relished the attention and who celebrated each moment, even the little ones. Finley didn’t want Granny Camp to end, but Finley knew that the end was coming. She simply wanted to get a final look at her granny on her final day of feasting.

Time.

It spends easily. It passes quickly. It leaves a mark. It writes a memory.

As I’ve pondered Finley’s question this week, my heart remains tenderly tied to another time-sensitive memory – a recent wound that remains open despite the finality of the carnage.

My daddy died a month ago. His departure was expected. Still and yet, I hold my grief as if I imagined it never being mine. Ten years of watching daddy’s decline did not fully prepare me for death’s ugly entrance.

Real. Raw. Unfiltered. Layered. Full in moments; partial in others. Occasionally it is hidden, but it is always here … simmering in the soul … yearning for discovery.

I have not walked with this grief before. It is new to me. Willingly, I hold it; reluctantly, I allow it to mess with me.

And in the messing – in all the questions and the tears and remembrances leading up to his closing moments on this earth – the messiness comes clean and is more defined with the innocence and earnestness of a grand-girl’s question…

By all accounts, my life with dad was a huge success – 60 years of being championed and lifted up by a father who delighted in spending time with his daughter. I didn’t want our time together to end, but I knew that the end was coming. However, unlike Finley and her recent time at Granny Camp, I received no verbal assurances from my daddy that I would, in fact, see him in the morning. Instead, he slipped from my sight during the night with unrecognizable groans that only assured me of his struggle, not his gain.

And here I am, on the other side of that “letting go,” and the only solid answer I have regarding the morning and the visioning therein is my faith. Not my feelings. Heavens no – not my feelings. My feelings leave me mired in the questions. My feelings rob me of truth. My feelings aren’t reliable when juxtaposed next to my faith. My feelings DO write a witness all their own – sometimes lovely, sometimes tinged with nastiness, but they are not the fullness of all that is me.

They cannot reign in this messiness named Grief because the pain requires a salve that has the capacity to heal deeply, not just to cover temporarily.

My faith tells me “Yes;” mostly, my feelings echo similarly. But every now and again, grief’s wound is just big enough to allow in a few niggling questions, ones whose answers seem purposefully just out of reach.

Maybe that’s the deal, this eternal yearning for understanding attached to a question that speaks of the morning – the brilliant dawn after the darkened night.

When all is said and done in this tenure we call life (when the closing lines of Granny Camp are written) the question won’t necessarily be about where we’ve been or what we’ve done but, instead, will be a question about when we get to do this again.

Will you be with me when I arrive at the glorious dawn of the new day? Will we be together again – to laugh, to love, to do life side-by-side when time doesn’t spend easily or pass quickly but, instead, lives endlessly? Will you hold my hand, hold me in your arms, point me further down the road, make sure I get there safely? What light lies beyond the night? What promise holds despite the questions?

There is something so very calming and beautiful when resting in this question … to park a heart amid such love and reassurance. To know that you are wanted in the morning, that your presence has been requested … expected … almost as if there is nothing more natural than having you there with the ones that you love, continuing the party and deepening the bond.

Friends, there are chapters to be written into our stories – mornings that will come to us after the messiness of our nights. I could write so much more about it and my feelings therein. But you deserve better than my feelings, thoughts more solid than what I can give you in a few paragraphs. I am not an expert on grief; I have few tips therein. But what I do have is a memory, a very special moment between a grand-girl’s heart and her granny’s.

Whatever questions shadow your steps today, whatever loss lingers closely and tethers tightly to your feelings, may this single question marinate in and around your heart to do the soul-work that God desires.

I hope so.

I really do.

Peace for the journey,

When Blue Skies Collide

May 30, 2026

It’s an annual angst in our household – the night…

When blue skies collide.

The softer hues of a Carolina blue and the bolder hues of a Kentucky one are both painted richly and displayed proudly on the jerseys of ten, college basketball players as they mark their paces alongside one another within the perimeter of a 94 x 50 wooden court.

It’s forty minutes of back and forth, full speed ahead with programmed stops in between. Count down clocks and time-outs. Fouls and free-throws. Huddles on the bench and high fives with the scores. Strategies along with some occasional luck. Fans, coaches, grumbles and cheers. Winners, losers, laughter and tears. A full gamut of emotions sandwiched in between a referee’s beginning whistle and a buzzer’s conclusion.

It can be exhausting on those nights…

When blue skies collide.

But after twenty-nine years of marriage, we’ve learned to balance those nights. My Carolina boy watches the upstairs’ tv while this Kentucky girl claims dibs on the downstairs’ screen. Funny, I can’t recall any of the decades’ worth of outcomes just now. Bragging rights don’t last long in our household. Why? Because a final score that elevates one blue over the other does little to fuel the marital bond. Instead, when one takes the lead – a softer hue above the bolder or the bolder shade ahead of the softer – well, the bond can be weakened. So rather than claiming winners or losers, Billy and I have decided that it’s better for us to simply stay in the game, stay on the court, and keep the clock running.

Thirty years ago, Billy carried his Carolina Blue onto the campus of Asbury Seminary and parked it beneath the shade of my Kentucky Blue, an unlikely pairing some would say. Regardless, we learned to dance together on that Bluegrass, and then we two-stepped our way back over the mountain and planted our future beneath a Carolina moon. His blue next to mine, blending our colors ever since and until Jesus makes the final call.

Three years ago, another boy named Jadon carried his Carolina Blue onto the campus of Asbury Seminary and parked it beneath the shade of a girl painted in Kentucky Blue. Her name is Kelsi. They, too, have learned to dance on that Bluegrass and, just recently, two-stepped their way back over those Appalachian Mountains. Tomorrow, they will plant their future beneath this Carolina moon. His blue next to hers, blending their colors and pledging their allegiance to God and to one another until He makes the final call.

Blue skies colliding beneath the watchful eyes of their Creator.

And it will be beautiful.

Yes, there will be a lot of back and forth. Some full speed ahead with programmed stops in between. Count down clocks and time-outs. Fouls and free throws. Huddles on the bench and high fives with the scores. Strategies along with some occasional luck. Fans, coaches, grumbles and cheers. Winners, losers, laughter and tears. A full gamut of emotions sandwiched in between the “I dos” and the buzzer’s conclusion.

It will be exhausting at times…

When blues skies collide.

But… it will always be worth it. Why?

Because when blended together – a Carolina Blue alongside a Kentucky Blue – a beautiful, new shade of Blue is created.

A union. A two becoming one flesh with the Master Painter adding his splashes of heavenly grace within. There will be no elevation of one hue over the other. Rather, a blending … a strengthening. An intensity that cannot be reached in isolation.

God’s best blue.

Together, Jadon and Kelsi will move the kingdom forward by blending their stories together and allowing every chapter of their separate pasts to inform and reform their collective future. Their marriage will be a shade of grace that the world needs. I would caution them not to listen to the naysayers; Billy and I had plenty of them along the way. But here we are, twenty-nine years down the road, still running the length of the court and growing our bench of blessing –

Nick, Chelsea and Finley
Colton, Rachel and Eliza
Jadon and Amelia
And now you, Kelsi…

Welcome to the team.

Thank you for choosing Jadon as your dance partner and for embedding your Kentucky Blue into this Carolina soil. May the God who knit you both individually within your mothers’ wombs now knit you together as a couple for his glory and for his gain.

Cheers to you and to this night…

When blue skies collide.

The best is truly yet to be.

Peace for the journey,
Mom

#solid60

April 10, 2026

”A solid 60.”

That was her answer to me when I asked her to guess my age. Without hesitation and with all the confidence of a young twenty something, she was certain in her guess. And if her guess was offered up to me in the last week, I would have been impressed.

But it wasn’t. The conversation in question happened two years ago. I was 58 at the time. She was embarrassed, and we’ve all been laughing about it ever since.

Today, though…

I am a solid 60. Today is my birthday, and I have the shirt to prove it.

So, what does that mean? How does that define? What does a #solid60 look like … live like?

I have a few thoughts.

Firstly, being a #solid60 has less to do with the density of a sixty-year-old body and more to do with a rich accumulation of life experiences. Layers of a life are built over decades, a thickness that cannot be gained in brevity. Certainly, a moment in time can profoundly impact the trajectory of one’s path. But one moment added to another moment over the course of 60 years equals a solid repository of witness that isn’t always easily dissected (or appreciated) by a curious world.

I am the sum total of my moments. When you meet me, you get them all – a solid package of 60 years’ worth of moments. Today I have the privilege of reflecting on my collection therein. So do you. No matter your age, today you’re building toward something solid. The fullness of who you are and who you are becoming anchors its growth in the reality of your accumulated moments.

If solid is what you’re after, then live your moments well; build with intention and in expectation.

Secondly, being a #solid60 has less to do with what I have done to reach this milestone and everything to do with what God has done. If accumulated moments are the ingredients of a solid life, then heaven’s grace is the glue that holds them all together. Dissect any portion of my story and you will find the free and flowing grace of God. It bleeds onto every page of my witness. Without God’s elaborate grace over me, there would be nothing solid to kick at, no lasting substance to hold. Just a life of vapor that has no foundational value and one that quickly fades into nothingness.

If solid is what you’re after, then invite God into your story. Allow his grace to flow into and throughout all your moments so that they might be solidified into a monument of eternal glory that points others toward home.

Thirdly, being a #solid60 has less to do with the moments that have been lived to date and much more to do with the moments that are to come. At sixty, I am privileged to still know the active love and witness of my parents. All my life, from my beginning days on an Easter Sunday morning until this day, my 60th birthday, my dad has held firmly to the truth that “The best is yet to be.” For several years now, he’s been unable to articulate those words to me; still and yet, every time I’m with him, I know that daddy is anchored there in that place of “best.” We see through a glass dimly; he is moving ever closer to beholding perfectly what his soul is longing for. And I know … solidly know … what he knows.

Every single moment prior to this one – the strong accumulation and development of a solid life – is pulling us forward toward our forever with Jesus. A solid life is never solely about the “now.” Instead, a solid life always includes the “then.”

If solid is what you’re after, keep your “then” in mind.

Lastly (as an added bonus and because I could go on and on, but there always has to be a lastly), being a #solid60 has less to do with sadness and much more to do with the gladness of heart. Another gem I received from daddy is his sense of humor. He told me to always keep laughter as a part of my story. It has served me well. Really well. In the worst of times, I can always laugh; others seem to laugh when I’m around (like two years ago, when we all had a good chuckle about my being a #solid60).

If accumulated moments, God’s grace, and a focus on forever are the makings of a solid life, then the bonus of laughter sprinkled within is like the hot fudge on top of a favorite scoop of ice cream … sweet and satisfying.

If solid is what you’re after, keep laughing.

And so, if you see me today or any day in the next year and you’re wondering about my age,

I’m a #solid60.

Keep it solid, friends. Thanks for writing your lines into my story. I’ll see you in the next chapter. As always…

Peace for the journey,

Between Two Janes

November 29, 2025

I live my life between two Janes – the one who, fifty-nine years ago, carried me in her womb and the one whom, twenty-three years ago, I carried in mine.

Each time, nine months were allotted for the careful, hope-filled process of holy creation. The dreams dreamt then and the prayers prayed then were couched between bouts of cravings and occasional kicks. A hovering of sorts between what could be known and what could be imagined.

Girls having girls. A mom named Jane. A granddaughter named accordingly. And a woman in between holding hands with both of them, knowing that she stands on privileged soil.

It seems fitting that my mom would have a namesake – a Jane that walks in her shadow being shaped by the life that lives in between.

My life.

I am a collection of stories from the life that my parents built together – Chuck and Jane, the Killians now for sixty-four years. When asked about the seemingly odd coupling of the two, my mom has been known to say, “Chuck needed an audience, and I was willing to listen.” Not a lot has changed in these six plus decades between them. Mom is still keeping audience with dad. Jane is still loving Chuck most excellently, but the dialogue has changed. Dad is no longer adding his words; mom, in contrast to the first five decades of their life together, is writing and speaking the final lines of their story.

And those words?

Nothing short of extraordinary. Beautiful wisdom. Strong and certain. Ninety years’ worth of knowing things, perceiving things, pondering things, speaking things. An everlasting witness that waits patiently for the taking. Her spoken deliberations are always on time. My mom doesn’t waste a single word. Instead, she means what she says, and what she says, is, indeed, a gift to be treasured.

The first Jane who held my hands is the wisest woman I have ever known because she holds hands quietly with her Creator. She stands between Jesus and me and has been a bridge connecting my heart to his. I sensed this early on in my life; I knew that I could always trust my mother’s faith.

In recent days, I have needed her witness, her wisdom and her words. I’ve held tightly onto my mother’s hands while (more loosely) holding onto my daughter’s hands, believing that I, too, might become a bridge of sorts between my two Janes. A link between the heart of a grandmother to the heart of her granddaughter so that a holy transfer of wisdom (which so often seems to elude me) might transpire.

I think this is the gift I am most grateful for this Thanksgiving – the hands of the two Janes who bookend my life. One full of wisdom; one well on her way. Both Janes full of grace, kindness, warmth and genuineness. Both Janes still making me laugh. Both Janes still praying for and with me. Both Janes still teaching me how to be holy … how to stay connected to my Creator.

Both Janes still willing to hold my hands.

Faith Elaine in between Eleanor Jane and Amelia Jane – a chord of three strands.

Privileged soil indeed.

May God keep the three of us so duly tethered until we all walk the shores of heaven together. I love you both, my two Janes. As always…

Peace for the journey,

a cord of three strands

July 3, 2025

What’s the strongest weapon in your arsenal of faith against the forces of evil and wickedness in the world? What do you most rely upon when standing on the front lines of a spiritual battle?

Prayer? Bible reading? Fasting? Witnessing? Worship? Steadfastness?

Sometimes you enter the fray of spiritual warfare – pick up your sword, swing harder, push further, engage more fiercely – because your survival depends on it.

Sometimes you enter the battle because someone else’s life depends on it. Spiritually, you’re faring pretty well, but your neighbor isn’t. Accordingly, you lend your strength to the battle to secure the victory.

But what do you do when it’s not “you” you’re fighting for, or when it’s not “them?” What if it’s “us” you’re fighting for – a corporate battle where you stand for yourself while standing for another on the front lines for faith? What spiritual weapons bode well in battle where the warriors are weak in their faith and strong in their sin?

What then?

My life as a spiritual warrior has not always had this dual focus. Mostly, I scrap and scrape and claw my way through the battle for self’s sake. Rarely am I looking around mid-combat thinking about those who might need my victory as much as I do. There’s my battle. There’s your battle. But our battle where our struggles unite to fight for a good faith, a stronger one? My weakness coupled with your weakness doesn’t seem like a winning battle strategy. Mostly, it just feels like losing.

Or so it seems.

Lately, this profound truth has come into sharp focus for me.

I am fighting for victory over personal sin. My friend is too. A similar, shared struggle between an aged veteran of faith and a fledgling lamb just beginning the walk therein. And while my great desire is to overcome my sin, I am realizing that more is at stake in this battle than just my personal triumph. Her victory hangs in the balance as well. And she needs me to be an overcomer.

Prayer? Bible reading? Fasting? Witnessing? Worship? Steadfastness?

Yes. Of course. All of this and lots of it. These are the spiritual disciplines of mighty warriors in the faith. And if that’s all we ever have, then we have enough to win the battle.

But sometimes, God in his grace, gives us more – a further weapon to wield in times of struggle.

He gives us one another – the weapon of presence.

A weakened me plus a weakened you plus Jesus = game on. This is a winning strategy to overcome wickedness in the world and wickedness within. A cord of divine strength that advances boldly, holds tightly and fights fiercely through to victory.

For seasoned veterans in the faith, even those of us who still struggle with sin, the weapon of our presence on the battlefield is a gift we give to those who are newer (maybe even younger) recruits on the gospel road.

Yes, bring your prayers. Bring your Bible. Bring your witness and your worship. But most importantly …

Bring yourself.

Plant your feet next to your friend. Link arms with one another and with Jesus. And for the kingdom’s sake, advance in holy expectation.

In the end, when the battle is over and the victory won, perhaps what will be remembered most about the triumph will have less to do with holy practices and more to do with holy presence on the field, both yours and God’s.

Be present in the fray, friends. Join ranks with your struggling brothers and sisters. Don’t ignore the pleas of those who’ve yet to experience victory. In helping them secure their freedom from sin, you may even end up securing yours.

This battle belongs to us all. May God give us the wisdom, the will, and the humility to step courageously forward for service. As always…

Peace for the journey,