Category Archives: calling

on getting noticed in a noisy world {a book review and give-away}…

I’m currently reading Platform: Get Noticed in a Noisy World by Michael Hyatt. I also follow Michael’s blog. He’s a ball of energy, a no-nonsense, straight-forward, genuine leader. He’s figured out how to make all this work… this blogging, branding, getting noticed in a noisy world thing. And so, I’m reading his book. What he’s doing is working (case in point, I bought the book), which begs the question, is what I’m doing working? Am I getting noticed in a noisy world? Further still, should I even be asking the question?

 

Do you know what I like best about Michael’s book? All the helpful tips for getting noticed.

 

Do you know what makes me the most uncomfortable about Michael’s book? All the helpful tips for getting noticed.

 

I struggle with this… this whole “look at me.” Truly, that’s not the pulse behind Michael’s book. Michael is trying to equip his readers with the necessary tools that better enable them to get their message out. I get it. I’m grateful for it. After all, I believe I have a message—a story of grace and witness to share with others. I believe you have one as well. As Christians, we are charged with the “story.” The Great Commission belongs to believers and is Christ’s benediction to his earthly tenure, his parting words intended for us (see Matthew 28:16-20). Going into all the world (your little corner of the world) and making disciples isn’t an optional requirement of our faith. It’s a necessary component to cultivating our faith.

 

In light of this, Michael’s question becomes a question I’m willing to wrestle with as I seek to put parameters around what I’m doing here at my blogging address, peace for the journey. Am I getting noticed in a noisy world? Is my message getting through? How can I best maximize the witness of my heart so that the hearts of others might be drawn closer to the heart of the Father?

 

It’s a tricky endeavor, merging sacred witness with social media platforms (Michael devotes a lot of chapters to talking about this area, probably because so many of us are focused there). Blogging, facebooking, twittering, pinterest, it’s a lot to take on. And I might get blasted for saying this, but I’ve come to believe that there is always a “me” attached to these forums. Think about it… even if we’re typing out scriptures for one another, we’re still the mouthpiece—the hands and heart behind our tweets. And that’s not always a bad something; most of the time, it’s a really good something, but we can’t deny that there’s not a “me” that comes with each and every one of our posts, our status updates, our tweets, our pins. We’re just a huge part of the process. We want to be heard; accordingly, we speak our minds.

 

And therein lies the rub—our minds. My mind. Oh the places it goes, the explorations it undertakes! My mind is a traveling gypsy. Left unregulated by the Holy Spirit’s guidance, I could easily steer off course and make this place about something else, something other than my journey with Jesus.

 

I guess I just want to do this right. I don’t want to get so tangled up in all the particulars—the strategies, methods, and latest trends—that I lose my focus. I want to keep writing about my journey with Jesus and then let go of the rest. Let what happens happen and let that be enough. But underneath, there’s still this push for more, this pulsing notion that I should be doing more to get my story out there and to keep up with this ever-changing beast named social media. Indeed, a tough wrestling, this idea of platform and my feelings about getting noticed, about getting God noticed.

 

How about you and your platform? Do you ever feel the strain? What stage has God allowed to serve as a venue for your faith’s witness? Are you getting noticed in a noisy world? Is God getting noticed because of you? How has social media shaped the way you share your story? What’s going right with it? What’s going wrong with it? And why has it become so desperately important to most of us?

 

I’m not knocking Michael’s book. I love his book; it’s chock-full of practical advice for anyone with “something to say or sell.” But I just don’t know how to take all of his advice and incorporate it into what I’m trying to do here in my little corner of the blogosphere. It just feels too big and too hard some days. Maybe I’m just too tired.

 

I’d love to hear your thoughts on any of the above questions. Obviously, my heart’s working them through, and I’d like nothing better than to work them through with you, faithful readers. Let’s keep the conversation positive, and as an added bonus, I’m giving away a copy of Michael’s book. Just mention your interest in your discussion of these questions. As always…

 

Peace for the journey
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love stretches the soul…

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,
~elaine

a steward of inconvenience…

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,
~elaine

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.

standing near…

“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,
~elaine
entrusted {word for 2011}

entrusted {word for 2011}

From my perch on the couch, I watched him trim her nails. Never in her eight years on this earth did I recall him trimming baby girl’s nails. She was caught off-guard as well, looking at me occasionally as if to say, “Daddy isn’t doing this right…” or “What’s with the nail file?” And while I should have been grateful for his willingness to help, instead I was sad. Really sad, and I began to cry.
“I should be doing this, Billy. I always do this for her. You’re doing it wrong. I want to do this.”
He offered his apologies, understanding that there was something greater going on inside of me than just a compulsion for nail clipping. He knew that my mothering heartstrings were pulling hard and that his helpfulness was a direct reflection on just how little energy I have for the small things of life these days. That out of his great love for me, he wanted to spare me the details and allow me room enough to focus on the stuff that really matters. What he doesn’t understand is that nail-clipping really does matter to me; not because I’m an expert. Rarely have I acquiesced to a manicurist’s touch. No, my daughter’s nails matter to me because there are just some jobs that belong to me as her mother. Some things that I’ve always done… still need to do, because in doing them, I feel like I matter. Like I’m needed. Like I belong to something bigger than myself. Like my being here has purpose, even if that purpose seems small to others. Perhaps you understand.
We all need jobs that belong to us… need a focus and a reason to stir our hearts into action each day that we live on this earth. Without our attachments along these lines, we default to couch-livin’ and ample tears. We pass on the duties that are supposed to be ours rather than living out the responsibilities that are within our reaches and tethered closely to our hearts. God made our hearts for good work—for putting our hands to the plow and breaking up the unplowed earth beneath our feet. He understands that faith is best preserved when faith is liberally sown. Thus, he’s given each of us a job.
A similar job. We may travel all manners of terrain to get there, may institute a wide variety of regimens to accomplish our goals, but at the end of the day… at the end of this life, our life’s work really boils down to one, main objective.
To know God and then out of that knowing lead others to know the same. (I wrote about that here).
Accordingly, as I look to the New Year and as I have been reflecting on this one job that God has given me, several scriptures (with one overriding theme) have come into focus to serve as my anchor verses for the year. Read them to discover a common thread:
“You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men….” (Matthew 5:14-16a).
“Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.” (Matthew 28:19-20a).
 “So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation… And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us.” (2 Corinthians 5:16-20).
“Now I rejoice in what was suffered for you, and I fill up my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ’s afflictions, for the sake of his body, which is the church. I have become its servant by the commission God game me to present to you the word of God in its fullness.” (Colossians 2:24-25).
And finally,
“So then, men ought to regard us as servants of Christ and as those entrusted with the secret things of God. Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful.” (1 Corinthians 4:1-2).
Entrusted.
My “word” and my focus for 2011; not just with any task, but with the high and holy task of telling others the reason behind the hope that I hold in my heart. A weighty assignment for certain, but one that is required of me because of my status as a daughter of the King. I hold a great Truth inside of me. Sharing about Him isn’t an option for any believer. We think that it sometimes is… that sometimes we get a pass because we didn’t go to seminary and get the professional degree or receive official ordination from a committee. But kingdom work of this kind belongs to all of us. It’s simply time for me to get a bit more serious about it all. Wouldn’t you agree?
As I reflect back to my anchor verses for 2010(1 Cor. 6:19-20), I had no idea at the time of my selecting them just exactly what would be required of me to honor them. My body… a temple of the Holy Spirit? Honoring God with my body because I was bought at a price—the very blood of God’s own Son? Have mercy, I imagine it a good thing I didn’t fully grasp the breadth and depth of what that would mean for me on the front side of 2010. It’s only now, standing on the backside of an almost indescribable year of suffering faith that I’m even able to hold a bit of insight along these lines. I imagine I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make the puzzle pieces fit together neatly, but I am confident that they will… fit. One day… on the backside of my earthly tenure.
Until then, I’m going to be busy with God’s business… with the sacred trust that’s been entrusted to me. No more couch livin’ and ample tears because I’ve handed off the responsibility to someone else. Instead, the clippers are in my hands for the trimming. For the mattering. For the needing. For the belonging to something… Someone bigger than myself. For the only purpose that truly matters on the front side of my living this thing out—
to know God and then out of that knowing, lead others to know the same.
Therefore, I no longer regard anyone from a worldly point of view. I view them from God’s point of view and that, my friends, is a rich perspective from which to anchor a year’s view.
Entrusted. Oh God keep me faithful to the truth I’ve been given. Keep my brothers and sisters as well. As always…
Peace for the journey,
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