Category Archives: christian perfection

Raising Faith (part eleven): Embracing Your Nakedness

Raising Faith (part eleven): Embracing Your Nakedness

“Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.” (2 Corinthians 5:24).

November 2001

He didn’t deserve my stern rebuke. He deserved something, but not the severity of my harsh response. What I should have offered him was some grace amidst a teachable moment. What he received, instead, was a portion of judgment leveled at a heart too tender for the verdict … too innocent for the label.

Why?

Because my nakedness refused God’s dressing. Because my flesh is still so very much in tact.

I don’t recall the specifics of that occasion. I only remember a few words that quickly seared their way into my heart and forced me to my knees in humble apology. It is a message I carry with me, even some three years down the road. Not because I delight in the boast of my sin but rather because I want the lesson from it for always. A lesson intended for my growth; not only as a parent, but as a keeper of God’s truth.

Jadon, young in years and full with a “me first” mentality, was wearing on my already thinned nerves. Me, older in years and still so often filled with a “me first” mentality, responded to his continual fussing by sending him to his room. It must have been a hard send because his response to me was a soft and sorrowful obedience.

With tears rolling down his cheeks as he surrendered to the upstairs climb, he simply turned around for a final glance and spoke these precious words of conviction over my soul:

“Mommy, God sent you here to be our lover.”

I don’t know if it was the tears or his gentle way of his administering God’s truth to me, but regardless of the emotional mixing, his words cut deep and immediately shrouded my heart in heavy conviction.

Guilty as charged, son. Naked and exposed, yet again.

I’ve never forgotten that moment. I think my Father would have it remain firmly entrenched in memory. He used my sin and my son’s broken spirit to teach me a valuable and consecrated lesson about human life and about the responsibility that I bear in loving each one toward his kingdom end. An end that is best served…

through love rather than shame.
through grace rather than judgment.
through mercy rather than punishment.
through selfless rather than selfish.

Oh, the groanings of my flesh! I am naked in my want for the righteous clothing of my God. He’s been dressing me for over forty years now, and still there are moments of raw and real exposure that are mirrored in my body. I am housed within a tent that isn’t well pegged to the ground and that blows wide and open at the whim of a temporal wind.

My life of faith is a literal peep show for the world to observe, and quite honestly, I’m not sure if anyone is coming back for a second look. I’m not sure I want them too. When I can’t love with grace and mercy and selfless intent, I can’t expect a good review. From the world. From my own family. And most importantly, from the perfect Lover of my soul—the God who created my frame with an eternal cloaking in mind.

A dressing that does not include my fleshy imperfections, but rather a perfection that will swallow up the old with the life-giving breath of heaven’s new. Until then, I groan all the more because I know that what awaits me on the other side of this pilgrimage unto death, is a life fully clothed with the righteousness of my salvation.

Flesh living is painful living. There are no short cuts to perfection. God uses the lives of other pilgrims toward that end. The groans of our sacred shaping may come to us through a stranger, a friend, a co-worker, a parent, a spouse, and some days…through the tears and honest words of a child.

God did indeed put me on this earth to be a lover of my children. Period. No matter their wrongs. No matter their mess. No matter their pursuits toward self-interest. I am the one who has been given the sacred privilege of loving them to adulthood. I don’t always do it right, but I always do it real. As it comes, even when God turns the table and allows my young son the sacred privilege of loving me into my adulthood.

If faith is to be raised in this generation, then our nakedness must be embraced—even when it’s humbling and especially when it exposes the truth of a neglected imperfection.

Perhaps this day, you know the groanings of a “yet to be finished” cloaking. I understand, for I am woman who shares your exposure. All of us, every last one of us, are as naked before God and before one another. We might mask it well in the temporary, but as you and I stand before our Father, there is nothing hidden from his view. No portion of our flesh that he cannot see. This truth, alone, is worthy of a few painful utterings.

The greater truth? God sent his Son to be the Lover of our souls. And with Jesus, there is always grace. There is always mercy. And there is always a love rooted in the selfless sacrifice of Calvary’s cross. It is more than enough to lead us all home to our heavenly dwelling where the mortal will, once and for all, be swallowed up by the eternal life that is ours through Jesus Christ our Lord. Thus I pray,

Thank you for loving us perfectly, Father. For sending your Son to his own cloaking of flesh that has enabled us to one day drop this tent in trade for another—an eternal dressing worthy of the streets of gold. Thank you, also, for the sacred shaping that comes to us through our exposure. Give us the grace and the wisdom to receive our teaching, even when it comes to us through a child and forces us to our knees in humble confession. Today, we groan in holy expectation for what is promised to us in our tomorrow. Come quickly, Lord. Even so come. Amen.

Copyright © October 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

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God’s Plow … My Longing

“He said to another man, ‘Follow me.’ But the man replied ‘Lord, first let me go and bury my father.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.’ Still another man said, ‘I will follow you, Lord; but first let me go back and say good-by to my family.’ Jesus replied, ‘No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.’” (Luke 9:59-62).

There is a difficult tug that exists within my heart.

A pull between my love for the plow and my longing for a backwards glance. There exists a sacred tension between the two because I am cut from a cloth that weaves accordingly. God seeded within my temporal flesh the eternal possibility of a life beyond my flesh. Thus, the rub.

Flesh verses forever … housed together within each one of us, requiring that we understand and overcome the strain that exists between these extremes. We were made the plow; yet, we are prone to a backwards glance. And somewhere in the midst of our understanding the difference, we must overcome our fleshly tendencies in order to undertake the higher cause of Jesus Christ. If we refuse the learning, we are as useless before God and in his service for the greater good of humanity.

I felt this simply and yet profoundly in the past week. There is a new song out on country music radio, and I liked it the first time I heard it. It had a good beat … a lively rhythm and a catchy chorus that awakened my interest. But after a first listen and further examination of its questionable lyrics, I realized that it was not a song I should further indulge. Not because I am bound by legalism, but rather because it tugged at something deeper within me.

A backwards glance.

A life I no longer live, and yet a life that I can quickly retreat to in a moment’s pause. Sometimes through a song. Sometimes through all manner of triggers that call for my retreat. And because I am not in the business of retreating from God’s calling upon my life, I must refuse the invitation.

Because God’s Spirit lives inside of me, it is within my power to do so; but when I neglect his promptings, when I choose a backwards glance over the plow that grips my heart, I lose a portion of the holy ground that is mine to claim and mine to plow for God’s kingdom agenda.

A cluttered mind filled with a backwards longing is a mind unfit to move on with God.

He said as much to a few well-meaning pilgrims who intended to join his cause, but who refused his calling (see Luke 9:57-62). At first glance, it is a difficult teaching to understand. Jesus’ words seem harsh; after all, these men simply wanted to bring some closure to their past before moving on with Jesus in their present.

He calls into question their motives and their usability within his kingdom purposes:

“‘No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.’” (Luke 9:62).

What a reproof! What a rejection. It is warranted, but the reason for Christ’s stern rebuke is often missed, simply because we are painfully focused on the severity of Jesus’ response.

The culprit for his reprimand? Four seemingly harmless words spoken by both men, yet when placed in context alongside the Savior’s sacred call for discipleship, words that became hugely complex and worthy of a harsh reproach.

“‘Lord, first let me… ’”

“Lord” and “first let me” is an unholy coupling. My firsts and the Lord’s firsts are incompatible. We cannot claim him as Lord and still harbor a “me first” within. We can try. In fact, we have mastered the vernacular. We simply cloak our “me first’s” in less obvious and less offensive terms.

We don’t mean to; not always. But on each occasion when our minds trade in the plow of God’s current for the pull of a backwards glance, we offend the cause of the cross for which he died. We are limited in our holy usefulness because our “first let me” takes the lead. And when it comes to the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the seeding of it within the soil given to us for the plowing, his leading takes a back seat to no one. No thing. No memory. No backwards glance. No time for another agenda other than the one that he has entrusted to us.

If we choose to bury his agenda in favor of our “me first”—our backwards glance that refuses the pulse of the present—then we need to understand that little, if any, kingdom influence will be allowed our flesh. Period.

When God calls, God requires a response. And if our response is anything but a resounding “yes” to the present and to our beyond, we will remain shackled to a past that breathes without hope and within the boundaries of an irreversible history that has already been written.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be stuck in my history. I want to be present with my Jesus in my now. I want to move forward with him. With my hand to his plow and his earth beneath my feet. With his seed in my heart and his yoke around my neck. I want to walk the fields of harvest with Jesus, sowing and watering and gleaning to the outer edges of my faith.

I don’t want to miss his ahead because of the “me first” of my behind. Honestly, I can’t think of one moment in my yesterdays that is worthy of sacrificing one moment of my now with Jesus. Can you? If you can, may I be so bold to suggest that you are going nowhere with God?

You’re stuck, and being stuck isn’t an excuse for staying as you are. You are a sinner saved by grace who is given the high and holy privilege of moving onto perfection. It is within your power to do so because, if you are a Christian, you house the presence and the living power of God’s Spirit within.

There is no mystery to your moving forward. It simply requires your refusal to longingly entreat the pull of a backwards glance. Backwards glances come in all shapes and sizes. Maybe through something as simple as a song, a book, or a television show. Maybe through something as complex as a relationship, an addiction, or a sin that entreats your imagination and pulls hard at your will. Regardless of the trigger, if allowed safe sanctuary within your mind and your heart, its voice will be heard.

It sounds a lot like me first. It sounds a lot like retreat. It sounds a lot like refusal.

And whenever we refuse God’s invitation to follow, his voice will be heard. It is louder than ours and cuts with more clarified precision than any justification we can offer in the matter. And that, my friends, sounds a whole lot like holy rejection—a painful contrast to what I truly and deeply desire.

I want to be fit for kingdom purpose. I want the privilege of sacred participation in the higher cause of Jesus Christ. I want the same for you. Thus, I pray…

Purify and cleanse our minds, Lord. Purge and eradicate the “me first’s” from our wills. Let your plow be our portion and the pull of a backwards glance be our refusal. Fill us to the outer edges of our flesh with the wild and untamed overflow of your Spirit. You are our future. You are our forever. Keep our eyes fixed accordingly. Amen.

Copyright © October 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

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Pressing In

Pressing In

“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).

 


It’s an old truck that has been in the family for over fifteen years now, passed down through the hands of a father to his son, to his daughter, to her son, and then to another one of her sons. Four generations of a family have sat behind the wheel of this ’93 Chevy pick-up truck.

The world would level its worth as little more than scrap metal—old and washed up and one step away from a junk yard’s grave. But to my family, well, we level its worth a bit higher. Not because of its beauty, but rather because of its bloodlines. This truck originated with my Grandpa Al. He would only drive it a year before he passed away. My father then took ownership of it for several years until my eldest son was eligible to drive.

It seemed reasonable that he be allowed this “junker” to serve as his training ground for better things … better rides down the road. It did and has now been passed onto his younger brother who has given our treasured piece of family history a good and steady workout. Through all generations, the truck has been faithful to render its services whenever and wherever needed.

So what does one do with this faithful servant who’s been…

driven hard,
regularly neglected,
taken for granted,
looked upon with little regard,

until finally an accident causes its bumper to be pried away from the frame? What does one do with a fifteen year old vehicle that’s logged in over 100,000 miles, whose air-condition no longer works, and who hardly seems worthy of an expensive repair?


What do you do with an old faithful truck that’s in need of some servicing, even though the bank account dictates otherwise? I’ll tell you what you do.

You press it into an old faithful tree—one that can absorb the shock and that can realign the bumper back alongside its original frame.


It may not be picture perfect, but the tree coupled with the willing obedience to “press in”, yields a drivable vehicle that will service this family for a season longer, perhaps even a generation somewhere down the road.


As it is with our truck, so it is with me; perhaps, even with you.

What do we do when our frames begin to show the weary of a hard drive? A regular neglect? A taking for granted? A little regard for our necessary when so much more is needed?

What do we do when an accident pries our hearts away from the original frame—the Author of our frames? How do we respond when we know that a heart’s servicing is necessary, but when the bank account levels empty and incapable of such a transaction?

I tell you what I did.


I pressed into an old faithful tree—one that absorbed the shock on my behalf over 2000 years ago and Who is more than capable of my realignment every time that I am willing press into a necessary obedience.

It may not yield a full perfection at this time. But it’s coming. If not here, then there. And the time lived in between the two—my now and my next—I’m pressing in and I’m pressing on to take hold of everything for which Christ Jesus has taken hold of me. I am not sure what my “everything” looks like; in fact, I am fairly confident that God means for much of it to remain veiled. Why?

Because that which remains unseen is that which grows my faith.

When I cannot see beyond the fog that surrounds me, tree pressing becomes my required necessary. When my plans cannot be managed or manipulated by my well-intentioned will, God presses the issue by urging me toward an intentional pause and by asking me to trust him with a fast from the world’s noisy insistence.

There is strength to found in the silence, my friends. Deeply rooted strength that comes with spending time at the foot of God’s tree. I’ve found his strength again this past week, as I have waited before him in silence. It’s never been absent or unavailable to me. But I have been.

Absent and unavailable.

In part, because my priorities have been derailed. But mostly, in part, because I have traded in the sweet sound of his voice for the resounding gongs and clanging cymbals of the world’s shout.

It sometimes takes a fast to recognize the difference. And by pressing into God’s tree this week, I have witnessed the profound extreme between the two. I am no longer willing to make that trade because the melody that I recovered in this time is the sacred chorus that claimed my heart as a child. It has kept my singing for nearly four decades now and will keep me drivable—in good working order—and will service this heart for a season longer, perhaps even for the generation that is soon to follow.


I don’t know how your truck is driving this week, but if you are feeling a bit old and worn and pried away from your sacred frame, let my lesson be yours. If God is urging you toward an intentional pause, press into his tree and then press in some more until he re-aligns your heart with his. He can absorb our pain; this has always been the intention of the Calvary tree that he planted on our behalf over 2000 years ago.

Press in, child of God. Press on. Move on and take hold of all of that for which Christ Jesus has taken hold of you. Glorious perfection. Yours and mine, and thus I pray…

Pause me in silence, Father, each and every day for the sweet revelation of your voice. When I allow the world’s noise to drown out your melody, shut me down and bring me to surrender at the foot of your cross. Strengthen my frame for holy submission and press into my flesh the splintered reminder of the price you paid for my re-alignment. May I never lose the wonder of your cross and the glorious participation of your presence in my life. Never again, Father. Never again. So be it. Amen.

Copyright © September 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

~elaine

It’s so good to be back with you; that being said, you can expect that I come back with some new parameters for blogging. You can expect to see me here twice a week, unless I have a spectacular urging from God that refuses my silence! I will be over to see you too, but with a much more reasonable approach. Thanks for your prayers. God’s been so faithful. You are all wecome here, and I value your presence in my life! Shalom.

Setting the Table for Communion (part six): A Worthy Proclamation

For a final time (at least as far as this series is concerned), please read our Scripture focus, Luke 24:13-36. May God bless the reading of his Word as only he can.
 
“They got up and returned at once to Jerusalem. There they found the Eleven and those with them, assembled together and saying, ‘It is true! The Lord has risen and has appeared to Simon.’ Then the two told what had happened on the way, and how Jesus was recognized by them when he broke the bread. While they were still talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’” (Luke 24:33-36).

What do you do with Truth?

You’ve walked toward Him. You’ve boasted in Him. You’ve listened to Him. You’ve invited Him to share your table, and finally, you’ve received from Him the feeding that fills and the truth that lasts. What then, do you do with that Truth?

Responses vary. Perhaps you contemplate Truth for a long season, harboring him within and treasuring him as your own. Perhaps you are quick to hide Truth for fear that his exposure would warrant the world’s disapproval. Perhaps, you reason Truth away because the world’s version of truth is an easier swallow and requires less of a voice. Perhaps, you reject Truth. Some would argue that you can’t, but it doesn’t line up with Scripture and with the living witness of a societal soul that prefers to stumble along with a lie, even though Truth has voiced his portion.

For all of the possible responses that could be proffered for Truth’s revelation, there is one and only one appropriate response to the tasting of God’s eternal and living witness. Again, we look to our spiritual ancestors in Emmaus for an appropriate response. What did they do with Truth?

They pushed away from the table and took to the road. Why?

Because Truth is meant to be shared. Not harbored or hidden. Not silenced or shrouded, but rather exposed. Released. Disclosed and distributed.

And for two hearts that burned with the Truth of Easter’s resurrection, the telling of that Truth became paramount. So much so that, despite the weary of an earlier walk from Jerusalem, they commenced a seven mile hike back to its borders. Back to the place of their seeded desperation and hopelessness in order to till the soil with the truth of a tabled communion in Emmaus.

Can you picture them as they went? Can you feel their sense of urgency? The joy that spurred their steps in a hastened obedience toward that upper room, where many were cloistered in confusion? When have you known a similar compelling? When has the truth of Jesus been the overwhelming penchant of your heart, so much so that you were willing to push away from the table and voice your proclamations with the words of God’s eternal witness? To run back to the place of cloistered confusion and to shatter the chaos with the Light of Easter’s revelation?

What, friends, do you do with Truth?

It is a question that I am asking of myself this day as we bring this series to a close. In many ways, the journey we’ve taken over the past two weeks has mirrored an Emmaus pilgrimage. We’ve walked to the table with intention. We’ve boasted in Christ’s name. We’ve opened up the Scripture together and allowed Christ to teach us. We’ve urged Him to stay and to dine with us around the table. We’ve watched Him break the bread and have received a feeding from his hands, the taste of which has stoked a burning fire within for Jesus and his truth.

And now we come to a final obedience in our journey. We come to a crossroads, where a choice must be made. We can push away from the table, fully fed and well satisfied, and nap away our life as usual. Or, we can push away from the table, fully fed and well satisfied, and move into a deeper obedience that requires and charges us with the responsibility of feeding others from the overflow. Either way, we’ve been fed, and that, alone, is a very good thing.

But the great thing…the better and more sacred path…would be to share God’s Bread with a world whose hunger remains empty and deep and terribly void of eternal sustenance. To stop short of the telling of God’s Truth is to stop short of our part in the Great Commission. We limit Christ’s work in us when we refuse his work a voice through us.

It’s a selfish choice. A less than choice that always ladles partial rather than full—almost, but not quite complete.

I don’t know about you, but I am after my completion. I want God to fully use me up, and then I want him to carry me home to heaven. I don’t want to leave this world napping. I want to leave this world walking and talking and living the Truth of Easter’s resurrection out loud, boldly and with the firm conviction that the Truth who burns within is in fact…

The Way. The Truth, and the Life.

I want the last words from my lips to mirror those of my Emmaus friends so long ago.

It is true! The Lord has risen and has appeared to me.

In the end, there is no finer Truth that can be ladled. In the end, there is only one Truth that is of consequence. His name is Jesus, and he has painted my wretchedness with his lavish portion of Calvary’s grace. He’s allowed me forever. He’s given me his peace, his presence, and his constant and abiding love that will carry through my now and over the threshold into my next.

Nothing else matters. Nothing. And for that, my friends, I will push away from my tabled communion and take to the road just as Jesus did. He didn’t linger long in Emmaus. Once he revealed the truth of who he is, he left. He took to the road, and he charges us with the same journey. And when we walk forward in such sacred submission, we will find, even as the disciples did on that resurrection evening, that our Father goes with us…goes ahead of us, and meets us on the other side of our obedience.

“While they were still talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’”

Let Peace be your guide. Let Peace be your portion, and as always, let there be Peace in your journey. He is so worthy of our steps, and thus I pray…

Thank you, Father, for this time around your table. You are worth my obedience. You exceed my expectations, every time. I cannot fully imagine what it must have been like to walk that Emmaus road with you on your resurrection morning, but I’m trying…to imagine…You…even now as we walk this road some 2000 years beyond that moment. It still feels fresh. It still voices truth and peace and sears into my heart with the burning revelation of your lasting witness. Give me the strength to carry your Truth, the boldness to speak your Truth, and the wisdom to choose your Truth, despite the bombardment from the world’s version of truth. Let me live it like I mean it until you carry me home and I finally see the Truth whom I now so vividly taste. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the abiding and living Holy Spirit. Amen. So be it.

~elaine

What a joy, friends, to close this series with you and with a fresh taste of Truth in my mouth and heart. I’ve walked and written it, even as I have lived it–with obedience, even when my flesh cried out for a nap! Thank you for walking this Emmaus road with me. I’m not sure what’s next, but whatever that “next” may be, it will be done with Jesus, for he is my peace in my journey. God be with you, be real to you, and be found by you each and every time you set the table for communion with Him. He is worth the walk and every hard and difficult step that you take to get to his feet. How I love Him and consider it a privilege to love you because of Him. Shalom!

Setting the Table for Communion (part four): A Worthy Invitation

“As they approached the village to which they were going, Jesus acted as if he were going farther. But they urged him strongly, ‘Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.’ So he went in to stay with them.” (Luke 24:28-29).

When was the last time you urged Jesus to come and to stay with you?

Urge. Parabiazomai in the transliterated Greek meaning, “to employ force contrary to nature, right; to compel by employing force; to constrain one by treaties.”[i]

It’s a strong word carrying with it, in this case, a strong invitation directed toward Jesus. Not to perform miracles. Not to soothe their ache with comforting words of untruth. Not to diminish the happenings of the past weekend, but rather, simply…

to stay.

Stay. Meno in the transliterated Greek meaning, “to remain, abide; to continue to be present; to be held—kept continually.”[ii]

What they asked of Jesus is not unlike what we ask of him in our times of deepest sorrow and confusion. They urged him to participate in their suffering through the gift of his presence. To share more of his heart with them over a common meal. To break bread and to receive the words of life from this one who spoke so eloquently about the One on whom they had hung their messianic hopes.

Everything that had transpired along the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus was ample fuel to warrant their desire for a further taste. And therein lies a truth for each one of us this day as we continue to set our table for communion with our Lord.

When Jesus Christ walks among us on our road to Emmaus and reveals the truth of who he is, a fire is fueled. Either a fire toward repentance or a fire toward rejection. If toward repentance, then our invitation for his lingering presence urges the same as it did for those disciples some 2000 years ago. If toward rejection, then our urges voice otherwise—in a safer, more sheltered direction that refuses the heat of the flames. But either way, when Jesus reveals…a fire burns, and a choice must be made.

Invitation or rejection.

The disciples chose well. They embraced the flames of this burning Truth that seared into their deep and dark with the penetrating light of Calvary’s victory. They didn’t scoff at the stranger’s words; instead they urged him toward further clarification in the matter. They didn’t dismiss him from their walk of grief; instead, they asked him to stay and to minister to their bleeding hearts and wounded confusion.

They didn’t come home empty-handed and empty-hearted. They came home with Jesus. Why?

Because our Savior is a kind a gracious Father whose agenda will never refuse an urgent invitation for his presence to be in our midst.

And so I ask you again, when was the last time you urged your Jesus to stay with you?

True and deep communion with Jesus…

Begins with an intentional walk toward the table (part one).
Continues with the worthy boast of his name (part two).
Deepens as the Word of God is revealed (part three).
Strengthens as an invitation for his presence is strongly urged (part four).

I don’t know where you are in your journey with Jesus this day, but as for me, I’m urging him for a deeper work. For more fire and more truth. Not because I desire the suffering heat, but rather because I know that God has ordained my refining process and to stop short of the flames is to stop short of my perfection.

I cannot always reason this walk between Jerusalem and Emmaus. Between spiritual blindness and sacred visioning. Between doubt and an absolute faith. Between rumors of his death and the reality of his resurrection. The struggle doesn’t make sense, especially since I’ve walked in God’s light for so long and tasted his truth at the deepest level of my being.

Still and yet, it is my struggle. But rather than walk away from God and hide in my confusion, I walk in obedience and with deliberate intention toward Him. With a worthy boast upon my lips and a worthy word within my heart because I know that my Father is faithful to come and to stay with me when my urging voices in his direction.

I’m urging Him today because he is my necessary and my very much needed. I long to sit by the fire and to break bread with him. Thus I pray,

Stay with me, Lord, at the table of my unbelief today. Linger long and with the words of truth that will reclaim my vision for all things eternal. Forgive me my doubts and replace them with the sure seeds of trust that harvest faithful and with the promise of your resurrection within. Let not my complacency be my satisfaction. Instead, stir my heart toward a greater conclusion in the matter…one that includes your magnificent imaginings for my life. Give me grace for the moment and hope for the ‘morrow. You are the sufficiency who keeps me in them both. Amen.

[i] http://studylight.org/desk/?l=en&query=Luke+24%3A28-29&section=0&translation=nsn&oq=&sr=1
[ii] http://studylight.org/desk/?l=en&query=Luke+24%3A28-29&section=0&translation=nsn&oq=&sr=1

Copyright © September 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

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