Category Archives: faith

Between Two Janes

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

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.

When my spiritual success becomes the fuel for someone else’s success, then warfare feels weightier, more necessary – amped up and more vital.

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.

“Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” (Ecc. 3:12)

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,

follow the lights

The remembrance crept into my mind this afternoon – a memory usually left somewhere in the back, catalogued for an occasional trip down memory lane.

It was hellish ride that night. We huddled tightly together in the backseat of a friend’s truck, following behind an ambulance that carried my injured boy. We could barely see the vehicle’s reflecting lights for the ferocious havoc of Hurricane Florence. The storm was only beginning its assault on our community, and my son was one of its first victims.

“How will I know if he dies on the way to Charlotte? That’s a long trip to not know the condition of my son. How will I know?”

My heart was breaking as I questioned the valiant EMTs who’d made the three-hour journey from Charlotte in hurricane-force winds just to turn around and head back into them with my son as their cargo.

“We’ll meet you in the ER, Mrs. Olsen. He’s in good hands.”

And just like that, they were gone. I couldn’t touch my son, couldn’t hold on to him should he slip away to Jesus during those hours of dark separation. Instead, I could only release him to the night’s drive in hopes of his survival.

With communication cut off, I entered into the deepest, darkest moments I have known on this earth. I had no way of knowing if the son I loved so dearly was with me or if, instead, he was with his Father in heaven. I simply and profoundly had to let go and tarry with the unknown … come what may.

That’s a difficult holding, friends, to be suspended in a place of not-knowing.

Some of us are feeling a similar weightiness right now. We’re trailing behind an ambulance that holds someone … something … we dearly love.

Yes, a different season with different circumstances. Still and yet, a time that feels heavy … like a storm is brewing just off the coast, readying itself for landfall. A night pregnant with the possibility of a Cat-5 hurricane.

Howling winds; falling trees; rising waters; a lack of communication with the ambulance up ahead.

That’s how weighty this day in 2021 feels to me, a bit like that night back in 2018.

Two thousand years ago, another mom stood at a distance from her son’s wounding. She couldn’t hold him in the dark hours of separation, only tarry with her punctured heart:

“When all the people who had gathered to witness this sight saw what took place, they beat their breasts and went away. But all those who knew him, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things.” (Luke 23:48-49)

All those who knew him – standing at a distance.

Let that sink deeply into your thoughts. Picture the scene. Feel that moment of utter separation and desperation.

The pause seems interminable.

As it was for those who were distanced from Christ 2000 years ago, and as it was for me two years ago, so it may be for some of us today.

As questions begin to mount in this space of not-knowing, so can the fear. What cannot be understood in these hours of silence can only be imagined. And those imaginations left unchecked are rarely the underpinning of a solid faith; instead, they are often its undermining.

This is the heart stretch … the reaching part where our faith must exceed our grasp.

We’ll not know the outcome of the ambulance ride until it reaches the ER. And to get there, we must be willing to follow behind its reflection.

Into the winds; around fallen trees; through rising waters; without communication.

Indeed, the heart stretch of faith.

The ambulance is moving, friends. Get in your vehicles. Follow closely the dimming lights in front of you. Follow trustingly. Follow prayerfully. Follow fully – all the way through to the ER.

God is with you on the ride; God is waiting for you as you arrive. A Cat-5 hurricane is no match for the accompanying and powerful presence of our Lord.

You’re in good hands. So am I. I’ll meet you in the ER. Until then…

Peace for the journey,

PS: For those of you new to Jadon’s story, you can click here to see more. 

a letter to my grand-girl

Dear Grand-girl (aka ‘Lil Miss Woods),

I’ve been thinking a long time about what kind of gift I could give you on your birthday – that very first day when you emerge from the safety of your darkened cocoon into the explosive light of the world you’ll soon call home. Another pink “welcome to the world” onesie, along with a matching “I’m the Grandma” t-shirt doesn’t quite fit the moment, so I think I’ll take a pass on those at this time. (But at some point, don’t be surprised if I’m decorated from head to toe in granny wear, a trait for which you can thank the Olsen side of your family tree. They love a good party and any occasion that allows them to dress up the moment with lavish expressions of wonderment and love.)

No, at this time in your life you don’t need more things to clutter your thinking. Instead, what you most need is the steady and certain love of a family that will never let you go–long and wide and high and deep stretches from the arms that will cradle your beginning and that will carry you forward for the rest of your life.

You’ve got that in us. We’re a sturdy bunch, a motley crew of misfits at times, but a crew strengthened and ready for your road ahead. Why ready? Well, we’ve spent our entire lives growing up so that we might better help you to do the same. Every single one of us have labored and strived all the days of our lives beneath the light and shadow of the Almighty–the Father who has knit you together in your precious momma’s womb. We’ve lived with God. We’ve walked with God. We’ve worked on our faith, and we know to whom we belong. God’s arms are the ones now cradling you in safety. Soon he’ll delivery you into ours. What mystery! What trust! What grace!

As your grandmother, I won’t always be ringside for some of your milestones. I’ll probably miss a lot of them, and I’m mostly OK with that. Those moments belong to you and your parents. And I know they’ll be great ones because I, too, have sat ringside to every milestone of the four kids God has entrusted me to raise … your dad, Nick, your Uncle Colton, your Uncle Jadon, and your Aunt Amelia. Their baptisms, their birthdays, their ballgames, their recitals, their break ups, their first days of driving, their graduations, their marriages, their tears, their fears. Their successes and their occasional failures. Their questions, their doubts, and their settled conclusions. It’s all been on a learning curve for me as a mom, but it has been and will remain the most exceptional privilege of my fifty-three years on this earth.

Wanna know a little secret about your dad? He made me a mom on April 11, 1989, the day after my 23rd birthday. He arrived two weeks prior to his due-date. I knew nothing about being a parent. Zilch. I had a lot of growing up to do myself, and for the last thirty years, I like to say that your dad and I have been growing up together. As he was learning to walk as a toddler, I was learning the fine art of walking as a mom. I still am.

And now, because of you, your parents will have the delicate and delightful privilege of further personal growth because they’ll grow alongside you. You will teach them their parenting skills. God has hand-picked you … entrusted you … as their training manual, and I am not one bit worried about their qualifications. They are rock stars.

Your dad is strong, thoughtful, courageous, contemplative, passionate, faithful, a gifted communicator, and he is truthful (perhaps one of the qualities I admire most about him). A person of truth is a person unafraid of exposure. It takes a long time to cultivate that kind of integrity (some of us spend our entire lives endeavoring to get there), but your dad seemed to be born with a generous portion of it in his DNA. He can’t help but tell the truth, even when it costs him some of his pride (and he’s got a lot of that too, but you’ll help him with that). He will never leave you. He is devoted to you and to your mom. And because Nick’s not a time waster, I always said that he would marry the first woman he seriously dated because he wasn’t going to prattle away a single moment on a girl he hadn’t already decided was worth the investment. I was right.

To give his heart wholeheartedly to one woman, your mom, is one of the greatest gifts he’s already given you. But even more important than his devotion to your mother, your father is devoted to your Creator, and beneath that light and shadow, he will carefully guard his own deposit of faith entrusted to him at an early age so that, in time, you’ll be collecting a faith your own.

As a mom, I have learned this most important truth, and now as your grandmother, I will endeavor to live it out more fully:

My job, my legacy, is to drop enough breadcrumbs of faith along the trodden path of this life so that all of my children, that you and the other grand-girls and grand-boys who will eventually fill up our family tree, can safely find your way home … back into the hands of the One who authored your life and who promises to perfect it.

And now, a word or two about your mom. I don’t know her nearly as well as I know your dad, but in the short time we’ve done life together, I am solidly convinced about her character and her commitment to raise you up with deep roots. Your mom’s strength is equal to your dad’s. She’s a home-grown, home-town girl whose sense of family anchors deeply within that Appalachian soil where she took her first steps. She’s smart (I mean really smart – she’s a professor with a PhD and everything and can produce an academic paper worthy of publication as easily as she drinks a cup of water). She’s clever, witty and can hold her own when it comes to matching wills with your father. She’s quiet, but when she speaks, we listen in because we know we’re going to get something more, another little piece of the puzzle that tells us who she is. I imagine that in these days of growing up alongside you, your mom will reveal even bigger pieces of her story to us, and I think those revelations will blow our minds. She’ll be the doorkeeper of your home, closely guarding who’s coming in and even more so, your going out. She’s a secret-keeper, and while I’m on the complete opposite end of that spectrum, I think her ability to hold things more closely to her heart (to not vocally share every blessed thought that comes into her mind) will help you to learn how to govern your own thoughts, your words, your actions.

Both of your parents already love you unconditionally. The relationship that you share with them will probably be the most important, framed picture in your home, the best snapshot that captures how Jesus really does love us all … that agape love which puts “best interest over self- interest” (you can read all about that kind of loving in 1 Corinthians 13. Uncle Jadon will be happy to break it down for you. He loves God’s Word, and he’ll love answering all your questions). This kind of love is an important picture to hang in your heart, and it has been through this lens (this love that I have for my four children) that I have finally been able to grasp just an inkling of how much I am loved by God. Best interest over self-interest … the Calvary story. One I will tell you more about in coming days. Consider this letter the prologue. 

So sweet precious grand-girl, you who I have not yet seen with my eyes, you whose name has not yet been revealed to the world, I am at a better place of peace in my life because you are now in it. God has seen you. God knows your name, and very soon we’ll start writing the chapters of your life together. And when you can’t find the words to your story, I’ll help you look for them. When the chapters don’t make sense in isolation, I’ll remind you of the bigger picture … that all good stories have a clear beginning, a mostly muddled middle, and, ultimately, a grand conclusion. When the pen you’re holding in your hand loses its ink, when the well from which you draw the lines of your story seemingly dries up, come over to mine and borrow some. My well runs long and wide and high and deep. I’ll lend you my strength because this fragile world you’re entering into, the one where you will write your legacy, will require it. Don’t let that reality scare you. Instead, let it challenge you, embolden you, because this I promise you …

God has already given you everything you need to make it through this delicate dance called life. He’s given you the promise of his presence, and he’s given you the present of our presence. Presence is the best gift we can give you on the advent of your arrival. You’re one of us now. Your name has been carved into the family tree, smack dab in the middle of our names. Our signatures surround yours. We’ll watch over you, and by God’s grace, we’ll all leave a trail of breadcrumbs so that you might most clearly and most easily find your way home.

And as always, may God forever bestow upon you, over you and beneath you, before and behind you, his peace for the journey. There’s no better place to grow up. 

I love you,
Your granny

from a distance…

“All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance.” (Hebrews 11:13)

 

Five months ago, I curled up in my bed barely able to breathe. Physically I was fine. My mental state, however, was taking a hit. The details surrounding my life were all-consuming. An impending move. A high school graduation. College applications. A wedding. A house and a classroom to pack up. A cancer scare. Aging parents.

The “to do” list was endless. I cried out to God in anguish:

How will I ever get to the other side of this?

His answer was as potent as my pain.

With me.

In that moment of clarity, I released my question to God’s capable hands and knew that, regardless of the minutiae in between, he would safely land me (and my family) in this place of relocation–Benson, NC.

I’ve lived here for a month now. Five months ago, I couldn’t have known how it would feel to be a resident of this community. Instead, I could only imagine it. And I did so on a regular basis … imagine it in my mind. Every now and again, I’d add some texture to my imagining by making an occasional detour off I-95 while en route to visit my folks who live a short distance away. But even then, in all the detours in my mind and with my car, I couldn’t fully appreciate the fullness of a life lived here. I could only welcome it from a distance.

Faith anticipates and welcomes life from a distance.

The ancients understood this … were commended for it. They lived expectantly, never seeing on this side of eternity, the fullness of God’s promises to them, only believing that, in fact, the fullness would arrive at the time of his choosing. And so, they sowed seeds of faith into the soil beneath their feet, watering it with both tears of sorrow and joy. God grew something on that sacred patch of land. It stands as a memorial for us today–a history of a well-worn, intricately woven faith.

And every time we choose to follow suit, every time we lend our hands to the plow that is before us so that the ground beneath us becomes the road that transports us, the voice that is within us echoes the beautiful refrain of faith. It’s a song that pleases our Father, a forward trust that resounds in the chambers of heaven, reminding those who have gone before us that we are not far behind.

Faith! Faith!
Hear our cry;
Here we stand
To testify.

The night’s been long
The journey severe;
The details endless
A call to persevere.

Through doubts.
Through fears.
Through questions.
Through tears.

In sickness.
In health.
In poverty.
In wealth.

Wherever we are
Wherever we’ve been;
Wherever you’re leading
Wherever it ends.

The soil is yours
This plow in our hand;
These seeds in our hearts
Our time in this land.

This faith from a distance
This faith we hold dear;
It keeps us together
It keeps us strong here.

Until we are finished
Until our time through;
Until our road ends
And we finally see you.

Our Author, our Perfector
Our Finisher of faith;
Our Father, our Redeemer
At last face to face.

With you, with the angels
with those gone before;
At home, at rest
In peace forevermore.

Yes, Faith! Faith!
Let the heavens resound;
This is life from a distance
This is life heaven bound.        (f.elaineolsen7/23/19allrightsreserved)

Faith anticipates and welcomes life from a distance. Wherever you are standing today, friend, cast your eyes to the horizon and cast all your imaginations into the capable hands of our Father. Soon and very soon, you’ll land safely into the place of his relocation. Soon, you’ll be home. Until then,

Peace for the journey,

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