faith | Elaine Olsen

tomorrow…

August 31, 2010

God is huge… really huge; so huge that it would be impossible for me to shrink him down and cram him into my pint-sized capacity for understanding. Still and yet, there are days when he breaks himself down for me so that my “pint-sized brain” can experience a measure of what it is to know him more fully, more intimately. These past few days have been some of those days for me.

God has tenderly knelt beside me, met me eye-level, and cradled me close to his beating heart. There has been more laughter than tears, more joy than sadness, more hope than despair, more faith than unbelief. I am grateful for my “more” that has anchored in sacred soil rather than in the tainted, diminished earthen sod that cradles my temporal steps. I’ve also been surprised by it… been overwhelmed by the gracious, sustaining hand of my Father who has not only made this cancer diagnosis bearable for me, but even more so, understandable.

I cannot explain the rational, reasonable response of my heart; whereas even a month ago I would have told you that I couldn’t possibly “do cancer,” I’m doing it today. I’m living with my diagnosis, with the stresses and strains of having to make some difficult decisions because of that diagnosis, and with the reality that I’m still a mom and wife with laundry to fold, bills to pay, and homework to be managed. That kind of “living with” can only be filtered through the lens of peace.

God’s peace—Jesus Christ. Not as the world gives (thank you God), but as he so determines. The world’s offering of peace is limited, is budgeted according to fleshly understanding and carnal appetites. God’s peace, however, is limitless and is budgeted according to kingdom standards and based on holier appetites—soul cravings that issue forth from a deep hunger to get more of our huge God crammed into our pint-sized understanding.

I’ve been living in kingdom peace these past weeks, and the cravings of my soul have been amply fed by the hand of the King who bends low to listen to the heart cries of his children… who stoops low to “raise the poor from the dust and lift the needy from the ash heap” (Ps. 113:6-7). I am exceedingly grateful for the gift of his sustaining presence and his willingness to be heavily invested in the story of my cancer.

God is so very willing to be part of all of our stories, friends. All he is waiting on is our invitation to him to start writing his memoir through us. You may not think your life particularly fantastic or worthy of print, but when you hand our Father the pen, he scripts authenticity into your story—every chapter, every line, every word, every letter. Every year, every month, every day, every hour. When God is given the publishing rights to our manuscripts, he promises to make everything count—the good, the bad, and all the mess that resides in between these extremes.

I’m taking him at his word; I’m believing him to make my cancer count—not for my sake, but for his. To get to the end of it all, regardless of where that “end” resides, and to have lived it selfishly and without regard to God’s greater understanding is to waste this precious time. I choose not to “live” there. I choose to live better. By doing so, I pray I learn more about my Father… about an intimacy, perhaps, that might have never been shared between us had I not been allowed this road.

I don’t want to waste my cancer. I want to embrace it, and in doing so, become more of the woman that God desires for me to be. If that can be said of me down the road—that in fact I’m further along in my faith journey because of my cancer—then it will have been worth it. If not—if I become a lesser woman of faith because of my cancer—then it will have been wasted.

Pray it’s not wasted. Pray, instead, that it will be my continuing perfection. I love you all and will be thinking of you in this next week as I will be off-line in order to take the next step in this journey.

After consulting with my oncologist yesterday regarding my MRI, we’ve decided to proceed with a mastectomy of both breasts. The surgery will be tomorrow at 1:00 PM. After a time of healing, a chemo/radiation plan will be put into place. Thankfully, those treatments will happen very close to home. I will have an overnight stay at the Surgery Center (can you believe that a mastectomy is considered out-patient surgery… I’m not kidding?!) before coming home. This was an unexpected “gift” to me and has gone a long way to relieve my initial concerns about learning how to care for myself before going home. Post-surgery, I am limited in the use of my arms, and my husband has vowed to make sure that I comply. Accordingly, I won’t be posting, but I’ll make sure that my husband updates you regarding my progress.

Through it all, I am humbled by the overwhelming support you’ve given to all of us, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve not been granted some extra favor from God because of your prayers. I don’t think God and his angels have ever heard my name more clearly than in the past week. I like to think of your prayers simmering there before God’s throne. You, good friends, make me want to be a better intercessor for others. You’re living a good faith on my behalf, and I am blessed by your generosity.

Take good care of your heart in this season. Tend to it; till it, and plant some good seed. The harvest will be good—God’s kind of good—and we will all share in the feasting together! As always…

Peace for the journey,

Running my Peace…

August 28, 2010

“… You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body.” (1 Cor. 6:19b-20)

I just got in from my run. It felt good… almost sacred. The time is fast coming when I’ll have to put running away for a short season. I can’t imagine myself running then… after surgery. So I don’t… imagine. Instead, I run in my today, because today is all I have been given and because running is a discipline that has been part of my life for twenty-five years.

I’m a runner. Not a fast one, but what I lack in speed I make up for in obedience. I’m a deliberate runner. A runner who chooses to lace up her shoes even when her heart lags behind. Why? Because running is good for my body. In doing so, it also serves the well-being of my mind, heart, and soul. It’s a way of honoring this temporal flesh that, for reasons beyond my understanding, God has chosen to make for his dwelling.

My flesh doesn’t belong to me. Neither does yours. We think that it does; spend a great deal of time and money pretending that it does, but the truth is…God paid a high price for our flesh—the flesh of his One and only Son. Accordingly, it belongs to him… all of it. No body part is exempt. I understand this more fully now; I thought I had a pretty good understanding prior to my diagnosis, but now the focus has become clearer.

In my quiet time yesterday morning, I handed over my flesh to him again. Over the course of my forty-four years, I’ve come to the altar in the matter of my flesh on many occasions. Time and again, God has been faithful to gather up my remnants and cradle them as his own. Today he cradles them again; today he cradles more of me—my all. What remains of my flesh is all that I have left to offer him. Long ago, I settled the matter regarding my heart. It’s been God’s for as long as I can remember, but I imagine my flesh has been lagging behind.

No longer, my friends. No longer. And here’s what I’m thinking about tonight…

God’s kingdom is an everlasting kingdom. It’s an enduring kingdom. It’s going to go forward regardless of my fleshly surrender. Therefore, I have two choices standing before me in this season:

To be a participant in God’s kingdom or to remain as an outsider.

I’m in… all in with God and his kingdom plan. In this time of change for me and my family, I pray you won’t find me on the sidelines of faith; I pray that, instead, you will find me leading the charge… staying the course and shouting the victory every step of the way. I want to keep running, friends, especially on those days when my flesh cries out for complacency. I want to keep doing what I’ve been doing for as long as I can remember.

I want to keep living Jesus, out loud and on purpose. It’s all I know to do.

I want to close this post with some thoughts from one of my favorite authors, Alicia Chole. In her book Anonymous she shares an important, life-changing truth that embedded its witness into my heart upon my first reading it a few years ago. Almost immediately upon receiving my cancer diagnosis I thought upon it. It’s been my shadow over these last few days. With Alicia’s permission, I share it with you tonight:

Marie was a very private person, but when she opened up the door to her personal life you needed to take notes. I always called her with a journal open and a pen poised. This woman was profound. And like most truly profound people, she was intimately familiar with pain. One day, Marie told me about a friend who visited her in the hospital after her third miscarriage. Trying to console her, the well-meaning friend had said, “You know, Marie, God is going to make you even stronger through this.”

My mentor smiled, thanked her friend, and thought about her words for several days. Relaying the hospital conversation to me, Marie explained that though she appreciated her friend’s intention, she questioned her friend’s conclusion about the purpose of pain. Marie ended our time together that day with the thought: “I feel that trials do not prepare us for what’s to come as much as they reveal what we’ve done with our lives up to this point.”

As Marie considered the pain of her third miscarriage, she realized that her response to this trial was less of a window into her future than it was a window into her past. Her current choices reflected and revealed her past choices. How had she responded previously when her dearest dreams perished in her womb? Did she withdraw from God in bitterness or come near to him with her unanswered questions? Had she tried to outrun the pain, or had she given herself permission to grieve and let the tears wash her wounds? The choices of her yesterdays were revealed through the window of her responses to her current trial.

In other words, trials tell us less about our future than they do about our past. Why? Because the decisions we make in difficult places today are greatly the product of decisions we made in the unseen places of our yesterdays. (Alicia Chole, Anonymous, Integrity Publishers, 2006, pg. 14-15).

What decisions are you making in your today that will better prepare you for your tomorrow? Are you currently complacent regarding your faith? Are you tending to your soul? Are you taking time to study God’s Word and to be in fellowship with other Christian believers who are building your faith rather than tearing at your resolve? Are you working in your churches? Are you praying every day? Are you listening to the promptings of God’s Spirit within? Are you participating in God’s kingdom cause? Are you speaking your faith? Are you loving God, knowing God, celebrating God, believing God?

If you are, then you can be certain that when tough times role your way, you will be well-equipped to handle the struggle. If you’re not, then it is time to start making some better choices today. Time to start deliberately living your faith, friends. Time to step it up and keep pace with the King. It’s what I plan to do in my “next.”

Cancer may be my “next,” but so is Jesus. I’ll be doing them both—cancer and Jesus together. I’ll be living them both with a kingdom view in mind. I pray your willingness to join me on the road. As always…

Peace for the journey,

~elaine

PS: I cannot begin to express to you my heartfelt thanks for all the many kindnesses you’ve extended to me in the past few days. There simply isn’t any way to make it around to all of your blogs and weigh in with my paltry “two-cents” right now, but as I can, I will visit you, because I dearly love you each one. Every now and again, I’ll give you a health update. Here’s the short version for tonight:

I had an MRI this morning in Greenville. After much thought and prayer, we’ve made the decision to stick with the breast oncologist there. He’s incredibly kind, and the man knows breasts! He’s also a man with a plan who is ready to move on with surgery, etc. We’ll be traveling back there on Monday to discuss the results of the MRI and how we will proceed. I imagine that things will move quickly. I want to take a moment to thank Rev. Homer Morris of Jarvis Memorial UMC for graciously gifting us with a motel room in Greenville last evening so that we wouldn’t have to endure a lengthy travel time this morning prior to my 7:00 AM appointment. I also want to thank my good friend, Judith, for receiving my many cancer related questions like “What is an MRI?” and “What should I wear?” (The bedpants and warm socks were a life-saver friend!). And of course, I want to give a special shout-out to my parents and Billy’s parents for being willing to make the trip to help us with childcare. Truly, you know what it means to “circle the wagons,” and we are so blessed to have you with us to love us as only a momma and daddy can do.

sacred remembrance…

August 16, 2010

“Give thanks to the LORD, call on his name; make known among the nations what he has done. Sing to him, sing praise to him; tell of all his wonderful acts. Glory in his holy name; let the hearts of those who seek the LORD rejoice. Look to the LORD and his strength; seek his face always. Remember the wonders he has done, his miracles and the judgments he pronounced.” (Psalm 105:1-5)

I haven’t told you this story before.

Tonight seems a good fit for the telling. Why? Because tonight I need to remember. Remembering is one of the major mandates that God laid at the feet of his people throughout Scripture, thus becoming a lasting mandate for us as well.

To remember. To recall where we’ve been… where we’ve come from and the faithfulness of God therein. Remembrance is particularly helpful in a season where chaos abounds and our faith proffers more like a molecule rather than a mustard seed. As we become intentional with our remembrance—especially as it pertains to God’s everlasting faithfulness in seasons past when troubles assailed us and we couldn’t determine the workings of his hand only to be surprised in the end by a miraculous return to peace—when we recall those moments of grace and deliverance, then we’re better able to take hold of the doubts that overwhelm us in our current seasons of travail.

God knew back then, even as he knows now, the power that comes with our sacred remembering. Thus, tonight I remember… a day in recent history. A day dated April 14, 2010. But before we get there, let me set the stage.

In early February of this year, my husband received a call from our District Superintendent informing us that we were on the “move list.” No other details were offered, only that we were to begin making preparations for a move, both emotionally and physically. Over the next couple of months we did just that… not only preparing our hearts for a move, but also preparing the hearts of the congregation we’d served for six years. It was a difficult preparation from many different angles. That being said, we’re accustomed to moving. We’re a Methodist clergy family, wholly… holy committed to the itinerant lifestyle.

Fast forward to April 12, 2010. We received a call from our DS informing us of where our next pastorate would be. On paper, all made good sense. Great location; big enough parsonage; thriving congregation; a salary in keeping with expectation. We spent the day contemplating our “next,” but as the day wore on, so did our concerns. Before nightfall, we were a complete mess. We couldn’t put our finger on the pulse behind our concerns, but we knew something was amiss. The next morning, we received an answer.

A phone call arrived informing my husband of a situation surrounding our new appointment. In good conscience and after heavy deliberation with me and with God in prayer, my husband respectfully requested he be re-assigned to a new church. There’s always a risk that comes with making such a request of the Bishop, especially at the eleventh hour when appointments were being set in stone. To say that we were crushed in spirit with the recent revelation is to say too little. We had long felt this would be our moving year. Even prior to us knowing about our moving status, God had prompted our hearts along those lines. We were, however, content to let the process run its course, believing that God would move the hearts of the Bishop and his cabinet if he so desired to move us to a new place of ministry.

The day was fraught with anxiety. Hours went by before hearing anything. And then he called. Not God… the Bishop. He was sympathetic to our concerns and assured us that we could return to our previous appointment without any problem. And then, he offered a postscript.

“By the way, I have another appointment you might be interested in…”—something about a dying congregation, about our coming in as a first, test-case for a revitalization effort going on within the UM church and how our support would be generated in partnership between this new church and the conference. I wasn’t thrilled; I was confused.

Thus began an all night deliberation regarding a “move” not in keeping with our personal expectations. However, by morning, we’d decided to “go” with a few conditions attached to our “going.” Apparently, conditions don’t always mesh well with a Bishop’s offer, thereby creating another five tenuous hours of back and forth between my husband and the Bishop’s cabinet. Not handling the pressure very well, I did what all smart women do when confused.

I went shopping.

I told my husband that my phone would be on and that he should call me should something change. He did… a couple of times. His voice was tearful, his pain palpable. It didn’t look like a move was going to “press through” for us this year. During his final call to me, he said, “Elaine, the DS just called again and wanted to know if he should remove us from the ‘move’ list.” I hesitantly replied with my “yes.” We closed our conversation, and I headed to the dressing room.

And then it happened… a moment I couldn’t have planned… a moment I didn’t anticipate. As I live and breathe, I was standing before the mirror in the Belk’s dressing room, arms extended into the air in preparation for trying on a blouse. As the blouse enveloped my frame, so did a warmth I’ve never experienced before (even typing this now, I feel the witness of the Holy Spirit running throughout my body). From head to toe, I was wrapped and energized in the marvelous light and life of God’s Spirit within. I immediately retrieved my cell phone from my pant’s pocket and speed-dialed my husband.

“Honey, text message the cabinet and tell them we’ll come… no strings attached.”

He thanked me and immediately sent this message to the cabinet:

“We’ll go and we’ll go with God. No strings attached.”

We were later told that with the receiving of that text, the climate in the conference room immediately shifted and every one of our “attachments” were not only met, they were exceeded. Now here we are, almost eight weeks down the road, and I’m telling the story again. Not only for your sake, but mostly for mine. Why? Because I need to remember tonight; need to be reminded that for all the unknowns that currently torment me, there was a day in recent history when God firmly and beautifully gave me his “go” to be in this place.

I’d be lying if I told you I haven’t wondered a least a thousand times “why?” over the past eight weeks. It’s been a difficult “fit” with my heart. That being said, I’d also be lying if I tried to deny that dressing room moment. I can ask “why” all I want, but the truth is, I cannot deny the Spirit’s presence on April 14, 2010, in Belk’s. It’s almost as real to me this day as it was then, and friends…

Who of us doesn’t want some of that?

Remembrance is a good thing. It keeps us moving in a right and holy direction, even when we cannot see our next step. Remembering the presence and faithfulness of God in our past better enables us to move forward with our future. It’s one of the strongest tools we have in our spiritual arsenal to fight the enemy’s schemes for personal disaster. Tonight, I’m wielding that sword. Tonight, I’m writing my faith, out loud and on display for all the world to read. I don’t know if you needed it, but I certainly did, and I happen to believe that there might be a few of you who need to remember as well.

Remember God. Remember him well. Remember where you’ve come from, where you’ve been, and where you’re headed. Remember how he’s been there each and every time. He’s in it all—past, present, and future, and his faithfulness never ends.

Remember God and find your thanks, sing your praise, and tell of all his wonderful acts of kindness toward you. Your deliberate remembrance this day will be the spontaneous hallelujah of your tomorrow! As always…

Peace for the journey,

~elaine

PS: Thanks to Sandi Patty’s wonderful marketing crew, I have three copies of her newest book to give-away. The winners are… Cheryl B., Teresa, and Joan. Send me your snail-mail girls, and I’ll get your book to you this week! Enjoy.

a toast to daily grace…

August 3, 2010

Fantastic life stories.

Do you have one? I don’t… at least not when measured by the world’s standards. Let me explain.

By fantastic, I don’t necessarily mean grand, glorious, excellent, superb or a dozen or so other synonyms meaning the same. What I mean is more along the lines of a “brought-back-from-the-ashes” kind of fantastic. You know what I’m talking about. A life-story that includes an extreme, seemingly debilitating circumstance that is eventually overcome by the kindness and grace of God to go on to become a shining witness for all those who happen by for a look, maybe even a best-seller.

I’ve come across a lot of those stories as of late; in particular, this afternoon while perusing the shelves at a local Christian bookstore. Rows and rows of books filled with the latest “triumph over tragedy” life-stories that ask for my attention… my wallet as well. And while I am grateful for God’s extension of grace and healing into the lives of those directly affected by painful, life situations, I’m wondering why the rest of our stories don’t “shelve” alongside these best-sellers. Why doesn’t a “less-fantastic” life get as much press as a “brought-back-from-the-ashes” kind of one?

As a writer, I’ve heard a lot of talk regarding “story”—about needing to have one… about what mine is and why others would want to read it. That kind of talk always leaves me feeling a bit hollow and inferior. Why? Because my life hasn’t lived, necessarily, in accordance with “fantastic.” Don’t misunderstand me. Grace is always fantastic regardless of how it arrives in the lives of God’s children. Every last one of us has experienced a “brought-back-from-the-ashes” kind of fantastic when it comes to God’s grace and all its amazing. What I mean is that not all of us have had to endure the trauma of something horrible prior to grace’s rescue. And just in case you’re wondering, I don’t wish for a Christian witness that’s in keeping with some of the horrors that my brothers and sisters have had to endure in order to receive their “fantastic” witness. I imagine many of them would trade their previous dread for a life lived less dramatically, less needful of an edge-of-the-seat, last minute kind of intervention. Still and yet, that kind of story seems to be what sells, what readers want, what lines the shelves of my local Christian bookstore.

If that’s the case, then I don’t have much of a story, at least not one that would sell. Certainly, I could talk about being the mother of four kids, but that’s not very original. I could talk about being a pastor’s wife, but that’s been done before. I’ve walked through a divorce, but these days that’s nothing new, certainly not headline worthy. I suppose if you’re the one walking through a divorce, it is. Sixteen years ago, it was a big, huge deal for me, but I’m mostly past that now. I don’t want to write about it, anymore than you’d want to read about it. It’s just not that fantastic. Today I live and walk in the grace that’s been afforded to me via the cross and in the spirit and freedom of Romans 8:1-2:

“Therefore, there is now no commendation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death.”

So I’m wondering; perhaps you are as well…

What makes a life a worthy read? Why does one merit more press than another? Why do some stories garner the attention of readers while others get passed over? What if you had to “sell” your story to a publisher? Why would anyone choose to read your “life” over another one that has lived, perhaps, a bit more “fantastically?”

It’s not a fair question, for I happen to believe that all stories of grace are worthy of print. Funny how we get hung up on ranking the witness of God’s grace. Maybe you aren’t that shallow. Maybe you see the bigger picture. Maybe I’m just on a bit of a soap box tonight, but truthfully, I’ve grown a bit weary with it all.

I don’t need a story of “fantastic” grace to buoy me along in my faith journey. Rather, a story of daily grace will do me just fine. A day-in, day-out, walking it through kind of story that has lived a lifetime worth of days within the boundaries of holy living. An everyday life lived in an everyday way because a long time ago the lead character in the story made a decision to live an everyday Jesus in every kind of way. Not fantastically; just daily.

I imagine that’s most of you. Thank God for that… for a life that has lived free from some of the hardships of our brothers and sisters, from some of the prodigal lifestyles chosen by them as well. If today you’re living and breathing the same witness of faith that you lived yesterday… that you lived ten years ago, maybe even fifty years ago, then to God be the glory, and pass me your book please! What makes your story a worthy read (at least in my opinion) is your steadfastness to keep on doing what pleases God, come what may. To never stray too far off the path of grace, thus sparing yourself the need for a dramatic rescue from the heavenlies. To be content to live godly, even though it may never garner you the attention of the world.

Make no mistake… if you’re living godly, you’re being noticed. God is paying attention to your every chapter, even if you or others currently consider them mundane and ordinary. He’s adding the color along the way and as you go, and one day soon, you’ll see the fruition of his “fantastic” spin on your story. When you get home to him, you’ll find your book, shelved there alongside those of the ancients of old. It won’t go unnoticed or unpublished. It won’t be tucked away or forgotten or overshadowed by those whose stories you once deemed more worthy of recognition. No, your story of daily grace will stand front and center… in the very hands of God, and he will call it good and finished and a perfect fit in keeping with his kingdom library.

And that, my friends, is the making of a fantastic life story—one that begins and ends with our Father’s commendation. It may not make the shelves of Borders, but you can be certain it will make the shelves of heaven. I, for one, cannot wait to sit ringside with you and hear our Father read your story aloud for all of creation’s notice. Your life is just that good… just that worthy.

Believe it. Live it all the more. Here’s my toast to your beautiful, noteworthy life lived with God’s daily grace. I love you and thank you for investing good kingdom seed into the soil of my heart. As always…

Peace for the journey,

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the broken road of faith…

July 12, 2010

“Faith moves forward… faith anchors itself in the unseen. Faith doesn’t base its hope in emotion but in the truth.”

That was my answer this morning to the question that was raised in Sunday school regarding the definition of faith. I spoke it rather mechanically, almost as if rehearsed over and over again prior to its departure from my lips. I suppose I’ve been practicing it for a while now, not just with words, but in my spirit as well.

It’s a good thing… this rehearsing of faith in an earlier, seemingly unchallenged season. Why? Because when uncertainties arise to challenge that faith, we need the advantage of a previously rehearsed faith. We need the anchor of truthful words when feelings pull us in the opposite direction.

I’ve been challenged lately… been hoping for some tangible validation to my deeply-held spiritual convictions. It’s not that God’s been unwilling to validate my inward pulse; no, instead, it’s been a great deal about my unwillingness to take the time to listen to his. Life and busyness and stress have shouted their insistence, almost to the point of sweeping me under the rug of doubt. I’ve caved many times, succumbed to my tears and frustration and feelings of numbness.

It’s hard to continue an old life in a new place. On the front side of my ellipsis nearly three weeks ago, I imagined this transition would be easier. I naively placed the enemy at bay, believing that my faith was unshakeable, unbendable, unwavering and steadfast. But naivety has little, if any, place in the life of a believer… especially one who is intent on the ongoing pilgrimage of faith’s perfection. Troubling times are sure to come, and while my “troubling” might categorize as insignificant to those who are troubled with a seemingly far worse scenario, it ranks pretty noteworthy for me.

“Whatever trips you up.”

This is what I’ve always told my Bible study gals (if you’re one of them, I miss you tremendously and am sending a heart full of love to you this night). We all have our triggers, and we can be sure that the enemy knows them full well and is ready to exploit them every chance he’s given. I suppose I’ve been more prone to opening up the door to his advances in recent days. Exhaustion has set in, and whenever we’re physically and emotionally tired—when the pavement beneath our feet feels more like rubble rather than smoothness—we’re prone for a misstep along these lines.

That being said, a “trip up” isn’t the end of a heart’s faith. A good faith acknowledges the imbalance early on. A good faith pauses to recognize the incongruencies between what is true and what is purported as truth. A good faith doesn’t linger too long in the rubble; instead a good faith picks itself up and moves forward, doing what it has always done.

Believing further. Looking higher. Walking onward.

Faith keeps going, and faith keeps speaking the truth, even when feelings lag behind.

That is what I did this morning. I spoke my faith despite my feelings, and as I did… something broke in me. Tears began to water my cheeks, and for the first time in a long while, God’s Spirit resonated tenderly with mine. I felt him nearby, and my heart was renewed for the journey ahead.

Sometimes, friends, we need to live our faith out loud and in living color, even when unfamiliar faces serve as our audience. I cannot pretend to be otherwise. Sometimes, my faith isn’t pretty or commendable. Sometimes it lags behind the expectations of others. But always, it lives out loud, and I just have to believe that somewhere in the living and telling of my story, someone else will benefit from the honesty.

There is no set of blueprints that perfectly defines how your faith and mine faith will cadence through until the end. We cannot predict on the front end (nor would we want to) of our ellipses all the “rough and tumble” of our tomorrows. But of this one thing we can be certain…

No matter the stones that present themselves on the path of faith, no matter the potholes and the gravel that serve as precursors to a personal fall, the One who stands at the end of the road is worth it. God is what keeps me going. I may be bloodied from the fall and the wounds may run deep, but you can be sure that I will rise again to a new day’s journey until my feet and my faith have landed me safely home. That is what I told my new friends this morning when the teacher (perhaps stunned and uncomfortable with my tears) thanked me for staying the course of faith.

“He is so worth it. God is the real deal; the only thing I’ve got going on.”

Perhaps this day some of you, like me, boast the bloody knees of a recent fall. Let not your hearts be completely troubled by the stumble; instead, believe further, look higher, walk onward. Remember the truth of your yesterday’s faith, and allow it to be the underpinning that moves you forward this week. Don’t linger too long in your guilt; let God’s forgiveness and love for you be the foundational truth from which you monitor your progress this week. You can never stumble so far as to miss the reach of God. You can never fall too far from his heart so as not to be pulled back into his loving embrace. The enemy would have you think otherwise, but the enemy is a liar. Tell him so, and then keep going. Keep speaking the truth out loud and on purpose, even when your feelings lag behind.

Faith comes through hearing, and hearing through the Word of God (Romans 10:17).

Be careful to listen to his voice this week; be willing to speak it all the more. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: I heard God’s voice this past week through the 32 Killian family members that gathered on the shores of SC for a family reunion, but no time more profoundly then the final night when we gathered for a family sing. I pray it blesses your heart as it did mine. Be sure and hang on for the final song by our beloved, Joni… our own Sandi Patty! Shalom.

Category Archives: faith