PS: For those of you who haven’t read the previous post, this is the young child who inspired my heart-felt response. Apparently, yours as well. Thanks for weighing in with your thoughts and support.
Hold onto your faith, friends … there is coming a day.
I was fully prepared to write another post today, a post that God has graciously allowed me to tuck away for a season; maybe forever. Today he gave me a “pass” on something. Today his favor has come to me and my household in tangible measure, and I am humbled and grateful for his notice.
This is my man.
He is my strength and has been my able arms over the past week. We’ve created a beautiful home together. When God gave me Billy, he gave me a portion of heavenly grace—love as love was meant to be received. I’ve never known a better earthly love. Sure, my parents love me unconditionally. Parents do that, at least they should. But when another human being makes the choice to love unconditionally, well, that’s the stuff of earth’s movement, of hell’s frustration, and of heaven’s notice.
Our love has deepened over the past week; I look forward to more seasons with my man. To marking our grey hairs together and our ills and aches as well. I love you, Billy.
These are my children.
They are the reason behind my pressing on and pressing in to Jesus. The more I know him, the more I’m able to give him to them. They deserve my faithful pursuit of God. They are and will continue to be the recipients of my earnest chase and capture of the Divine. I love you, Nick, Colton, Jadon, and Amelia.
And you, blog readers, you are my friends. I have no doubts that the peace I’ve known over the past week has come to me in large part through the prayers of the saints. You are those saints. You know who you are. I called upon you for prayer, and your prayers have been felt … been heard and been answered.
Today I got a “pass” from God, and that is enough for me. Day to day living with Jesus is all that is required of us. Not tomorrow; not next week, but this very moment we hold in our hands. God reserves the right to all of those moments, no matter their length of earthly time.
When I awoke in the early morning hours, God impressed upon me a few words that I would like to share with you as I close. I thought them profound, even before I got my “pass.” I still think that to be the case…
“It doesn’t matter how long God chooses to preserve my earthly life. What matters is how I choose to preserve him in the earthly life I’ve been given.”
Preserve him well this week, and I will do the same. Nothing in this life, and I mean nothing, is worth losing the flavor of Jesus in us, on us, through us, all around us. Nothing. Tend to his divine preservation within your heart this day, knowing that the aroma you spread has the capacity to shake the foundations of hell. In doing so, the heavens sing their refrain, as our Father bends low for a listen. As always…
peace for the journey~
~elaine
Last evening, I rushed home from our Bible study launch of Priscilla Shirer’s “one in a million” to participate in an on-line conference hosted by A Women Inspired. I missed most of the first session, but was excited to learn that my girl, Kristen from Exemplify, was hosting the second session. Like most of us in blogland, Kristen and I have yet to make a face-to-face connection. Thus, I was all the more eager to at least “hear” her voice; it didn’t matter much to me what she would be talking about. She could have talked fashion for all I cared; I would have listened (despite my careless attitude along those lines). It wasn’t the content I was after. It was the relationship. But my sister had a word to further validate the person she is … the person I’ve grown to love and admire throughout my time in the blogging world.
A simple, tender admonition to “see to it”. See to the work you have received in the Lord. She repeated the phrase throughout her presentation, and at one point, inserted my name into the mix (she knew I was there because participants are on-line “chatting” while the presenter is speaking).
“See to it, Elaine, see to it that you complete the work you have received in the Lord.”
I’ve thought a lot about that “charge” in the past fourteen hours, and I’ve asked the Lord a few questions along these lines. What is the work I have received from you Lord? What are you calling me to complete? What are the unfinished “chapters” that need words and punctuation and thematic flow? What is the work that is mine to conclude, and what is the work better left to someone else’s conclusion? Show me, Father, my place in your kingdom plan.
I went to sleep pondering my thoughts; I awoke with the same and then “happened” upon Mark 8:22-25 in my time of morning devotion.
“They came to Bethsaida, and some people brought a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him. He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, ‘Do you see anything?’ He looked up and said, ‘I see people; they look like trees walking around.’ Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly.”
Today, like the blind man, I linger on the outskirts of Bethsaida with my questions regarding my “see to it”. My eyes vision partial; my heart all the more. Where I desire clarity, there are trees walking around. I am not alone in my contemplations; my Savior is here with me. In fact, he led me here by his hand and is administering his own form of clarity in the matter. He reminds me that clear vision takes faith, takes trust, and takes the necessary steps toward having trees turn into people. Dreams turn into realities. Hopes turn into the “surety and certainty” that roots me back to the Author and Perfecter of all “see to it’s”.
Seeing clearly begins with a willingness to walk with the Father to the outskirts of the village where we normally reside. Normal, usual, and daily routine don’t typically birth clarity regarding our “see to it’s”. Taking time to be Jesus in quiet isolation, away from life’s distractions, brings perspective. It is in those moments when we best pay attention to the hands of Christ’s administration over our needs. His “see to it’s” for each one of us are best seen when we can clearly hear the whisper of our names on his lips, offering us his tender admonition:
Elaine, do you see anything? What is coming into focus for you? See to it, child, see to the work you have received in my name.
How about you, friend?
____(your name)___, do you see anything? What is coming into focus for you? See to it, child, see to the work you have received in my name.
Today I have ample time for the contemplation because I am well aware of the human condition—the limits our bodies allow us to travel before putting a “halt” to our intentions, our lists, our “seeing to it’s”. It’s been looming for a few days now (read my last post). I’m fighting its arrival with plenty of prayer and over-the-counter wisdom, but even then, a “halt” has become my necessity.
Rather than seeing this day as a day lost regarding my many “lists”, I’m investing this time with my Father on the outskirts of my normal and asking him for his hands to sharpen my vision along the lines of my “see to it’s”. I believe him for as much, and I am exceedingly grateful for these moments I’ve been given to step aside with him in isolation.
I pray the same for you in the days to come. God has given each one of us some “see to it’s”. There are seasons when it’s hard to clearly determine his intentions along these lines, but as we take time to be alone with Jesus, he takes the time and is more than willing to sharpen our focus and to strengthen our steps for the duration and completion of the ordained works he has placed in our hands.
So in the words of the Apostle Paul, and in the words of my good friend Kristen, see to it today. See to Jesus. Be with Jesus. Walking trees are just the beginning of a sharper beholding. As you are faithful to hang on for more, God is faithful to reveal to you his more. As always,
peace for the journey,
I’m not a good sleeper, but last night I slept … good. The night colored darker than usual, the sound machine gently lulled my slumber, the overhead ceiling fan operated at full throttle, and there were no boys above me to creak the witness of their presence. I went to bed earlier than usual, tucking myself in with some truth from God’s Word and some audible prayers for the saints.
Sleep was sweet, and then sleep was interrupted. Not by a loud noise or a neighboring dog or even the sound of my husband snoring. No, the culprit behind my “bolt-upright in bed” response was nothing more than the sound of a page turning in my Bible. It lay open by my bed; apparently the breeze created by the ceiling fan forced its movement. In doing so, it forced my notice.
For a few minutes, I became cognizant to the spiritual domain hovering close by. I’m not a mystic, nor do I major on the physical manifestations of the “unseen” dimension that I heartily believe to be at work around us 24/7. But I’ve lived with God long enough and deep enough to realize when he is making a point.
He made one last evening, and before I could forget it, I grabbed the pad of paper and pen that lay bedside and wrote down these words in the dark…
That’s the way our faith is with God. He shows up, pages turn, and the whispers of his grace wake us from our dismal slumber.
As quickly as I was awakened from my slumber, I returned to its embrace. When I awoke this morning, I wondered if my imagination was to blame for my earlier alertness. One quick glance at my notebook told me otherwise. The handwriting was a bit skewed, but the words verified the moment. And this morning, I’m thinking that maybe someone today needs to hear the truth about a “showing up, page turning, whispering grace” kind of God.
Our faith activates his presence. Every time. There is no “maybe” on his part; no “if I feel like it” or “if I’m not busy”. Our God is faithful to arrive upon the scenes of our lives as we are faithful to seek him out. Not just at night (although I think the quiet of evening and the cover of darkness is tailor made for his arrival), but also during the daytime when light is obvious and our senses are most alert to the movement around us.
If God is about anything, he’s about turning the pages of our stories with the idea that a conclusion is fast approaching. We cannot stop his inevitable end to our stories; we can stall the progress toward that end … put up roadblocks and force some heavy editing in the process, but make no mistake. Our books are being written by the very hand of God, and one day soon, ours will shelve alongside the ancients of old where we will spend an eternity, together with them, enraptured by the “read”.
Some of you, today, need for a page to turn in your life. Need the hand of God to reach down from heaven and end the suspense of the preceding paragraphs that have captured your attention for a long season. You desire to move on, to get on with the rest of your story, but you are stuck … mired down in the confusion of some words and with an understanding that refuses to move you on to the next page. Perhaps your strength has waned with the reading, forcing your slumber and your inattentiveness. Perhaps, even your faith has taken a hit.
I understand. I, too, have hosted some seasons of being stuck. I’m afraid I don’t have a ten-step plan or a fifteen-chapter book that will guarantee your success at breaking free from its grip. No, when I walk through times of slumber, times of wishing for the “page to turn” but unable to do so through my own strength, the only thing I know to do is to keep walking … keep refusing the pre-mature end to my story that, apparently, has a chapter or two more to be written.
In those seasons, I simply bring the unfinished product to Jesus, lay it before him, and ask him to move it forward … to move me forward. To reach down from heaven with the whispers of his grace and to blow the pages of my life and the faith of my heart onward.
He’s never disappointed me; he’s always been faithful and deliberate with his showing up. Granted, the progress is sometimes a bit slow for my taste, but even then, I’m willing to concede that my taste and my Father’s are not always equal in their merit. I cannot see the finished product; he can, and so I make a decision to trust him with the pace believing that the end will arrive on time and with the sacred conclusion of my final perfection.
I don’t how this strikes you today; maybe it’s not for you. But for a few of you, those of you whose eyes have grown “weak” and whose perception has grown dim, I want you to know the truth of my late-night encounter with the presence of the living God. When you activate your faith and incline your heart in his direction, he is faithful to reach down from the heavenlies and to turn the pages of your story in perfect keeping with his will.
If you are stuck today, I pray the whispers of God’s grace to be your portion and the witness of his presence to be your comfort. Your story is but one divine breath away from turning its page and moving its words forward into the annals of an everlasting faith. May God grant you the courage and the wisdom to relinquish the pen into his capable hands. As always…
PS: I didn’t plan on being here today, but then again, I didn’t plan on a night visitor. I don’t know when I’ll be here again; I’m sensing the need to pull away for a few days. Please know that I keep you in my heart throughout the day. You’ve all become a vital and integral part in my faith journey, and I count it a privilege to live in fellowship with you. Enjoy this beautiful day we’ve been given; may the sure and certain presence of our Father find you on the pages of your story this week. Shalom.
“So keep up your courage, men, for I have faith in God that it will happen just as he told me. Nevertheless, we must run aground on some island.” (Acts 27:25-26).
One of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever received came from a counselor during a time of great personal crisis nearly fourteen years ago. It went something like this…
Elaine, you spend a great deal of your time trying to “out swim” the waves that are chasing you. You expend your valuable energy in trying to reach the shore before they have the opportunity to consume you. Sometimes you make it; sometimes you don’t. How much better would it be if you stopped swimming, anchored your feet into the sand, and turned to face the wave … head on and with the full confidence that your survival has already been written in the history books?
Facing the wave. That’s where I am today. Actually, where I am is in an upstairs bedroom where two beds are stripped of their linens and where closets are mostly bare. The trophies remain … the bookshelf filled with yesteryear’s reads, and the dust all the more; but what I notice most about this room this morning is not the remnants left behind. What I’m most keenly aware of is its emptiness. The silence. The incredible void that fills this place because two young men are no longer making this room the place where they lay their heads at night.
My tears have mostly dried, and the exhaustion has nearly subsided; for the most part, I’m ready to “get on with the gettin’ on.” But before I do, before I have clarity about “what’s next” for me and for those of us left behind, I want to spend some time this week “facing the wave” and allowing the full force of change to hit me squarely in the heart, therefore requiring me to grapple with some questions that are worthy of more than my casual acknowledgment.
Questions that arrive because routine has been stripped away and because there is now ample time and space to formulate some answers, out loud and before God in a way that wouldn’t have been possible a week ago. A week ago, I was still walking through this parental obedience of “letting go” with the objects of that “letting go” still shadowing my every move. Today, the shadows are removed. They are gone, casting their depth on the campuses of two universities that are just out of my reach.
Truly, I’m fine with the distance between us. It is part of their “becoming”; it’s part of mine. All of us are searching for the “next thing”—the next step in this journey called faith. And while their search leads them along different paths than mine, one thread remains constant for us all. Change has arrived, and when change comes, we can do one of two things with it. We can fight it, or we can bend to it … bow to it, turn to it and allow the full force behind its pulse to hit us where we stand and to shape us accordingly.
I choose to turn and face the wave this day, knowing that regardless of the “hit” my survival has already been written in the history books.
Some days … some seasons … our ships, like the Apostle Paul’s, get the “go ahead” from God to run aground. Our safety isn’t in question. We may feel as if it is; after all, the waves are high and the surge is certain. We may have lost all hope of being saved from the storm; but even there, our God comes to us in the dark of the night and reminds us that not one of us will be lost. We live with the assurance that our lives will be spared. But our ships? Our comfortable and our familiar?
Well, sometimes they know the splintering and breakage of an intentional island, placed in our paths on purpose and with the sole intention of stripping us down to the basics. The island is never intended to destroy us but, rather, to save us. Without it, we are at risk of succumbing to the treacherous battering from a sea’s fury whose relentless passion has sent more than a few ships to a watery and forgotten grave.
With the island, we get reprieve. A fresh start. A place of beginning again; of rebuilding and renewal and re-examination of a life that will continue down a new path, yet one with the same destination in mind.
Home to God.
He will use many routes to get us there, all manner of detours and obstacles to accomplish our arrival. We may not always welcome the change … the “stripping down” and painful emptiness that calls for our contemplation and our maturation. But to deny its reality is to delay its intentional good. And God is after our good; not for goodness’ sake, but for his sake. For his plan. For his perfected end that gloriously welcomes and includes our “becoming” as part of the determined process.
Perhaps this day the waves are fiercely and desperately chasing you from behind. Your ship is hanging by a thread and your efforts at “lightening the load” are doing little to quell the fury. Your “frantic and frenzy” at trying to “out swim” the inevitable embrace of the waves in order to reach the safety of the shore has worn you out and your exhaustion is complete.
Would you be willing to pause, to stop where you are, to dig your heels deeply into the soil beneath your weary feet and then to courageously, turn and face the wave? Sometimes a ship has to be willing to be broken in order for a life to be saved. It maybe your ship … your life. It maybe the life of someone you dearly love. Either way, the willingness to invite the “stripping down” of the waves is the beginning of the “building up” of a new way of doing life with Jesus.
Thus, keep up your courage, friends, and I will keep up mine. I have all the confidence in my God to lead us as we go and to bring us safely home, just as he has said. Our God is ever faithful. He will do it.
Even so, do it today, Lord Jesus. As always…
