Category Archives: family fun

When Blue Skies Collide

It’s an annual angst in our household – the night…

When blue skies collide.

The softer hues of a Carolina blue and the bolder hues of a Kentucky one are both painted richly and displayed proudly on the jerseys of ten, college basketball players as they mark their paces alongside one another within the perimeter of a 94 x 50 wooden court.

It’s forty minutes of back and forth, full speed ahead with programmed stops in between. Count down clocks and time-outs. Fouls and free-throws. Huddles on the bench and high fives with the scores. Strategies along with some occasional luck. Fans, coaches, grumbles and cheers. Winners, losers, laughter and tears. A full gamut of emotions sandwiched in between a referee’s beginning whistle and a buzzer’s conclusion.

It can be exhausting on those nights…

When blue skies collide.

But after twenty-nine years of marriage, we’ve learned to balance those nights. My Carolina boy watches the upstairs’ tv while this Kentucky girl claims dibs on the downstairs’ screen. Funny, I can’t recall any of the decades’ worth of outcomes just now. Bragging rights don’t last long in our household. Why? Because a final score that elevates one blue over the other does little to fuel the marital bond. Instead, when one takes the lead – a softer hue above the bolder or the bolder shade ahead of the softer – well, the bond can be weakened. So rather than claiming winners or losers, Billy and I have decided that it’s better for us to simply stay in the game, stay on the court, and keep the clock running.

Thirty years ago, Billy carried his Carolina Blue onto the campus of Asbury Seminary and parked it beneath the shade of my Kentucky Blue, an unlikely pairing some would say. Regardless, we learned to dance together on that Bluegrass, and then we two-stepped our way back over the mountain and planted our future beneath a Carolina moon. His blue next to mine, blending our colors ever since and until Jesus makes the final call.

Three years ago, another boy named Jadon carried his Carolina Blue onto the campus of Asbury Seminary and parked it beneath the shade of a girl painted in Kentucky Blue. Her name is Kelsi. They, too, have learned to dance on that Bluegrass and, just recently, two-stepped their way back over those Appalachian Mountains. Tomorrow, they will plant their future beneath this Carolina moon. His blue next to hers, blending their colors and pledging their allegiance to God and to one another until He makes the final call.

Blue skies colliding beneath the watchful eyes of their Creator.

And it will be beautiful.

Yes, there will be a lot of back and forth. Some full speed ahead with programmed stops in between. Count down clocks and time-outs. Fouls and free throws. Huddles on the bench and high fives with the scores. Strategies along with some occasional luck. Fans, coaches, grumbles and cheers. Winners, losers, laughter and tears. A full gamut of emotions sandwiched in between the “I dos” and the buzzer’s conclusion.

It will be exhausting at times…

When blues skies collide.

But… it will always be worth it. Why?

Because when blended together – a Carolina Blue alongside a Kentucky Blue – a beautiful, new shade of Blue is created.

A union. A two becoming one flesh with the Master Painter adding his splashes of heavenly grace within. There will be no elevation of one hue over the other. Rather, a blending … a strengthening. An intensity that cannot be reached in isolation.

God’s best blue.

Together, Jadon and Kelsi will move the kingdom forward by blending their stories together and allowing every chapter of their separate pasts to inform and reform their collective future. Their marriage will be a shade of grace that the world needs. I would caution them not to listen to the naysayers; Billy and I had plenty of them along the way. But here we are, twenty-nine years down the road, still running the length of the court and growing our bench of blessing –

Nick, Chelsea and Finley
Colton, Rachel and Eliza
Jadon and Amelia
And now you, Kelsi…

Welcome to the team.

Thank you for choosing Jadon as your dance partner and for embedding your Kentucky Blue into this Carolina soil. May the God who knit you both individually within your mothers’ wombs now knit you together as a couple for his glory and for his gain.

Cheers to you and to this night…

When blue skies collide.

The best is truly yet to be.

Peace for the journey,
Mom

#solid60

”A solid 60.”

That was her answer to me when I asked her to guess my age. Without hesitation and with all the confidence of a young twenty something, she was certain in her guess. And if her guess was offered up to me in the last week, I would have been impressed.

But it wasn’t. The conversation in question happened two years ago. I was 58 at the time. She was embarrassed, and we’ve all been laughing about it ever since.

Today, though…

I am a solid 60. Today is my birthday, and I have the shirt to prove it.

So, what does that mean? How does that define? What does a #solid60 look like … live like?

I have a few thoughts.

Firstly, being a #solid60 has less to do with the density of a sixty-year-old body and more to do with a rich accumulation of life experiences. Layers of a life are built over decades, a thickness that cannot be gained in brevity. Certainly, a moment in time can profoundly impact the trajectory of one’s path. But one moment added to another moment over the course of 60 years equals a solid repository of witness that isn’t always easily dissected (or appreciated) by a curious world.

I am the sum total of my moments. When you meet me, you get them all – a solid package of 60 years’ worth of moments. Today I have the privilege of reflecting on my collection therein. So do you. No matter your age, today you’re building toward something solid. The fullness of who you are and who you are becoming anchors its growth in the reality of your accumulated moments.

If solid is what you’re after, then live your moments well; build with intention and in expectation.

Secondly, being a #solid60 has less to do with what I have done to reach this milestone and everything to do with what God has done. If accumulated moments are the ingredients of a solid life, then heaven’s grace is the glue that holds them all together. Dissect any portion of my story and you will find the free and flowing grace of God. It bleeds onto every page of my witness. Without God’s elaborate grace over me, there would be nothing solid to kick at, no lasting substance to hold. Just a life of vapor that has no foundational value and one that quickly fades into nothingness.

If solid is what you’re after, then invite God into your story. Allow his grace to flow into and throughout all your moments so that they might be solidified into a monument of eternal glory that points others toward home.

Thirdly, being a #solid60 has less to do with the moments that have been lived to date and much more to do with the moments that are to come. At sixty, I am privileged to still know the active love and witness of my parents. All my life, from my beginning days on an Easter Sunday morning until this day, my 60th birthday, my dad has held firmly to the truth that “The best is yet to be.” For several years now, he’s been unable to articulate those words to me; still and yet, every time I’m with him, I know that daddy is anchored there in that place of “best.” We see through a glass dimly; he is moving ever closer to beholding perfectly what his soul is longing for. And I know … solidly know … what he knows.

Every single moment prior to this one – the strong accumulation and development of a solid life – is pulling us forward toward our forever with Jesus. A solid life is never solely about the “now.” Instead, a solid life always includes the “then.”

If solid is what you’re after, keep your “then” in mind.

Lastly (as an added bonus and because I could go on and on, but there always has to be a lastly), being a #solid60 has less to do with sadness and much more to do with the gladness of heart. Another gem I received from daddy is his sense of humor. He told me to always keep laughter as a part of my story. It has served me well. Really well. In the worst of times, I can always laugh; others seem to laugh when I’m around (like two years ago, when we all had a good chuckle about my being a #solid60).

If accumulated moments, God’s grace, and a focus on forever are the makings of a solid life, then the bonus of laughter sprinkled within is like the hot fudge on top of a favorite scoop of ice cream … sweet and satisfying.

If solid is what you’re after, keep laughing.

And so, if you see me today or any day in the next year and you’re wondering about my age,

I’m a #solid60.

Shaped by my moments.
Laced with grace.
Focused on forever.
Laughing as I go.

Keep it solid, friends. Thanks for writing your lines into my story. I’ll see you in the next chapter. As always…

Peace for the journey,

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,

Storyteller

God is the Master Storyteller.

He writes good lines, thinks long-term, and fills up our books with chapters unimaginable to us on the front side of their unfolding.

Don’t believe me? Well, let me tell you a story…

There is a memory I am holding today. It’s a bit shadowy around the edges as I was only 5 or 6 years old, but with clarity I recall the scene; in particular, I remember the person – a boy named “K.” K and I attended the same church with our parents and often found ourselves around a table in a Sunday School classroom.

On this particular Sunday morning, I met K for the first time. He was energetic, happy and full of joy. I sensed that he was somehow different from the rest of us, but no one seemed to mind. I would grow in my understanding of K over the years regarding his uniqueness as well as his challenges. As we grew older, I saw him less, understanding that his life and mine would never walk the same path forward – that our childhood connection would remain solidly fixed in my memories with an occasional present-day rumination about his current whereabouts.

I wonder what ever happened to K?

Well, I know what happened to K.

Fast forward through fifty years of living. Through moves – nine relocations in three states. Through marriages. Through babies. Through graduations. Through college drop offs. Through two extraordinary daughters-in-law. Through grandkids. Through disease. Through the trauma of almost losing a child – a son named Jadon. All the way through to this moment, to today.

This is where I hit the pause button, because it is now when the lines of God’s story get really interesting.

Tonight, my son Jadon will walk to K’s house, sit around his table for an evening, break bread with him and begin a journey as companions – a friendship (once removed) that began 50 years ago with K and I in a Sunday school classroom, dancing around in circles.

Six months ago, Billy and I took Jadon to Wilmore, KY, and dropped him off to begin his seminary training at Asbury. Our hearts remain tender with the separation. Our hearts also overflow with joy knowing that Jadon is where he needs to be to continue his journey in a place that holds everlasting significance for me.

My dad was a professor at Asbury Seminary, beginning in 1970 and continuing for over 40 years. My mother? The registrar at Asbury Seminary. My husband? A graduate of Asbury Seminary. I cut my spiritual teeth running the hallways of that hallowed institution, along with the hallways of the Wilmore United Methodist Church (the church where Jadon is now the youth pastor). What was sown and grown inside of me in that season is a history that continues to write the lines of my present-day story. Deeply so.

Not long ago, a college friend who is closely connected to K’s family reached out to me about Jadon’s possible interest in working with K. Throughout the years, she and I have kept in touch through social media; she closely followed along with Jadon’s miraculous recovery from a 2018 traumatic brain injury. After a few conversations with her, an initial meeting with K and some further training, Jadon begins in his new role this evening.

And I am caught in the moment, in the magic and mystery of God’s story-telling skills.

Fifty years ago, I danced around a Sunday school classroom with K. And God looked on. I wondered if he smiled and thought…

Just wait, Elaine, about fifty years from now. Have I got a story to tell you!

Funny how our lives write the witness of God’s faithfulness … glorious really. How what we cannot see now … imagine now … is but the heavenly word bank from which the Master Storyteller chooses the words to write an eternal, best-seller.

God is faithful. He will not leave our stories unfinished without a witness. He’s watching from a far, maybe even smiling because…

He knows what he is doing. He knows how to weave our past into our future in beautiful measure. Maybe there’s strength in that truth for you tonight. Keep rehearsing your history with God and looking for all the ways that your former steps inform your current ones.

Rest alongside the Storyteller. He who began a very good work in you is faithful to complete it. Trust Him for the finish.

Word has it that endings are his specialty. As always…

Peace for the journey,

the restless ache of night…

“When you come to the door, kiss me on the cheek so that I know I am safe.”

I found the piece of paper inside my red diary. I keep treasured notes from days gone by tucked inside its pages. The diary was a Christmas gift to me in 1974. The note inside? Well, it was gift to me in 2012, written by my ten-year-old daughter who needed to know that she was safely tucked in and remembered by her momma. In writing the note, she put her faith into action, knowing that her slumber would more than likely precede the kiss. But the promise of a kiss, the certainty of a final “tucking in” was just enough to soothe the restless ache of night.

I imagine I did kiss her that night. I don’t remember the occasion leading up to the letter’s writing; but I remember seeing the note gently lying outside her bedroom door and thinking to myself,

“I’m going to need this someday. I’m going to tuck this one away.”

And here I am, eight years later, needing it now. Like my daughter, my heart cries out for safety–a tucking in beneath the covers and the covering of a gentle kiss–something just strong enough and tender enough to soothe the reckless ache of my night.

Perhaps that is what led me to make a spontaneous journey to see my folks today. They reside in a senior living community that could, at any moment, be put under quarantine because of the coronavirus. I’m glad I went. We shared a meal and some conversation, and before I left, I did something I’ve never done before. I took my daddy’s hands in mine, and I clipped his nails. Not because he couldn’t, but because I wanted to … wanted to tenderly touch the hands that first held mine. The hands that cradled me. The hands that raised me. The hands that blessed me. The hands that, time and again, tucked me in as a youth and reminded me that I was safe, that I was under the watchful gaze and the tender care of a daddy who loved me very much.

He still does. And while today’s “tucking in” didn’t include a bedtime ritual, the same sentiment was shared between us. Today, we tucked each other in tightly, reminding one another that we are both safe. That even in the restless ache of this night season, our faith is strong. Today, Daddy and I wrote our own note to our Father, a prayer that harkens back to a little girl’s wish from eight years ago:

When you come to the door tonight, Father, when you tiptoe down the hall and see us in our fitful slumbering, kiss us on the cheek so that we’ll know we are safe. Remember we are here. Remember we are hurting. Remember we sometimes get spooked by the shadows surrounding us. Hem us in tightly, behind and before, and place your blanket of peace over the restless ache of our night.

Maybe tonight you seek the same assurance that my daughter sought so long ago … the same I sought today. Perhaps the restless ache of night has gotten the best of you. You’re hurting; you’re worried; the shadows around and the shadows within are dimming faith’s light. It’s been a long time since you’ve experienced a tender tucking in and a sweet slumber therein. You need to know that you are safe; you need to know that your Daddy is watching over you. You need to know that your Father is within reach.

He is, friend. He’s just down the hall, and he’s on his way to your door right now. He has seen your note, and he has noted your need. The restless ache of your night is no match for the peaceful salve of his touch.

He is here, and you are safe. Rest confidently and faithfully in his arms tonight. As always…

Peace for the journey,

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