God’s Questions | Elaine Olsen

“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.” (Philippians 3:12-24).

A sacred intersection.

There’s been one this week.

Between your brokenness and mine.

And while I didn’t plan on it, I’m not surprised by it. Why? Because brokenness yields brokenness. Whatever we’re speaking about, teaching about, walking and talking about, we do so hoping that someone else will resonate with our words. Otherwise, that’s all they will ever be. Words … void of purpose and with the hopeless float of nothingness. But when our words are spoken from a pure place—a place that harbors and collects the truest truths of our journeys—then they breathe with a clarity that strikes a chord in others who are walking a similar path.

That’s what I was after when I shared with you the prompting that had been swirling around my heart for the past couple of weeks. As I approached my blogging anniversary, I had a thought that, perhaps, God was calling me to share the story of my “letting go” of my childhood home, my prodigal years, and my father’s reaching love therein.

There was very little planning that went into my re-telling of that event. I just grabbed Billy and the flip ultra and told him that we needed to do a little video message. No notes. No polish, just shootin’ from the hip and the heart. It’s the way that I do most things, especially when it comes to my many words.

How could I have known at the time that my words … my prayer … would come back upon me in full measure and in surprising and unexpected ways? I couldn’t have known; thus, I didn’t expect. Yet within a few hours of verbalizing my heart, my “inbox” was flooded, not only with your comments, but with more personal pleas for notice … for prayer.

It matters not the details of those requests nor the places, both far and wide, from which they came. God simply allowed them their landing in my lap, and I am undone with the prospect of what it all means. Let me unpack that a bit.

Pain is a powerful tool for reaching other people. When others know that you’ve walked pain through to the other side of healing, they become more willing to talk about their own journey of sorrow. Pain speaks a language all its own, and when you’ve become proficient with its “speak” because you’ve fully worn the consequences of its truth, you become a conduit for receiving the pain of others.

It’s a gift of sorts. Both to them and to you. When God allows the witness of your brokenness to intersect with the lives of others who are currently trying to fight their way out of the rubble, both parties receive the gift of God’s magnificent grace. You are allowed to use your pain for God’s greater purposes, and, subsequently, they are allowed the vision of a greater purpose for their pain.

I think this is what the Apostle Paul had in mind when he penned the following truth:

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.” (2 Corinthians 1:3-5).

Thus, a sacred intersection.

Thus, your brokenness and my healing co-mingling on the road of life this week, all the while hearing my Father’s voice ringing in my heart with a question that directly relates back to the prayer that I prayed with you on Tuesday. Hear now a portion of the unscripted request of my heart as recorded on the video…

“Father in heaven I thank you for this glorious day of celebration that brings my life into the lives of your daughters and your sons, Lord. I pray, Father, that the words of my mouth, not only this mouth but the words of my pen would reflect you all the days of my life … that something in my life could be found pleasing to you and that you would run with it God.”

He’s running with it, friends. Apparently, he’s found something pleasing—something purified solely through the atoning work of his cross—and he’s decided to run with it. His question back to me?

“Will you run with it, elaine? I’ve given you this intersection between your brokenness and the brokenness of others. Will you run with it? Will you be the evidence of things unseen? Will you stand as my witness with your words and your prayers and your follow-through while others choose their silence over involvement? Will you contain my witness within the comfortable parameters of the righteous or will you allow me a voice via yours to those who have yet to be clothed with my majesty from on high? Will you run with it, elaine, or will your words float hopeless and void of purpose? This is your sacred intersection, elaine. Will you run with me and see it through?”

How would you answer? What do you do when the brokenness of your past catches up with you in order to be the blessing for someone else’s pain in the present?

I tell you what I am doing and will continue to do. I receive it, all the while believing that our intersection is part of God’s great design for both of our lives. I take its gracious landing onto my lap and hold it with all the care of heaven. I run with it, all the way to my Father’s feet and place it before him as an offering. I intercede for your healing. Your wholeness. Your turning toward home and finding the truth of who you are meant to be in Jesus Christ.

Will you do the same, friends? Run with your Father and see things through to the end? Your brokenness doesn’t necessarily breathe like mine. God has tailor-made an avenue of ministry for you because of it. Thank God for it; don’t minimize its worth in your life. Find your healing through Jesus Christ and then allow him his further hand in the matter. He has taken hold of you for a specific and everlasting purpose—a purpose that directly links you with the lives of others who are walking in similar stride.

We need not fear the exposure of our bad, our shattered and our defiled. God doesn’t condemn us because of our brokenness. God heals us so that we can bring his healing to others through our restoration. There is no shame at the cross of Jesus Christ. There is only freedom in the truth of its witness.

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A sacred intersection for all mankind. Between God’s brokenness and ours. A powerful pain that continues to reach … to teach … to take hold and to transform all of that which is shattered into a conduit of lasting and final significance.

Run with it, friends. Run with Him … all the way home to receive the prize for which God has called you heavenward in Christ Jesus. Together, we can do this thing. I count it a joy to intersect my life with yours for our Father’s great and mighty purposes.

In the name of the Father who planned us, the Son who saved us, and the Holy Spirit who keeps us as such, Amen.

PS: The winners of Watermark’s “A Grateful People” are: #15 Laura and #79 Beth E.

Thanks to everyone for playing along this week and for your wonderful support of peace for the journey. I look forward to sharing another year’s worth of words with you; perhaps this will be the year in which many of us could gather together and have that cup of coffee, diet coke, or latte. Now that would be something, wouldn’t it?! I’m asking God for this specific happening. Shalom.

“As Jesus was on his way, the crowds almost crushed him. And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years, but no one could heal her. She came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped. ‘Who touched me?’ Jesus asked. When they all denied it, Peter said, ‘Master, the people are crowding and pressing against you.’ But Jesus said, ‘Someone touched me; I know that power has gone out of me.’” (Luke 8:42-46).

She had an “issue.“

I have mine. You have yours.

Hers was blood. Ours are other things—blacks and blues and hues of all manner of issues. Regardless of their color, they still bleed red. And if not tended to by the Healer, they will continue their hemorrhage toward eventual destruction.

I know. I suffer with an “issue” right now. And in the midst of my flowing pain, I walked a story tonight that spoke a tender portion of healing truth over my wounds.

The stage?

None other than the Vacation Bible School drama room.

The story?

The woman with the “issue” of blood.

The actors?

Me and Jesus, where the only “issue” that mattered was the one going on within my heart.

In all my decades of doing VBS, no other night has been more profound than this one. Somewhere in the middle of narrating the drama and acting as the lead participant, God dealt with my heart in pure measure. I told the children about my issue of bleeding. About my unclean status and poverty of soul. About my shame and embarrassment over a wound that refused to find its healing. About the man named Jesus who was rumored to be a healer…a water walker…a feeder of 5000.

About how I wished for his notice. His touch. His time and his healing. About the crowds and about a man named Jairus whose needs rated higher than mine. About my diminishing expectations for a miracle as I watched this Jesus pass me by.

He did pass me by, and then I did something I thought I would never have the courage to do.

I reached. I took hold of the hem of his garment. Some call this “him” Preacher Billy. But in that moment, the robe that I held in my hands belonged to Jesus. I gripped tightly, even as the word in the original Greek, haptomai, indicates (“to fasten oneself to; adhere to, cling to.”).

This was no casual hold. This was a grasping of the divine, believing that with the hold comes healing.

Tears poured down my cheeks as I clung to the hem of my husband’s dressing. Children were stunned. Some chuckled, perhaps thinking I had played my part to the tee. The older children—those adults who have come to VBS this week to offer their willing participation as chaperones—well, they knew better. They know me better. Kingdom work was at hand. If not in the hearts of the children, then certainly in the heart of this grown woman.

And for a few brief moments, I caught a glimpse of an eternal teaching that is meant for each one of us tonight. It comes in the form of question. A divine invitation for all of God’s children to join him in sacred dialogue.

Who touched me?

These three simple words hold the answer for our healing. Jesus’ question embodies his theology of faith…of believing that what is required for our wholeness resides at the end of our arms.

Our grasp.

Our healing from Jesus comes with initiative. With our asking. With our faith-filled approach to the Son of God, even when the current chaos competes for his attention. With our crawling, if need be, to get to his feet. With the thrust of a hand through the tangle of robes, believing that a garment’s edge is more than enough to garner the favor and blessing of God.

Who touched me?

The who in Jesus’ question is each one of us. The me in the question is him. And the word in between—touched—is the bridge that connects all things temporal to the eternal healing of heaven.

We must be willing to reach in order to receive. As Oswald Chamber so eloquently states, “Our reach must exceed our grasp.” We’ve got to move beyond our tight-fisted clenching and our childish thinking that keeps us on the sidelines self medicating our wounds because the reach seems too risky. Too vulnerable. Too trusting for an “issue” that has become our constant shadow. Maybe for years. Maybe even for twelve. Perhaps, even for more than we care to number.

We’ve grown accustomed to our constant until we no longer believe in the prospect of change. Our faith is buried deeply beneath our wounds so that when Jesus passes by for the grasping, he rarely garners our notice.

Let it not be so, my friends. Let us never get so caught up in our pain that we fail to see our Jesus when he walks our way. Let’s not wait for our faith to be big before we reach. Let’s reach now…even in our little. Let’s strip away the intrigue and the mystery of our need, and let’s take hold of his hem while we can. Even when bloody and barren and broken, let us boldly stretch these arms through the pressing of the crowds so that we, too, can know the power of a Father’s healing touch.

Who touched me?

How would you answer? How long has it been since you activated your faith by stretching forth your hand and taking hold of Him…even when it was hard and heavy and seemingly hopeless? Your answer to Christ’s question embodies your theology of faith.

You will never be able to respond to his inquiry until you have actually touched him, tasted him, and held the power of his resurrecting grace as your own.

Being able to answer the question requires a previous action on your part. And with that action, dear ones, you hold the keys to the kingdom. You hold the living Christ as your own.

I’ve held Him tonight. I want the same for you, and so I pray…

Give us the strength, Father, for the reach. We struggle with our many issues, and our faith seems small and unwilling to move past our wounding. Come to us Jesus. Bring your hem close enough for our touch. Tend to our wounds and speak healing to our hurts. And when it feels too hard and the heaviness threatens to keep us in a corner, give us the boldness of our sister from so long ago who had faith enough to believe and who had courage enough to grasp. I long for a grasping faith, Lord. Grow me toward this sacred end. Amen.

Category Archives: God’s Questions

Running our Sacred Intersections

"Who Touched Me?": a bleeding issue