Category Archives: living God’s truth

The Increasing Truth

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the LORD Almighty will accomplish this.” (Isaiah 9:6-7).

 

In a world seemingly content with its fluctuation between hot and cold and highs and lows, and with a Christmas season that houses a propensity for the same, I need some truth. Hot and cold is not my preference. The shifting sands of uncertain seasons prickle my spirit with discord and blanket my flesh with a fresh dose of frenzy. Be it the political arena, the stock market, international unrest, or the changing “wish lists” for Santa on the home front, I need a hope. A fully substantial truth that will sustain me through this season and into the next.

Finding the real and what’s true amidst the wrappings of a temporal flux rarely surfaces by accident. Truth’s finding comes through intention. Through a deliberate focus that refuses the chaos and, instead, accepts the responsibility to chart one’s course accordingly. To slice through the wrappings and the trappings of a decorated peace in order to find the pure, unadulterated truth that breathes raw and undefiled and full of the living, breathing pulse of heaven.

Truth is our needful portion and to arrive at its core, we must be willing to break pace with the world’s cadence—a rhythm that is leading to our quick and certain suffocation. Time to cut the junk. Cut the flap. Cut the verbiage that so willingly spews its polished spin so as to make “all that currently is” an easier swallow. Just give it to me straight, for I am bit weary from the strain of making “all that currently is”… make sense. I simply and profoundly need…

simple and profound.

Thankfully, the prophet Isaiah is willing to afford me both.

He tells me about the promised Son. About a Wonderful Counselor, a Mighty God, an Everlasting Father, and a Prince named Peace. Lingering in the truth of our Savior’s multi-labeling is enough to wrap my weary into a manageable portion. After all, who couldn’t use some of God’s counseling and mighty and everlasting peace in this season?

But Isaiah takes it further. He tells me something more about my Jesus. Something so simply profound that I often miss it in favor of his divine labeling.

My Savior’s kingdom and his peace are on the rise.

“Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end.”

Never once have they diminished, even though the world continues to offer its voice to the contrary. With every passing moment since Bethlehem’s arrival, the weight of our Savior’s cloaking has increased. The government that rests upon his shoulders is bigger now than it has ever been—2000 years and counting worth of increase.

No matter the critics. No matter the chaos. No matter the sin. No matter all manner of fluctuations that breathe with the only certainty that life is uncertain. Hot and cold is of little influence when it comes to Christ and his government.

It’s growing. With every passing day and in wild and unimaginable ways, our Father’s peaceful “kingdom come” is coming closer, pulsing louder, and feeling the weight of a full gestation. What is soon to be birthed will far exceed our understanding. We cannot see it now. Our world is filled with clouded confusion. But we will see it soon. Until then, of this we can be sure.

The length and width and height and depth of God’s loving and lavish conclusion will blanket the earth with the simple and profound truth of what’s been growing all along.

His increase. Every time…

A prayer is whispered.
His Word is read.
His name is spoken.
An offering is made.
A hymn is sung.
A child imagines the Sacred.
An adult imagines the same.
A sinner bows.
A prodigal returns.
A surrender is made.
A tear is tendered to throne.
A deed is done in God’s name.
A heart believes.
A mustard seed is planted.
A miracle breathes.
A miracle waits.
An altar is filled.
The truth is felt.
The truth is spoken.
The truth is lived.

Every day, in chosen and in unseen ways, our Savior’s kingdom increases. And lest we think otherwise, lest we are tempted to believe that hell is gaining the upper hand, let us remember that where and when sin increases, grace increases all the more (Romans 5:20-21).

We stand on the winning side. God’s increase is on the rise. Always. His is not a decreasing kingdom but rather one of a lush and gaining abundance. And that, dear friends, is the pure, unadulterated truth that I need this season. He is the Anchor I can hang my hope on for always.

Long ago, I cast my lot with God’s kingdom. I’ve not always witnessed the increase in my own walk of faith, but I am certain of his. And somehow that frees me from the burden of needing to see it all up front. When I cannot imagine the wealth and bounty of this one moment, he can. He does. He carries it with him wherever he goes, from Bethlehem to now and into the great, wild beyond.

That is substantial. That is the Truth. That is, simply and profoundly, all this heart needs to know to make “all that currently is”… make sense. Thus I pray,

When I cannot see your increase Lord, remind me of your shoulders and your weighty worth that allows you to carry the unseen treasures of your coming kingdom. Thank you for a glimpse of the imponderable … for an imagination that imagines such beauty and for the faith to believe it most certain. Carry me there, in the middle of your abundance, on your shoulders and as your prize. Forgive me when I am tempted to limit your increase by visioning less and by believing less. You are more and big and beyond the articulations of my understanding. Keep me in captive awareness of your hugeness, and let your growing peace be my portion in this season. How I love you more for allowing me your profound amidst my simple. Amen.

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How’s your season unpacking, friends? I’d like to unpack it a little further with a prize or two. Just leave a comment, and I will surprise you by week’s end. Also, if you have a special need or prayer request, please feel free to email me or leave it in the comment section. I would love to pray for you this week. Shalom.

Come, Tarry, Go

“‘If you keep your feet from breaking the Sabbath and from doing as you please on my holy day, if you call the Sabbath a delight and the LORD’s holy day honorable, and if you honor it by not going your own way and not doing as you please or speaking idle words, then you will find your joy in the LORD, and I will cause you to ride on the heights of the land and to feast on the inheritance of your father Jacob.’ The mouth of the LORD has spoken.” (Isaiah 58:13-14).

I remember the moment … as vividly as it breathed when I was five. I leaned over to my mother and asked her to read me the words that were beyond my articulation—three little words etched at the base of the stained-glass cross which adorned the front of our sanctuary.

“Come. Tarry. Go,” she replied. “It means you come, you stay awhile, and then you leave.”

I feel the warmth of her breath in this moment of recall. Those words and that cross have shadowed my steps ever since. I felt them profoundly today, as I participated in a doing I’ve been doing for my entire life. A doing that has carved me … etched me … filled me with the significance of my sacred worth. A doing that sometimes requires …

faith over feeling.
mind over matter.
willingness over weariness.

Today, my feet pilgrimed to God’s house for a Sabbath observance. Not because I felt like it; my feelings would have left me as I was—in bed and nursing a cough and sore throat that, perhaps, warranted my absence. No, this morning’s arrival at my church had nothing to do with my flesh and everything to do with my feet’s submission to a heart’s obedience.

Today, I walked to Jesus. Intentionally and dressed in my best simply because he is worthy. Any other half-hearted attempt at honoring him would be just that—half-hearted and less than and a whole lot like the world’s painting of a Sunday’s worth. A worth that levels toward self-soothing and doing as one pleases, rather than regarding the better necessary–that which leads a heart to worship.

And therein lies the seeding of my nearly four decades’ worth of faith.

What pleases me is doing what pleases God. And what pleases God is my honoring of him. My recognizing of his relevant and extravagant grace and how far it has traveled on my behalf. To a cross where he willingly came, sacrificially tarried, and resolutely departed once love’s redeeming work had walked its course.

His pause at Calvary means everything to me. The longer I walk with Jesus, the more I understand the depth of his gift. I didn’t understand it at five years old. I’m not sure I fully understand it now, but lingering in the shadow of the cross compels me to make the journey. Not because it needs my reverence, but rather because I need its reminder.

Thus, I come to the cross on Sundays. I tarry beneath its lavish grace that allows me my remembrance and that fuels my going forth in the week that lies ahead.

It’s not overly profound, and to some, it might seem rather perfunctory. Rather routine and packed with obligation, but when I consider what’s been wrought on my behalf, how foolish would I be to act to the contrary? To choose my pleasing over God’s pleasure? To walk as if my honor is worthy of more homage than his?

Doing life with Jesus has always been my privilege. It’s been yours too, but all too often, our gratitude walks in stark contrast to grace’s dispensation. Instead of finding our footing at Christ’s feet, we allow our flesh the wisdom to walk its intelligence. The problem with fleshly “wisdom” is that is will always choose self over the sacred—my pleasing over God’s.

And when a Sabbath day begins to look like every other day, when we refuse to give a moment’s tarry to the One who tarried long and deliberate in our stead, then we have not only forsaken our first love, but we have robbed ourselves of the rightful inheritance that is ours as children of the living God.

Jesus Christ.

He is our lasting and very great reward (Genesis 15:1). Spending time with him in intentional and deliberate worship is never wasted. It’s life-giving and heart-changing and moves our faith into a deeper place of obedience and understanding. Coming to the cross and tarrying with our Father in his truth, enables our go—our moving on and our moving out to spread the witness of his love. Without such pause, our lives breathe void of the power that comes from contemplated remembrance.

Today I remembered. I walked to God’s house, alongside my family, and took time to hear my mother’s words ringing in my ears even as they did in my long ago and far away. They still sing true. They still whisper fresh. They still and will forever be the remembrance of grace that shadows my steps until I reach the throne of heaven and sit at my Father’s feet for always.

Come. Tarry. Go.

A worthy obedience. A worthy Reward. Thus I pray…

Thank you, Father, for a Sabbath’s pause that allows me your gracious remembrance. Forgive me when I deem “my pleasing” as more substantial than yours. Yours fuels my forever with the only truth that seeds everlasting. May my coming and my tarrying always reflect the deep grace that I have known, and may my going always reflect my attending therein. Thank you for the cross, for love’s redeeming work, and for your Son’s obedience to both. And thank you for parents who took me to church, who filled my heart with the witness of your love, and who spoke the truth of a stained glass cross with every stepped submission of their journey. You graced me much when you gave me their arms. Amen.

Copyright © November 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved

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The New World

The New World

“However, as it is written: ‘No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him’—but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit. The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God.” (1 Corinthians 2:9-10).


Not long ago, I sat down to watch Elizabeth: The Golden Age. The story is well-known to many but fairly new to me. I’m not a history enthusiast, although I am drawn to its memoirs via the silver screen. There’s something majestic and grand about visiting another era. When crafted well, “period pieces” etch their eccentricity into my soul, leaving me breathless for more.

The intrigues of yesterday’s “long-ago and far-away” are a worthy pause. They reveal truth by framing the past within the present. They trace our ancestral beginnings to our now, weaving a path of incomprehensible moments that lead us to this one moment in time. A day called today, when every yesterday bears the worthy trust of a purpose and a plan.

We couldn’t see it then because we didn’t live it then. Our lives were meant for this generation, but we are the witnesses to what remains—those blossomed remnants from a long-ago seeding that have fed our imaginations and scripted their influence into our current. Whether it be 500 years ago or five days ago, the past hosts the stage for the right now … for the future.

In one particular moving scene from Elizabeth, the Queen is listening to the wild rantings of explorer extraordinaire, Sir Walter Raleigh. He is describing the depth of what it was like for him to discover the new world. The tempestuous seas. The brittle cold. The weary nights and days and days and nights of water upon water with no land in sight. His is a compelling story, crescendoing with every detail until he unveils the moment of his discovery—the virgin vision of land in sight.

It is an edenic moment, one that scripts with the lush and green and wild of a fresh unearthing.

Elizabeth is undone with the telling, imagining the far-away and what it must be like to live within the edges of such adventure. With tears brimming from emotion, she voices the penchant of her heart…

“Do we discover the new world, Mr. Raleigh, or does the new world discover us?”

And with that question, I am undone. It’s a worthy wondering, for before me … before each one of us … is a brave, new and unseen world offering up its invitation to come. To set our sails in a new direction that is fraught with the unknown and the unimaginable.

Who can really plan for a sea’s crossing in advance? Who can measure the depth of the dark and the waves and the ill-effects of climate shift prior to departure? Who can reason the sun’s heat and thirst of a long journey? Who can forecast the wide open skies of a sea’s starry night or the brushstrokes of a horizon’s morning? Who can fathom the ups and the downs and the side to sides of a watery perimeter? Who can fully comprehend the completed journey even before it begins? Who can see the new world prior to leaving the old?

Who indeed?

God can. He did, and he continues to do so. On our behalf and on behalf of those who’ve come before and those who are soon to follow. He sees it all, from beginning to end—the new world. It commenced on the shores of his sacred understanding; it will finish accordingly. But sandwiched in between those eternal bookends?

A sea’s crossing. A journey’s now. From coast to coast, where faith becomes the wind that sails us home into safe harbor.

Do we discover the new world, or does the new world discover us?

Yes and yes.

It’s not that it hasn’t been there all along. Its shores have always sung. Its land has always known the generous breathing of a big and mighty God. Its width and length and heighth and depth have been measured and established by the wisdom of its Creator and sustained accordingly. The inconceivable has been conceived by the only mind capable of holding such vision.

And if we, by the grace of God, have set our sights on Jesus, then with every passing day, in unsuspecting and unimaginable ways, we catch glimpses of the harbor that stands on the horizon. A reachable Eden that scripts with the lush and green and wild of a fresh unearthing.

The new world and us. An unlikely coupling. A joint discovery on both counts. Together, a profound weaving that breathes and brims with unending possibility and with the breathless yearning for more.

More adventure.
More edges.
More moments.
More risks.
More faith.
More discovery.

More nights of stars and days of horizons, piece by piece until we arrive on the shores of the new world, and we trade in our weary remnants for the full dressing of our forever.

Who can fathom the worth of such a journey? I am compelled to try, for long ago and far away, in another era it seems, God’s love called out his invitation for me to come. A “period piece” from my history that etched its eccentricity into my soul. I’ve been sailing its waters ever since. It’s been a worthy row, friends, and one that is drawing me ever closer to my discovery of the new world. I bet you could voice the same. May God keep us, everyone, to the journey until we land in the seen reality of our unseen and wild imaginings. It won’t be long, thus I pray…

Bring us home, Father God, into safe harbor with you. Keep our eyes fixed on the horizon instead of the sea that seeks to drown our faith in the process. Thank you for the process of discovery and for the vision that you’ve seeded in our hearts for the inconceivable realities that you conceived on our behalf long ago. Your grace is the unimaginable gift that allows us participation in the new world. It leaves me breathless and with a heart of thanksgiving for the life I’ve been allowed. Keep me grateful. Keep me mindful. Keep me moving forward, straight into your arms. Amen.

Copyright © November 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved

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Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours! I will be traveling this week and plan on stepping away from the computer for a few days. Enjoy some turkey and some fellowship with family and friends. I am thankful for you, my blogging companions, who have spent the better part of 9 months on the journey with me. What a joy to share this road with pilgrims like you! I mean that. Shalom.

A Morning’s Reminder…

What does an early morning obedience yield?

Reminders.

#1—My story is part of a bigger drama.
#2—There is coming a day when the graces and ills of said story will weave a completed and understood work.
#3—My full participation in that story has come with a costly price tag.

But for now, in this moment and on this day, I only see glimpses. I feel them in part. I hear them in fragments, but rarely do I fully grasp them. They are but reminders of an unseen reality that is working diligently on my behalf. Yours too.

And lest you think that you don’t need them—that your faith is so strong, so deep, and so mature so as not to look for them—then may I suggest that your faith bleeds weak? A faith that doesn’t look for reminders is a faith that poses little threat to the enemy and his many schemes for destruction. A faith that refuses its growing is a faith that falls prey to its burying. A faith that doesn’t need moments of breath-taking glimpses of God’s glory is a faith that expects little. Hopes little. Lives little.

I want a big faith. My today longs for it. I desperately need the hope of the faith that I so boldly proclaim. Why is today’s need more profound than yesterday’s? What prompts the search for faith?

Hurting hearts, that’s what. And mine is breaking today on behalf of a friend. The doctor’s report didn’t spin they way that we had hoped. The longed for conclusion was for remission. The reality spoke otherwise, and today, she is left with her questions and her decisions and with a heart in need of a few reminders that her God is good and that he has her in his watchful care. I am in need of a few myself.

Thus, I went looking for some of God’s sacred reminders this morning. First, in a book. Second, in God’s Word and thirdly, outdoors in God’s creation. I found them—my glimpses of hope; not because they weren’t there all along, but rather because my eyes and my heart were inclined toward perception.

#1—John Eldredge’s book Epic: the Story God is Telling, is a reminder to us that our stories are part of a bigger drama. That we were created with that drama in mind and that our individual parts are the central and key components in making the story come alive with a richness and depth that bring color and texture to the whole. Without our participation, the story reads with gaps. Your life and mine were meant to fill in those gaps. We were intended to be a part of God’s story. Epic gives us the permission to participate accordingly.

A gentle reminder of the bigger picture around 1:00 AM.

#2—Exodus 15 was the Scripture text for my morning devotion. A song of deliverance sung by Moses and the Israelites after walking their faith through on dry ground.

“‘In your unfailing love you will lead the people you have redeemed. In your strength you will guide them to your holy dwelling…. You will bring them in and plant them on the mountain of your inheritance—the place, O LORD, you made for your dwelling, the sanctuary, O Lord, your hands established. The LORD will reign for ever and ever.’” (Exodus 15:13, 17-18).

God’s mighty and outstretched arms were more than enough to lead a people from captivity to freedom. This has always been his way. His arms and his stretch, reaching long and wide and high and deep on our behalf and for his kingdom come. His strength will lead us home. To the mountain of his inheritance where breath-taking glimpses of his glory will be viewed in their entirety, forever and for always.

A gentle reminder of the bigger picture around 6:30 AM.

#3—The F-15 Strike Eagles were out in large force this morning as I took to the streets for my usual run. They are hard to miss. Their noise makes it so. Living in a military community requires my frequent notice of these tactical fighter jets that are designed to penetrate enemy defense and to outfight enemy aircraft. They hold my wonder and my constant gratitude.

The F-15’s fly with a bird’s eye view of their below and with a breathtaking view of God’s above. The men and women who pilot these aircrafts are doing so on our behalf. For the freedoms we now embrace and for the freedom we hope to remain. It comes with a hefty price tag. That is the way of freedom.

It costs. It exacts a price. It requires a sacrifice. It is a gift undeserving, yet willingly given. As it is with the F-15’s so it goes with my Father who willingly paid the price for our spiritual freedom through the sacrifice and his one and only Son.

A gentle, yet forceful reminder of the bigger picture around 8:00 AM.

A book that weaves a story of Epic proportions. A song that sings a story of deliverance. A plane that flies a story of protection. Three sought-after reminders. One conclusion.

God’s still writing the story … with his deliverance, with his protection, and with the bigger picture in mind. And while I cannot always fully see his hand in the matter, I can see the tracings of a greater Epic. One that allows me a few lines of participation and a few minutes on the stage. And the stage, my friends, is always a good place for a few humble reminders.

Today I am humbled, even as I am hurting. I am reminded, once again, that the best is yet to be and that I walk toward that best with God’s deliverance as my cloaking, with his holy intention as my guide, and with his protection as my shield against the enemy’s plans to the contrary.

I can walk home with a bigger purpose in mind. So can my friend. So can we all. Thus, let us walk it with God’s truth as our song:

“Depart, depart, go out from there! Touch no unclean thing! Come out from it and be pure, you who carry the vessels of the LORD. But you will not leave in haste or go in flight; for the LORD will go before you, the God of Israel will be your rear guard.” (Isaiah 52:11-12).

Our covenant Father, Yahweh, sets our course as he leads the way. The Creator of the entire Universe, Elohim, guards our steps and keeps watch over us from behind. From beginning to end, we are nestled in between the Sacred. Find your rest in this reminder today.

Amen.

~elaine

Copyright © November 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved

I was so blessed by my reading of John Eldredge’s Epic, I want to make a few copies available to my readers. Simply leave a comment, and I will pick the winners by week’s end. Shalom.

On Being Productive…

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:8-10).

“Yvonne is still working on being a productive member of society.”

Those were the words of closing benediction from last night’s Hallmark movie. A story chronicling the woes of a homeless woman and her rescue therein. A good watch, and why I would have liked some follow-up details, the post script told me all I really needed to know.

Yvonne still struggles with her demons and with her freedom accordingly. A painful pull between the lonely wanton of the streets and the welcome embrace of a sheltering purpose. Of belonging, of fitting and of making her mark in a world that has embedded its indelible marks across her weary and well-torn heart. She’s still working on being a productive member of society.

So am I. How about you? What benediction could be written over your now? Anybody feeling a little well-worn and less than significant as it pertains to kingdom business? Is the call of the streets drowning out God’s call upon your life for discipleship? How is the pull, pulling?

For the past couple of weeks, my pull has been pulling tight. I’ve felt the profound strain between my “nothingness” and my “mattering.” The world has screamed its resistance at my feeble attempts at faith, causing a dissonance that strikes at the root of my identity as God’s workmanship. And while I understand that my sacred significance is not based on man’s opinion, my heart is easily swayed by man’s judgment.

God has created me for good works. For his good plan and for his kingdom come. Long ago, I surrendered my limitations and my plans upon the altar of his will and invited his presence into my life. I continue to do so. Why?

Because my full perfection and his full purpose for me has not fully lived its finish in me. There is still work to be done—in me, with me, and, ultimately, through me. God continues to seed my heart with a yet to be realized harvest. I cannot tabulate the eventual return, but I am feeling the cost of its current sowing.

God allows me the struggle; not because he delights in my anguish, but rather because he desires for my faith to prove genuine (1 Peter 1:6-7). To be real and relentless in the midst of difficult times that call for a resolute faith. A faith that doesn’t waver according to the daily news but a faith that stands firm and with the confidence of an abiding Holy Spirit and a determined consecrated purpose.

Faith based on the shifting sands of our uneven times is a faith that will eventually fall prey to the lure of the streets.

*To the sifting through the garbage bins for leftovers that feed rotten rather than lasting.
*To pushing carts filled with the cast offs of a fleeting treasure.
*To begging for an unjustifiable wealth.
*To sleeping beneath the covers of a dangerous and unattended dark.
*To addictions that soothe temporary and last indefinitely.
*To an uncleanliness that breathes sour and offends accordingly.

How does this “homeless” and wandering faith play itself out in our lives? What does street living look like for a Christian?

Garbage bin feeding: gaining our nourishment from the television, the internet, and the radio, instead of from God’s Word (John 6:26-27, 35; 1 John 2:15-17).

Pushing carts: filling our lives with the religions and philosophies and “truths” that produce temporal answers instead of “leaning not unto our understanding” and, thus, receiving the mystery of an eternal Truth that fills lasting (2 Tim. 4:3, 1 Cor. 4:1-4, Proverbs 3:5-6).

Unjustifiable wealth: asking for the bounty of another’s blessing instead of receiving what is ours as children and, thus, benefactors of our Father’ rich inheritance (Romans 8:15-17).

Sleeping without protections: giving into the lures of a dangerous dance in the dark where we assume no one can see, much less hold us accountable for our sin (1 Cor. 4:5; 1 John 1:5-9; Matthew 6:19).

Addictions: lining our flesh and mind with all manner of prescriptive measures meant to mask instead of lining our hearts with the sacred perspective that is intended to free (Romans 12:1-2; 2 Cor. 3:17).

Uncleanliness: wearing our sin out loud and in charge so as to cause our brothers and sisters to follow suit (Romans 14:19-21; 1 Cor. 10:31-32; 1 John 2:9-10, 3:7-10).

God hasn’t designed us to be a street people, at least not here. He’s called us to be on the streets; not as dwellers but as pilgrims. A people on an intentional journey—on the highway of the King headed to an eternal street living that lines golden and ripe and laden with the treasure of heaven’s richest fare. And until we arrive there, we are given the consecrated privilege of contending with the boundaries of a lesser road.

Lesser because everything short of our going home to be with Jesus breathes with reduction. Privileged because the road boasts the feet of those who are homeless and are in desperate need of following God’s sacred lead. Consecrated because it is our high and holy calling to take that lead … to be God’s light and his ministers of reconciliation as though God was making his appeal through us (2 Cor. 6:20).

Consecrated street living is hard living. Rarely is it convenient or comfortable. Rather, it is costly and contrary to the fleshly pulse that beats in isolation for self-preservation. Thus, I am still working on being a productive member of society—God’s society, where self-preservation takes a back seat to kingdom preservation.

These have been difficult days for many of us. We are tired and weary from our well-worn worry. Accordingly, we are tempted to fill our carts with an aimless wandering devoid of sacred perspective. We are pulled in a thousand different ways, with a thousand different thoughts, and with little anchor to hold us as steady. We are taking to the streets, rather than taking to our knees and to our need for a helping hand to guide us in the right direction.

And while I want the pull between my “nothingness” and my “mattering” to be less, I want my faith to prove genuine even more so. Thus, I concede to the struggle, knowing that my perfection hangs in the balance. Perhaps, like me, God’s workmanship in you has been a difficult striving. I understand.

You are not alone, ever. God is with you. I am with you. We are walking this road together … to our eternal rest at our Father’s feet where our lingering “demons” will finally give way to our lasting freedom. Where the streets of our current dinge and dark will be buried beneath the blistering gold of a perfected glory. We need not fear its certain coming, for it is God’s promised ending to us as Christians. We simply and profoundly need to embrace its sacred worth on the front side of its arrival.

The backside will breathe with understanding, but if we can, even now, get our thoughts anchored in the truth of why our striving matters and what awaits us accordingly, then we are well on our way to being the productive members of a kingdom society that God intends for us to be. Thus, I pray…

Make us a productive people, Father, not for ourselves but your mighty end. Forgive us our self-focus. Encourage us with your purpose. Strengthen us with your promises. Enliven us with your Spirit and work in us your perfection, all the way home to our final rest. May our knees find the floor before our feet find the streets. You, alone, are our Anchor, our Sustainer, and the Perfecter of our faith. Encourage us with this certain truth as we walk each step of this day. Amen.

Copyright © November 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved

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