living God’s truth | Elaine Olsen

A Penny’s Worth of Wishing

May 27, 2008

“After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight. They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. ‘Men of Galilee,’ they said, ‘why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.’” (Acts 1:9-11).

“Mommy, someday if we see a wishing well, could I throw a coin in?”

“Yes, baby. What would you wish for?”

“I’d wish that Jesus was down here on earth so that I could see him.”

“What would you say to him?”

“I’d tell him that I love him.”

“I think you just did.”

A deep conversation between mother and daughter, packed within a stop-light’s pause. A moment worthy of a pen and some scrap paper—actually the back of a large manila envelope containing, yet, another rejection notice from a publisher.
My mind really wasn’t on the road. It should have been, but my heart was otherwise inclined to its wandering. My trailing thoughts were interrupted by her words. They were words meant for my ears, for they scripted the similar penchant of my heart.

Words that spoke of wishing wells and pennies and a throw that just might bring a heart’s desire to fruition. Words of invitation, asking for the Father to reveal himself in the flesh.

Amelia wanted to see the Jesus that lives in her heart, for with the seeing, faith becomes a little more real. And this mother and her little girl are all about our Jesus being real to us.

Indeed…this was a penny’s worth of some sacred thinking. Hopes and dreams. Mine. Hers. Yours. And the dearest wish of those who stood in the presence of the risen Lord just moments prior to his departure.

I wonder how many wishing wells the disciples passed that day on their way back to Jerusalem. Back to their waiting for the promised gift of God’s Spirit. Back to their uncertainty. Back to life in their new usual, for their old usual had been interrupted by the unusual, unexplainable, and unimaginable presence of the Divine.

Life would never be as it once was. That is the way of a sacred journey that has encountered the truth of Jesus Christ. Truth transforms and transcends. He reveals and he requires. He invites and he instructs. He confronts and he commissions. He loves and he lasts. What we do with that Truth—how we choose to walk in or to walk away from that Truth—is a choice allowed its lingering within the well of our will.

From that well, we either draw out a ladle of obedience or a portion of defiance. Both choices are laced with the wet of the living Water because once Christ crashes onto the scene of our current, we cannot leave as unchanged. We can ignore. We can pretend that He never happened. We can push him under the rug of our routine, but at the end of the day…at the end of a life,

All ignoring and pretending and pushing aside drains our cups to empty, while leaving the rim salted with the savor of the Sacred. We can no longer swallow life without swallowing him first.

It’s a bitter swallow for some, but for my daughter and me…

He’s the sweetest taste of our souls.

Perhaps this is reason behind her wish this day…her desire to throw a penny’s wish in hopes of seeing her Lord. A life span of almost six years has been more than enough time for her to begin in her understanding of her Savior’s love over her precious life. A young heart wrapped around this kind of truth, is a heart marked for kingdom living.

Miss Amelia has begun her quest toward her eternal. She reminds me of someone I once knew. And just today, that someone fell in love with her Savior all over again. At a stop light’s pause. Through a child’s words. In a penny’s wish for a Father to come and to be present, so that she could simply voice her love to him.

Face to face. Heart to heart. Child to Father. Sinner to Savior.

I don’t know the wish of your heart this day. We spend a lifetime wishing and wanting for more. More stuff. More money. More health. More purpose. More wisdom. More love. More time. More joy. More _______________.

I wonder what would happen if we would simply pause long enough to cease from our wanting “more” and to, instead, throw our penny’s wish into the one well that always ladles sacred. That always serves satisfaction. That always fills to overflow…to more…to beyond the portion that we could ever ask for or imagine.

I wonder.

And it is this wondering part of me—the childlike portion that remains tender to the possibility of a penny’s wish—that led me to find a few coppers and to navigate my van to a well not far from our home.

For all of the things we could have wished for in those moments before the fountain (we had a lot of pennies…), we first wished for Jesus to come. Then, we wished for other things, like telescopes and surprises and a publisher and some peace. And as we smiled and walked around the water’s edge, somewhere in the trickle of its cascade I could have sworn that I heard the whisper of my Father echoing from deep within…

Behold, dearly beloved child. I am coming soon! And I am bringing my reward with me. And my reward belongs to you and to your daughter and to everyone whose heart’s hope is scripted with my name. I am coming to take you home to the place that I have prepared for you. A place that exceeds your wish. Where faith becomes sight. Where forever becomes final. (Rev. 22:12; John 14:1-4; 1 Cor. 2:9, 1 Cor. 13:12).

And so I pray,

Come quickly, Lord Jesus, to the well of my hope. Today I throw my pennies…my life…in your regard and ask that you make yourself real to me. Split the sky and stand upon my current. How I long to see you face to face and to throw these arms around the arms the hung in surrender for me. You are my wish, for you are my beginning. My end. And my middle. Everything else…everyone else…is just filler. Keep my faith at a child’s understanding, so that pennies and wishes and wells become my portion, as my skepticism and doubting fade to black. Amen.

Well Spent Livin’

May 25, 2008

“I turned around to see the voice that was speaking to me. And when I turned I saw seven golden lampstands, and among the lampstands was someone ‘like a son of man,’ dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet and with a golden sash around his chest. His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of rushing waters.” (Rev. 1:12-15).

OK…it’s now official. My older sons are hereby no longer going to the movies with their way too emotional mother…

Ever again.

We have just returned from seeing Prince Caspian, and I, by far, was the most openly expressive participant in the movie theatre.

It really doesn’t matter if you have read the book. I think I did somewhere in my distant past, but quite frankly, I’ve never quite made it past the enchantment of the The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. But this adaptation of C.S. Lewis’ book to the silver screen trumps the Wardrobe. The graphics are incredible, and while I could do without some of the comedic license given to talking mice, I thoroughly engaged with the movie through my emotional and spiritual lenses.

It’s not a new story. Good verses evil, with good winning out in the end. But it was the good ending of this particular story that nearly sent me into audible shouts of hallelujahs and hands raised in praise.

Nearly.

I remembered the two boys next to me and restrained my response by grasping my mouth, while allowing the free fall of tears to wet my shirt. They simply nudged one another (as if they knew it was coming) and handed me a napkin.

In one of the final scenes, the battle reaches its climax on a bridge over rushing waters. Aslan, the Lion, sounds his voice with a deafening roar, forcing all within earshot to take notice. All.

Created beings and created earth.

It was then that my Charlton Heston, Ten Commandments kind of moment arrived. I knew it was coming for I could hear the stir of the waters even as they crescendoed in response to the sound of Aslan’s voice. From the North, and with the fury of a Savior’s beckoning, the water found its way to the battle line. It didn’t come alone, but rather it came with the visual imprint of a face within its engulfing wet, representing the witness of my God’s presence.

I don’t remember much about the rest of the movie. My heart and my thoughts remained suspended in that scene for the final minutes of the film. However, this one scene was enough to catapult Prince Caspian into the category of money well spent. It is a good scene to remember, for with its remembrance comes a rich metaphor of how a life can catapult its way into the category of well-spent.

A well-spent life is a life lived in the truth of who our God is.

A rescuing God. An awe-inspiring Creator who belongs to our battles because a Savior has made a way. A soon and coming King whose voice commands the surrender of all creation.

Not a wimpy God. Not an unconcerned Creator. Not a God who turns away from the cries of his children as they face the toughest battles of their earthly existence. Not a cruel God who limits his love only to the good and to the righteous.

No, my God is a consuming God. He is the finisher of the battle. The final Word that trumps ours. He is the Wind and the Waves. The Fire and the Flood. He is the First and the Last. The Love and the Grace. And at the end of the day, as we stand on the bridge of our climax, all that really matters is that our souls breathe in unison with living, breathing Water who arrives on our scene…at just exactly the right time…to usher us into our next.

He is the One who brings a shout to my heart this day. For all of the other reasons to find some joy, there is none better than Him.

Now…I don’t know about you, but I certainly think a hallelujah is in order. And just in case you haven’t seen the movie…no need to worry. God’s Word is enough to script your heart with a similar response and to catapult your journey into the category of a life well-lived.

“I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and makes war. His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself. He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God. The armies of heaven were following him, riding on white horses and dressed in fine linen, white and clean. Out of his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations. He will rule them with an iron scepter. He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has the name written:

KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.” (Revelation 19:11-16).

My sons may never want to go to another movie with me, but as long as they make the final journey with me, we’re good to go.

Give yourself a treat this week. Go see Prince Caspian. Greater still, go and visit our God on the pages of his holy Word. Either way, it is time well spent, and you just might find your hallelujah in the process!

As always,

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Unseen Glances

May 23, 2008

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” (2 Cor. 4:16-18).

She captures my thoughts today. My Amelia Jane.

I probably don’t have to tell you why. A tragic ending to a fragile young life has made the national headlines, stunning the Christian community and forcing a family to deal with the unexpected and unwelcomed intruder named death.

Maria Sue Chapman, five-year-old daughter of singer/songwriter Steven and Mary Beth Chapman, has left the arms of her earthly parents to make her entrance into the arms of her heavenly Father. A life gone too soon. Five years of loving a child is simply not enough. It is a grief that struggles to reconcile fact with faith. A hard reckoning in my opinion, but one that becomes necessary for all who walk its candid and cold embrace.

My mind and my heart cannot frame it. It strikes a chord within me, as it has with so many of you. Death does that. It strikes. It resounds. It penetrates the silence with the deafening chorus of a truth better left unsung, or so we think. It is a truth that follows our entrance into this world. A truth that will mark our exit from it. A truth that simply and poetically scripts …

We were born to die.

From the moment we first breathed the air of our temporal, we began our journey home to our eternal. It is the way of things. Always has been. We shouldn’t be surprised by death’s arrival; still and yet, it almost always strikes an unexpected chord with a precision that leaves us to grapple with its certainty.

And unless the Lord returns in our lifetime, death will be our required portion.

The Apostle Paul asks us to keep our focus in times of trouble. To understand that our temporary afflictions are achieving, accomplishing, and producing an eternal glory that far exceeds are pain. To perceive the unseen and to believe that the unseen surpasses our current fracture. To keep heart, even though our hearts shatter and scatter with the winds of adversity that howl loudly and break hard.

Good truth.

A difficult striving.

For in our flesh, death always limits perspective. Our flesh cries out for the temporary…for the immediate…for the right now. A tomorrow’s work will have to wait because today’s tears are all that can be absorbed.

How can anyone begin to walk in an understanding that limits the “current” to seemingly nothing more than a monument to learning…to becoming…to moving on to a yet to be grasped perfection? How can death be parametered into a pill that swallows smoothly? What do we do with a grief whose bite seems lethal and whose gnaw continually chews? How do we fix our eyes on anything but the casket that currently cradles our sorrow?

How indeed?

Paul doesn’t ask us to turn away from a casket’s gaze. He doesn’t ask us to quickly get over our grief and move beyond. Instead, he simply and poetically asks us to gaze deeper into death’s frame. His thoughts are not callous or removed…a script meant for a stage some 2000 years ago. No, Paul’s words are exactly the words of comfort we need in times of sorrow because a human life is more than flesh and blood. Our fragile frames embody both the seen and the unseen…the temporal and the eternal.

God has created us in his image (Genesis 1:26-27) and set eternity into the hearts of all people (Ecclesiastes 3:11). This sets us apart from all of his other created works. So when Paul asks us to fix our eyes on the unseen and the eternal in times of momentary affliction, he gives us permission to mourn our loss. So does our Creator, for with our tears we acknowledge a human life for what it is.

A created flesh covering an eternal pulse. The seen cloaking the unseen. The momentary shrouding the never-ending.

This is why our grief is real.

This is why we can say good-bye to “things” with little fret, but when it comes to people, our fret is palpable and deep.

This is why we can find hope, even in the midst of a tremendous grief (1 Thessalonians 4:13-18).

For when death visits a life, perfection finds its home. The unseen begins when the seen embraces its end. The eternal breathes its fullest when the momentary breathes its last. The glory finds its brilliance when the temporary finds its dull. The heavens chorus its applause when the earth silences its song.

And while it’s true…we were born to die…the greater and final truth is this.

We die so that we can fully live.

Eternally. Without restraints. Without affliction. Without sorrow. Without endings. Without good-byes.

This is the perspective I need today as I live and breathe the truth of a family’s grief. Maria Sue has found her life, even as her fragile frame has found its death. It is the same for each one of us as we draw ever nearer to tasting a similar portion.

Let us not shrink back from dealing with our grief. Let us not hide from its bitter taste. Instead, let us bravely acknowledge the hope that pulses beyond every death. Let us fix our eyes on the Creator who created each person to breathe an earthly life’s span and then to breathe an eternal life forever.

He is where I’m headed, friends. And should we never meet face to face on this side of forever, I will meet you there where we will share in our Father’s happiness for always.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of his comforting and abiding Holy Spirit, I ask and pray and believe all these things in my heart. How I pray you believe them too.

Amen.

Peace for the Journey

May 20, 2008

“On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’” (John 20:19).

For the past decade or so, I’ve been closing my letters and cards with the phrase, Peace for the Journey. I’m not sure as to the reason behind its beginning, but I think it had something to do with the fact that my journey, in that season of living, hosted a fragmented peace. It still does. Little pieces of peace here and there, but rarely my constant.

My life, I like to say, is a blessed chaos. Calm is not my norm. My externals preclude it, while my internal recoils with its dressing. Not because I don’t crave it. I do. But when peace arrives upon the soil of my heart, it is an unfamiliar seeding, and what is unfamiliar is sometimes a difficult sowing.

Peace that falls on thorns and rocks and hard…

Never remains.

Peace that falls on good…

Grows. Flourishes. Embeds and transforms.

Peace. Eirene in the Greek. To understand its depth, I look to its contrast. For with its contrast, I find my familiar. Multiple words in the Greek which mean…

War. Fight. Conflict. Narrowness of room. Anguish. Distress. Restrained anxiety. Fear. Distraction. Disturbance. Confusion. Tumult. Uproar. Split. Division. Schism. Strife.[i]

Indeed, these are the seeds of my “often” when my often is rocked at unsuspecting times by unsuspecting offenders. Rather than rooting my response in the truth and peace of Jesus Christ, I default to a worldly response that is rooted in my need for self-preservation and protection. I find my retreat, adorning it with the locks and doors of an intentional fortification that leaves little room for peace’s penetration.

God never intended for me to live this way. His intention breathes a far more sacred existence. He intends for me to find my preservation in him, no matter the rhythm that rocks my often.

That rocks my now.

Recently, we have learned that my young son processes life through a different set of lenses. Not broken ones, but ones that require an alternate approach to learning. This is unfamiliar territory for me as a mother, and if there is one rhythm that will always rock my world, it is the one that involves the welfare of my children. I would rather not walk this road. Still and yet, it is road that I have been allowed. No amount of wishing and hoping and yes, even praying, is going to change the diagnosis he now wears.

What can change, and in fact is guaranteed to change through the power of prayer, is my response to this rocking. I need some peace. A penetrating through doors kind of peace that meets me at the point of my fear and confusion and disturbance and distraction. A sowing peace that embeds and transforms my perspective in the matter. An upper room peace where Peace enlarges the narrow and silences my uproar with the whispers of his calming grace.

I need a John 20:19, Jesus intervention, for like the disciples, I have cloistered the unknowns about my future behind a locked door. I know that my Savior is alive. I have tasted the truth of his resurrection. I have witnessed the empty tomb, and still I run to my hiddenness. Why? Because with the hiding comes a season of postponement. Denial. A delayed dealing with the truth that confronts my familiar, and the truth is…

Some seeds aren’t welcome in my soil.

The greater truth is…

My Father understands my struggle and offers his hands for the tilling.

He mediates his way through the door’s wood to find me in my brokenness. He doesn’t wait for my emergence into goodness. Instead, he enters into my chaos and puts his scarred hands to the gentle plowing that readies my soil for the receiving. My rocks and thorns and hard aren’t enough to keep him from what he came to do.

And what Christ came to do…comes to do…is to be my Peace. To be yours also. To remind us that we walk this journey with company. That his yoke is easy. That his burden is light and that our hearts were never meant to shoulder such heaviness.

God’s peace is the thread that anchors our hearts to his. Jesus Christ is that Peace (Ephesians 2:14). On any given day, behind any shut door, our lives our knitted to our Maker. Our hearts cannot know chaos without it pulling on the heartstrings of our Father, for our Peace sits at the right hand of our Father, interceding on our behalf (Romans 8:26-27; Hebrews 7:25). We in turn, can know the full measure of God’s peace because Peace lives within us (Galatians 2:20).

Jesus Christ is the sacred connection between Creator and created. Between heaven and earth. Between life and death. Between our “often” and our next. Between Chapter One and Chapter Forever. And his offering to us for the pages written in our now? Well, it sounds something like the one thing that I have been after for over a decade.

Peace for the Journey.

Thus, I will continue to write it as an offering from my heart to yours until it arrives upon the soil of our chaos and sows its calm within our souls. And so I pray…

Seed my heart with your peace, Father. Find your way through my shut door and speak your calm within my confusion. I’m conflicted, Lord, about a great many things. My distress is apparent and my anxiety is barely restrained. You, alone, can shoulder my need. Let me not refrain from offering it to you. Thank you for your abiding presence that walks this journey with me and that scripts a lasting peace into every step. Embed this truth as my constant…for now and for always. Amen.

Fighting To Win (part six): Remembering Whose You Are

May 16, 2008

“As Saul watched David going out to meet the Philistine, he said to Abner, commander of the army, ‘Abner, whose son is that young man?’ … ” (1 Samuel 17:55).

We have arrived. Another ending to a wonderful two weeks together in the study of God’s Word. The beauty of our ending is that it sets the stage for our continuing…for our moving forth from this one moment with a little more truth under our belts and a little more faith grasped within our hands. That is the power of Bible study. It accomplishes. It achieves. It does something within us, even when we remain unaware of its effecting work (Isaiah 55:10-11). We can be silent in our learning, or we can put words to God’s working within. Sometimes, silence is easier. Less confrontational. Less to risk, thus one reason I am convinced that we hear so little from the church at large these days.

But putting voice to God’s truth can be a hard obedience if not voiced in faith. For almost as soon as our “talk” issues forth from our lips, our “walk” is required to follow in compliance.

Walking what we talk. Living out the faith that we profess to believe. Whether the words come in conversation, from behind a pulpit, in a Bible study or a Sunday school room, via a television screen, through the radio, or whether painted across the canvas of a blog. Whenever and wherever faith is preached, the preacher of said faith better be prepared to back up his/her words with action—with a life that exemplifies the true Truth of what is being said. If not, then we fall prey to an enemy’s schemes and to a critic’s charge of hypocrisy. And while our intentions may be honest—spoken with the true confession of a heart that wants to live in faith—all too often our words spend as cheap if not first and constantly surrendered to the fire of the only Refiner who can brand our lives with genuine intent.

I want to be a genuine truth teller, so it comes to me as no surprise that when I began to write about Fighting to Win, the enemy would recognize my need to talk and would stand ready to force me to walk that talk. He has forced the issue, and I am still walking, albeit not smoothly and not without a limp. It matters not the details of my struggle. Mine is not yours, but rest assured that our enemy is one in the same. We may call him by different names, but his intent has always been singularly focused. Our defeat. As it is today, so it was all those years ago, when the enemy named Goliath reared his ugly head on the battlefield of David’s faith.

Please take a moment to read our final portion of scripture as found in 1 Samuel 17:48-58.

David backed his talk with a fearless walk. Well armored with a five stone kind of faith, David exacted a blow that would silence his Goliath. Yes, the enemy would return to David in various maskings over the days to come, but this one battle was finished. Completed. An ending that set the stage for David’s continuing. And his ending speaks a lesson to each one of us who enter the fray of battle to finally know a victory in the end.

David humbly chronicles his ending by bringing his trophy of war to his king and by rightly identifying his ancestral heritage.

“As soon as David returned from killing the Philistine, Abner took him and brought him before Saul, with David still holding the Philistine’s head. ‘Whose son are you, young man?’ Saul asked him. David said, ‘I am the son of your servant Jesse of Bethlehem.’” (1 Samuel 17:57-58).

Now that’s some perspective. At the end of the day, David brought the king what the king was due, and he gave his father’s name the recognition and honor that it was due.

Before David would eventually find his promised throne, David would fight many battles with the one enemy who was intent on keeping this shepherd boy from it. The enemy knew that there was more at stake than an earthly crown and scepter. There was something eternal and lasting about David’s ascension to the throne. Something about a scepter not departing and a Messiah yet to come (Genesis 49:10). Kingdom business was at hand, and the enemy was not going down easy. But make no mistake. He was going down. His downward spiral continues through the likes of you and me, for the torch…the King’s business…has been handed over to us. For we are sons and daughters of the Most High God. We are his family tree.

How long has it been, my sisters and my brothers, since you…yes you…have brought your trophies of war and laid them at the feet of our King? When was the last time you held your ground in a battle with a five stone kind of faith to know a sure victory in the end? Do you even begin to understand your ancestral lineage?

Today, you and I have been summoned by the God of all creation to enter into his courts. To bring our trophies of war and to lay them at his feet. To put voice to the one and final question that King Saul asked of David as he walked from the battlefield at the end of day…

Whose son…whose daughter are you?

Our answer embodies our theology. And if your truth answers anyone other than the LORD Jesus Christ, then your perspective is flawed and your faith is as nothing. There will be precious little to lay at his feet because faith is the foundation for all victory. Without faith, it is impossible to please God, and my friends…

I want to please him. With a life that lives a faith that is true, that is grounded in the truth, and that walks the talk, not with hypocrisy, but with integrity and sacred intention. I am my Father’s daughter, and so I pray…

Let it not be in vain, Lord…these past two weeks of Bible study. Take the words of my mouth and the mediation of my heart and multiply it all toward your good and perfect end. I am flawed, Lord…far beyond what the world can see. You, alone, know where my faith is weak and where my walk doesn’t measure up to my talk. Purify the difference between the two. Consume my intent with the sacred flames of your intent until all that can be seen is your Truth living in me, as He is meant to be seen. Thank you, Father, for rooting my family tree. It is my highest privilege to be grafted within your sacred bloodlines. Show me how to walk in faith with that talk this day. Amen.

What a joy and privilege to share this past two weeks with you! In a past season, I would have kept my writings to myself…saving them for a better day. But God has spoken this truth over my heart recently…

Spend it today, child. For tomorrow is not promised to you.

And so, in obedience I’ve spent it. Not perfectly, and not without some flaws, but obediently…fully believing that God can use my pen to further his kingdom work in whatever way he chooses. If these reflections have drawn you into thinking about our God further…then all is not in vain. For he is the treasure at the end of the day!

Please feel to leave your comments about anything you’ve gleaned from our time together in God’s Word. I will wait until Monday to pick a name for the give-away. May God bless each one of you this weekend with a rich awareness of just exactly who you are in Him! You are worthy of my time, and I feel so blessed to have walked this portion of the road with you. As always…

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