Category Archives: living God’s truth

Carrying Our Pretty With Us

Carrying Our Pretty With Us

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all surpassing power is from God and not from us. … We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.” (2 Corinthians 4:7-10).


He slipped back in the house yesterday morning to show me something. His forgetfulness.

Carelessly and without thought, he picked up his “pretty case” instead of his briefcase as he headed out the door for work. We had a good laugh, and then I had him re-enact his folly for my camera. Some pictures are worth the ink. This was one of them, and it got me to thinking.

Thinking about his caddy full of pretty…

Shaving cream. Razors. Mouthwash. Toothpaste. Lotion. Comb. Floss. Deodorant. Matrix Biolage hair gel. Yes, even my husband carries some “product” for his pretty.

Thinking about what he left behind—the one thing that normally accompanies him to the church office…

His Bible.

Somehow in his process of readying himself for the day, he reached for the ordinary to the exclusion of the extraordinary, and quite frankly, he felt exposed. Naked. Something not quite right as he stood at the edge of new day to embark upon the calling that has claimed his life.

A calling that values “heart product” over “pretty product.”

And a heart can never be prettied by creams and combs. It requires a deeper work…a stronger “product.” The cleansing work of the cross.

As believers in Jesus Christ, we have been given a rare privilege. We have been designated as the dwelling place of our Father. How precious is this Treasure. How fragile its frame. God designed us to be exactly so…as dusty earthen vessels, the contents of which contain more pretty than the world can fully absorb at first glance.

He is what makes us pretty. Not our outward attempts at fortifying the frame. He applauds and even celebrates our efforts at presentation, but when the day is over and the “pretty” has run its course, he ponders the condition of the heart that remains. The heart that contains his heart. The heart that will follow us into our tomorrow and into the day after that and into all of our days yet to come.

After awhile, our pretty wears thin and no amount of “product” can cover up the heart that lies beneath. We can try to conceal its pulse, but eventually our fragile clay begins to crumble to reveal the contents within. What pours forth…Who pours forth…is revealed by the light, and we stand as naked. Before God and before man. Exposed.

An untouched photograph that discloses our truth.

And the truth that God values more than our outward “pretty” is the inward product called grace. It is the one boasting allowed our mirrors. The one treasure allowed our fragile frames. The one Gospel allowed our lips. It is the only “heart product” that never wears thin and keeps its beauty long after the lights have dimmed and the world has gone home to find its rest.

Jesus is our “pretty” and Calvary’s accomplishing work is our calling. We are given the privilege of hosting its grace…every day. Within our clay parameters that were not meant for the applause of man, but, instead, meant for the breaking of a revealed radiance and a surpassing power that was never designed for containment. A carried treasure that, sometimes, is forgotten and covered up by our attempts at “pretty.”

I don’t about you, but I think that this has been a picture worthy of some ink…worthy of some words, and worthy of some further pondering as we prepare our hearts for exposure. God, alone, is worthy of a heart’s review. Man’s opinion is always flawed and often fatal. In the end, God’s opinion is always perfect and stands as final. And final sounds perfect to me, so this day I cast my heart before its Maker, and I ask him to make it–to make me–pretty.

Not for man, but for him. And so I pray…

Heal my heart, Lord, and make it pretty for you. Cleanse me from within, so that the radiance of your grace shines forth from the mirror of this face. Forgive my attempts at cover-up, and eliminate my desire for the same. I want to be a true portrait of your Gospel, and so I ask for you to cover me with the truth of Calvary’s gift. Let my beauty be birthed because of the cross. Not as I stand in front of the cross, but a beauty that finds its depth beneath and behind the cleansing blood of your surrender. You gave your Son to death’s embrace to make me pretty. Thank you for allowing such sacred beauty to be house within my clay. Humbly and with holy trembling, I carry my portion. Amen.

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A Cradled Surrender

“I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. … When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: ‘Death has been swallowed up in victory.’ ‘Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?’” (1 Corinthians 15:50, 54-55).
Momma, does it hurt to die?

Yes, baby, I think it probably does.

Why?

Because anytime something in us dies, we hurt.

Why do we have to die?

Because our flesh is the one thing that is keeping us from living with God, face to face.

But I don’t want to die, mommy. I don’t want to hurt.

I know baby. I know. But you will grow in your understanding, and one day your tears won’t taste so sad…

I cradled her in my arms as tears enveloped her tender cheeks. I understand her question. It is one that caught my attention when I was her age. It has kept me wondering ever since.

We are having a lot of these discussions lately. Heart talks. Talks about the indwelling presence of God within our flesh. It has taken on greater meaning for my five-year-old daughter because two weeks ago, she asked Jesus into her heart. On Good Friday. A perfect day for such a sacred embrace.

We knelt beside my bed where she offered her Creator the greatest summons of her heart. An invitation for him to come and to take up residency within her fragile frame. A decision that will profoundly affect the rest of her days.

Some would say that she is too young…too limited in her understanding to make such an important decision. I would say that her tender youth is the perfect beginning for her understanding of all things sacred. Her mind and her heart are fertile soil for her Father’s tilling, and the seeds that are sown in this season, will grow into full bloom in a season yet to come.

I cannot deny my daughter the gift of her salvation…no matter what others might reason. My God is an unreasonable God. An unfathomable, mysterious, yet attainable Savior, made available to all…especially to those whose faith is simple and is not yet overly tainted by carnal perspective.

So when these questions come up…questions about life and death and the surrender that exists between the two, I tell my daughter what I know to be true. Truths like…

This life is but a breath. God has determined her days. (Psalm 39:4-5).

Every step in her journey of faith will be filled with moments of surrender. Times when she will experience the pain of the “letting go” of her flesh so that she can fully live as her Father intended for her to live. (Romans 8:12-18).

Following Christ means embracing the cross, and the cross always requires a difficult obedience. (Matthew 16:24-26).

The sting of death has been swallowed up through the salve of Calvary’s victory. (1 Corinthians 15:50-54).

The One who awaits her on the other side of her surrender will be worth her every tear. (Philippians 3:7-11).

When her time on this earth is over, she will not walk her final steps alone. Her Father will come and usher her feet into her “next.” A “next” prepared for her by the nail-scarred hands of her Groom. (John 14:1-4).

Her tears are meant for this side of eternity, and her Father holds the Kleenex for her final cry of surrender. (Revelation 7:17; 20:4).

Truths like that. Not made up answers to soothe a daughter’s fears, but real truth as contained within God’s Word. And God’s Word is always true and will be the guiding light to grow her in her understanding of the Savior who now abides within her heart.

The truth is…death hurts for all of us. Until we surrender our last bit of flesh to its embrace, we never really live as our Father intends for us to live. And our God means for us to live. Abundantly. Fearlessly. Faithfully, and thoroughly. Within the boundaries of his abiding grace.

When I was my daughter’s age, I, too, began my walk of grace. Over the years, I have grown in my understanding of its mystery. I have needed its depth. Long and wide and high and deep. Indeed, God’s arms of grace have extended beyond the reach of Calvary to embrace me in seasons when my tears of surrender nearly drowned out my resolve for the process.

His arms still reach, and when I come to my moments of a deeper submission—moments of a difficult dying—like my daughter, I bring my tears to my Daddy and ask him this question.

Why do I have to die? Why does it hurt so much to die?

Like I did with my daughter, my Father cradles me in his love and whispers his truth into my painful why’s.

I know child. I know you have questions, and I know you hurt. But you will grow in your understanding of all things sacred, and one day soon, your tears won’t taste so sad.

I don’t want to be sad about my surrenders. I don’t want my daughter to cry about the envisioned pain she is soon to encounter. But I am sad and she does cry, and through our tears our Father’s cradling words are salve enough to soothe our dying aches. For he is well familiar with the dying process. It is what he came to do. To model for us a death’s embrace and to rise victoriously over its hellish sting. He did, and so we can. Thus, I pray…

Father, you have conquered the sting of death, and while I don’t wish for its embrace, I willingly accept its grip because I know that it is bringing me one step closer to complete intimacy with you…heart to heart…face to face. For all of the “deaths” that are required of me in the flesh, they are nothing compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing You. They are life. They are gain. Keep me to my surrendered cross, and keep me to your truth so that I am equipped to lead others to do the same. Especially one little girl who needs to grow in her understanding of all things sacred, and one big girl who needs to follow her lead. Amen.

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a well worn Truth

a well worn Truth

“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly…”. (Colossians 3:16a)

My Bible is a mess. Literally. Its cover is worn and creased. The binding is loose. Pages scatter with the touch. My name’s engraving has faded. Scriptures are marked and highlighted, underlined and scribbled with thoughts. Scraps of paper serve as bookmarks, and the glittering gold that once framed each page, now colors a dull beige. It companions my steps to church, to Sunday school, to Bible study, and to every retreat/event that boasts the name of Jesus.

A well worn Truth. Dearly loved and cherished. A gift given to me by my Bible study gals almost four years ago.

I wanted a new Bible. A study Bible that offered notes, cross references, and a concordance to aid my desire for a deeper exploration of God’s Word. At the conclusion of our first study together entitled Jesus, the One and Only, the girls honored my leadership by gifting me with a generous donation to be used at my discretion. “Mad money” they called it. “Jesus money” I called it. As quickly as it entered my hands, it exited, providing myself and my sons with new Bibles for Christmas.

It was difficult to surrender my old Bible—my companion for nearly twenty-five years. No study notes. No cross references. No concordance. Simply a Bible given to me by my parents on my fourteenth birthday. A Bible with a cover that remains secure. With a binding and pages that still firmly attach. With little underlining and even less highlighting. A Bible that continues to glitter from its frame of gold. A Bible that, on most occasions, stayed on the shelf while I pursued life.

Two Bibles. Two seasons of living. Two hearts for the handling of its Truth. And therein lies the contrast.

Perhaps the publishers manufactured a sturdier Bible back in 1980. My new Bible is bigger and contains more pages than the older version. Maybe this is the reason for its quicker demise. But I have this lingering thought that, possibly, I am the reason for its premature aging.

My heart is not the same as it was in 1980. My passion for the study of scripture was non-existent back then. That all changed five years ago. I had a head on collision with God’s Word through a community Bible study. Like John Wesley, I felt my heart “strangely warmed” for the things of God. I have spent the last five years stoking that fire and feeling the effects of God’s flames as they reach deep within to purify and to refine.

The more I study my Bible, the more I feel its heat. And somewhere within the blaze, I hear the whisper of my Refiner say…

As it should be, my child. As it should be. My Word is a well worn Truth and should…

Be handled. “Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a workman who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth.” (2 Timothy 2:19).

Be used. “When Moses finished reciting all these words to all Israel, he said to them, ‘Take to heart all the words I have solemnly declared to you this day, so that you may command your children to obey carefully all the words of this law. They are not just idle words for you—they are your life. By them you will live long in the land you are crossing the Jordan to possess.’” (Deuteronomy 32:45-47).

Be consulted. “If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him.” (James 1:5).

Be loosed and unbounded. “‘As the rain and snow come down from heaven and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.’” (Isaiah 55:10-11).

Be the Name above all names. “‘He must become greater; I must become less.’” (John 3:30).

Be highlighted. “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.” (Psalm 119:105).

Be faded around the edges. “But the Lord said to Samuel, ‘Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.’” (1 Samuel 16:7).

Be carried. “‘Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit…’”. (Matthew 28:19).

God means for our Bibles to be a mess. For them to fall apart so that the Truth within spills forth. On us. In us. All around us. A kindling blaze that burns with the intensity of its Author, whose whisper rises above the ashes to herald…

As it should be, my child. As it should be.

I am at a loss as how to best provide my Bible with the TLC that it needs to carry me through another season of living. I am not ready for its surrender. But I am ready for the well worn Truth of its pages to be released upon the soil of my current. To bring light and flame to those who have been content to pursue life without Truth. To widely scatter my holy “mess”—handled and used, highlighted and loosed—so that others might have a head on collision with the One and only God and the magnificent treasure of his Word. And so I pray…

Keep your Word, Lord, alive and active in my heart through the pages of my well-worn Bible. Keep me to my studying, to my memorizing and to my living out the Truth of your precepts. Burn your words deeply into my heart, and refine me with the fire of your Calvary’s love. And when my Bible can no longer bear the marks of my pursuit, give me the grace to let it go. Until then, I am well- pleased to carry it close to my heart…a well-worn Truth. Truth…

as it should be. Amen.

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(allrightsreserved, eolsen2008)

A Weary Doing…A Worthy Return

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. (Galatians 6:9).

I had to call him. Had to hold down speed dial #7 just so I could hear his voice. A voice I have been listening to for almost nineteen years now. A voice I call son. A first born named Nick.

I did not call him out of worry or out of loneliness for his presence. No, I called him because I needed a reminder. A reminder of the eventual reality that children will, in fact, emerge from their toddled state of neediness to one day embrace upon a walk of independence. It is a walk he has embraced well…with grace and with a level of maturity I never thought possible all those years ago. All those almost 6,935 days ago.

I remember the admonishment of others back then.

Cherish these moments. They’ll be gone before you know it.

Really? I suppose in the broad brushstrokes of a life lived, indeed those years seem minimal. But while we were living them…I felt every one of them. Every sleepless night…every temper tantrum. Every strong willed expression that challenged my mothering patience. Every program. Every load of laundry. Every first day of school. Every soccer and basketball game. Every report card. Every milestone. Every question. Every tear. Every bedside chat. Every joy. Simply…everything.

Nick has been with me for almost half of my life, and in many ways we have grown up alongside one another. There have been good seasons and seasons that have pushed me to the outer edges of my understanding. Through it all, faith has been my guide, and what has emerged is a bond of sacred proportion.

A good harvest at a proper time. A time like today, when I need to know that what I am doing on a daily basis really does matter. That the seeds I am currently sowing will one day bloom into a blossom called adulthood. That the motherhood mantle that boasts my shoulders is, in fact, one of the highest privileges I will ever wear.

And so I called, and I received the verbal confirmation that my faithful sowing and good training has yielded and will one day again, yield a gracious and Godly return.

It is a guiding hope for me, as I continue to shepherd and shape the minds of three others that remain under my roof. I have not always been thankful for the job, but I have always been mindful of the sacred responsibility.

Parenting has been hard for me. I am not certain as to the exact reason why, but I am pretty sure it roots back to my bent toward selfishness. Selfless living has not been my portion. Instead, I am prone to my needs…my wants…my desires. So when routine breaks (like Spring break), and my mothering skills are put to the test, I cry out to God for help. For more of him to come and to replace the more of me. For more of a “First Corinthians Chapter Thirteen” kind of agapao loving that reaches beyond self to put others ahead of self.

I deeply admire those who mirror such a love for others, especially for their children. Who parent with ease and receive its calling as the most treasured one they will ever know. I wonder if they, too, have ever felt the pull between selfish living and selfless loving. I imagine that they have, but somehow they have come to a quicker conclusion in the matter. A conclusion that hosts a peaceful rest, full of a faithful trust for the parenting process.

I want to be that parent. I want to come to some quicker conclusions of trust…of believing that God has shaped me with the sacred capacity for the shaping of my children. That the seeds I am sowing, whether in tears or in joy, will one day reap a harvest of good growth and seasoned maturity.

Perhaps that is why I picked up the phone today and speed dialed #7. He is my kindling hope. What I couldn’t have imagined 6,935 days ago, I now witness in full bloom. Dirty diapers and temper tantrums could not hold him…could not keep him from becoming the man of God I now see emerging. This season…this seeing it all come to pass…is by far the greatest joy I have known as a mother.

So when I get overwhelmed with daily parenting—with spelling lists, and sippy cups, and the ever constant “Mommy…mommy, mommy, mommy,”—I look to my first born and remember that all of my answers to my little ones’ neediness will one day emerge into a season of glorious remembrance and abiding joy. I can cherish these moments now, because I know that there is a greater moment yet to come.

A moment of reaping, when my hard years of parenting yield a harvest of young adult men and one woman who still answer the phone calls from their mother to remind her that all is well. All is good. And that all my weary doing has been worth the return. And so, this day, I pray…

Father, keep me doing. In tears and in joy, keep my feet to the path of sacred parenting. It’s not always been easy, but it’s always been right. It’s been good because you give good gifts, Father. Forgive me when I consider my children anything less than your divine abundance and grace in my life. Seed in me a 1 Corinthians 13 kind of love. Grow me toward a life of selfless loving. And when I am weary in my good doing, bring me to a quicker conclusion of trust…a peaceful rest, that reminds me of the harvest yet to come. Amen.

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OK…time to weigh in with your thoughts. Where have you struggled in your weary doing? What have you learned along the way? Teach me, friends, for my heart and my will is ripe for the learning.

Walking in Resurrection

baby Levi born 3/26/08 at Shiloh Farms

“ … ‘Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen!’” (Luke 24:5b).

Making the transition from the tomb to a walk of resurrection can be a difficult embrace. It is for me, for I am comfortable in my grave clothes. I am used to my ashes and my sorrowful surrenders. Christ’s journey to the cross is wrought with just enough human emotion and melancholy to hold my attention and limit my perspective. I understand the confines of Calvary’s tomb, for the tomb is what I am due.

Instead, what I am given is a gift that far exceeds my understanding.

A gift that includes…

A rolled away stone.
A new set of clothes.
A walk out of darkness and death into the marvelous light of real living.
A Resurrection.

Easter scripted God’s message to humanity over 2000 years ago, and yet I continue in my struggle to receive its grace. How can I…how can we…begin the walk of our resurrection?

We begin by listening for the whispered voices of the tomb. By receiving the message of the first Easter as heralded by those who stood guard to pronounce the benediction to Christ’s grave.

“ … ‘Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen!’”

Our walk of resurrection begins by our looking for the living One amongst the living…not by our eulogizing of a death that could not contain him.

We search for Christ in our today and tomorrows rather than glancing back at our yesterdays. We move beyond the graveyard to take hold of the road ahead. A living, breathing journey that requires our participation and refuses our conciliation to sit on the sidelines in surrender. In defeat. In deference of a walk that we deem to be too sacred…too holy…too consecrated for the soles of our sinful feet.

A resurrection walk means that we engage with life. We vision life through a new set of lenses that host an eternal perspective rather than a temporal focus. We perceive God’s sacred possibility rather than man’s probability. We bath our minds and hearts with the truth of God’s Word. Words that say…

~Life and death is ours to choose. A choice for life means a choice for God. (Deuteronomy 30:19-20).

~Life cannot be found in former things. God’s new thing stands on the horizon. Even now it bursts onto our stage. Resurrected living brings about its perception. (Isaiah 43:18-19).

~God’s plans for our abundant living trumps the enemy’s plans for our death and destruction. (John 10:10).

~A resurrected walk includes the unseen, unheard, and beyond conceivable preparations of God whose love reaches far and wide…long and deep. (1 Corinthians 2:9).

~Possibilities are God’s probabilities. (Genesis 18:14, Matthew 19:26, Mark 9:23).

Simply put, a walk of resurrection means leaving the grave as Christ left it.

Empty. Void. Barren and defeated.

Too often, though, I choose to linger in Friday’s embrace. I run to the tomb with my ointments and perfumes in hopes of preserving the remnants of a Jesus I once knew. My eyes remain fixed on things seen…controlled things…things I can get my mind around rather than the unseen Promise of a third day resurrection. Instead of leaving the grave as Christ left it, I begin to fill its void with my many needs.

Fears. Questions. Doubts and unbelief.

I miss the victory of Easter because my lack of faith limits the Christ of Easter. And limiting Christ is the one posture of the heart that can keep these feet–mine and yours–from our intended walk of Resurrection.

Christ didn’t go all the way to Calvary and back so that we would continue in a life that boasts tombs and grave clothes. No, Christ made the journey to the tomb so that we could bypass its confinement. So that we would start living in the new, abundant, inconceivable possibilities of his lavish grace. So that we would begin our participation in the resurrection walk that leads us from the graveyard into the spacious land of the living and that will one day soon…lead us straight to his feet.

Today is a good day to examine your location in the Easter story. Are you lingering at the tomb…looking for the living One amongst the dead, or are you walking in resurrected living with the risen Christ as your compass? Which road hosts your heart? I know which road should. It is the road that extends beyond the grave. The one-way street paved with the blood of Calvary’s surrender that reaches in only one direction.

Home.

To life eternal with the living, risen Savior of the world. A resurrection walk that breathes with the sacred possibilities of the sure and living Lord. It is the only walk I want to make, and so I pray,

Lead me, Lord, from the tomb into your glorious walk of resurrection. Dress me, Lord, for such a walk…leaving the grave clothes where they belong—in the tomb, alongside all of my fears, doubts, and unbelief. Forgive me when I am tempted to limit Calvary’s work to a cross and to a grave. Move me beyond the confines of Friday into the glorious promise and light of Sunday. It is a pilgrimage I can make…should make…because your feet first walked the road of its surrender. Let not your sacrifice be in vain, …in my life and in the lives of my friends. Lead on, O King Eternal. Full throttle. Straight ahead…until I am finally home and see you face to face. Amen.

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