Category Archives: love

A Silver Celebration

I like growing old alongside Billy.

That’s what I told a friend not long ago. I’ve not always thought about our life together with such sentimentality. Twenty-five years ago, growing old wasn’t on my radar. I was just a bride walking down the aisle toward the man and toward a future that could not be predicted, only lived out with the belief that marriage was, in fact, a good decision for me and my two sons.

Of course, there were plenty of folks in the room validating our choice – a cacophony of voices rooting for us from the sidelines, along with Dr. Ellsworth Kalas awaiting our arrival at the end of the aisle. What a gift he gave us that day, validating our budding love by reminding us of a wedding in Cana where the best wine was saved for last! But there were other voices as well in that season … a few who dared to share their concerns. There was the well-meaning friend who stopped by my office one afternoon and likened our courtship to a combination of peanut butter and cheese, an odd coupling. And then there was the well-respected professor who refused to counsel us because he had already decided that Billy and I, as a couple, were not marriage material.

Twenty-five years of marriage have a way of dulling the naysayers. Today we laugh at the memory. I confess, though, that in those beginning days of solidifying our union, I probably gave those well-meaning voices too much rental space in my mind. At times, Billy and I were an odd coupling, struggling to build a life together on nothing more than the firm covenant we had made to one another, to God, and to our boys on that sultry July afternoon at the altar of First Methodist Church in Lexington, KY.

Emotions weren’t enough to carry us through to this moment – a silver wedding anniversary. Covenant-keeping was.

And today, twenty-five years down the road, Billy and I are growing old together in a most beautiful way – a well-respected love tethered by a long season of deliberate choices that have weathered us, tested us and, ultimately, elevated us to a place of surety, strength, and safety. My gut tells me we’re going to lean heavily into that strength in the season to come; seems like a few clouds might be gathering on the horizon. 

Come what may, one of the things I hold most certain and close in my heart (perhaps the benefit of twenty-five years of covenant-keeping) – for as long as I am allowed, I will walk forward with my hand in Billy’s. He is my home. For better or worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and health, for as long as we both shall live.

We’re a team, Billy Olsen, and I am honored and blessed to be your aging bride.

I really do like growing old alongside you.

Happy Anniversary,

Background Music by Bebo Norman – “A Page is Turned” 

A Wedding Dance with Redemption . . .

 

My eldest son got married two weeks ago. It was a grand affair. Quaint. Intimate. On a mountain and in the company of family and friends. I thought a lot about my son that day while sitting next to his father in our designated, front pew. We had the best seat in the house, but then again, in sharing life with this extraordinary twenty-five-year-old man we call “son”, we’ve always had the best seat in the house. What a privilege to watch him grow over the years and to witness him standing before his bride and speaking his oath to love her for the rest of his earthly days. It’s a day I won’t forget, one that sows deeply into the soil of my heart and that heralds a grand “hallelujah” for the grace that has passed ahead, within, and behind us, low these many years.

It takes a lot of grace to grow a boy into a man. Our story is no exception. In fact, our story begs for grace, has relied upon grace to get us to this season in our lives – a day when two parents, who once made those same sacred vows to one another only later to break them, were able to sit side-by-side and celebrate the child born out of their love. You can imagine the baggage that I carried into that chapel two weeks ago, the internal wrestlings that were begging to take the stage. But it wasn’t a day for baggage and wrestlings. It was a day for grace and for making peace with a past that I cannot change but, instead, can honor for the fruit that has blossomed despite my disobedience.  

This was and continues to be my wedding dance with redemption, when the past works for me instead of against me. When the glass is less dim and more transparent. When I can see clearly through the brokenness to gather up some wholeness. When the Groom extends his hand and his heart in my direction and repeats the oath he spoke to me in the past saying:

“I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving kindness.

I will build you up again and you will be rebuilt, O Virgin Israel.

Again you will take up your tambourines and go out to dance with the joyful.

Again you will plant vineyards on the hills of Samaria; the farmers will plant them and enjoy their fruit.” (Jeremiah 31:3-5)

This is my “again” . . . again – one of the many agains I have known because of the mercy-filled, extended hand of my Groom, Jesus Christ. His love is timeless, knows no boundaries, and never tires of the grace-dance. Instead, his love is ready.

Ready to draw me in.

Ready to rebuild me.  

Ready to re-teach me the sacred melody.

Ready to sow within me the seeds of eternity.

Christ’s love is ready, and Christ’s love is enough to carry any broken and burdened soul through to present wholeness. He loves his bride, and his oath is his word. No sin and no shame are a match for his strong affection and sacred affirmation. Love wins the day, and the Groom takes his Bride.

A wedding dance with redemption. The grace-dance with the Redeemer. My dance. Your dance. God’s dance.

Won’t you take hold of his hands, friends, and take hold of your tambourines? The music’s been cued. The wine’s been poured. And the Groom has given you his word . . .  

This is for forever.

Hallelujah! Amen. So be it. As always . . .

 

Peace for the journey,

dancing in the car . . .

Tonight we danced in the car.

Never mind the two kids in the back of the van or the fact that we were driving in six lanes of traffic. When the song hit the airwaves, our hearts were immediately fastened on one another and on the reality that is ours to hold.

Deep love. A love that carries burdens and holds on for the rest of the story. I imagine it’s what we do best, how we’ve made this work. We carry and we hold despite the odds that are forever trying to isolate our hearts from one another.

Never more have we needed this holding love. The current of life is swiftly (and sometimes harshly) pulling us along, and there are days when the waters rush over us with the force of Niagara. Sometimes, it feels like we’re drowning in this craziness called right now. It’s in those times . . . a right now kind of time, when we need a song like this one. A favorite country music melody that allows us to dance in the car – touching hands and crying tears and making a choice, once again, to hold on to the rest of our story.

I’ve long since given up trying to predict the lines of our upcoming chapters. But every now and again, I dream a little with my man. I remember our way back then and think forward regarding our up and coming, and find myself exceedingly tender about and grateful for the right now.

Right now?

Well, right now we take a pause, take a hand, and take a moment to dance in the car. Just like we did on that night so many nights ago when his long locks captured my fancy and his fancy footwork stepped on my toes a time or two. We’ve come a long way since our first barn dance, and I imagine we’ve a few more turns around the dance floor before the lights go down. At least this is where my dreaming takes me tonight.

I love the way he loves me, and I love the song that allows us a dance in the car from time to time.

Keep dancing with the ones you love, friends. Keep holding on to one another. Your rest of the story just may be the best of your story. I’ll meet you on the dance floor.

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when love makes sense . . .

Life is a journey; love is a dance.

So she sings to us as we snake our way down I-40, making the trek back home. I hold his hand as we mark those miles through Appalachia, knowing that he is my home—the place where I feel safe and where the embers still burn with hope. When nothing else makes sense, when the world goes crazy and loses its grip on reality, my husband’s still doing the dance. Still taking the lead. Still holding me close and releasing me just enough to allow me my twirl, only to pull me back in so that I wind up back in the place where I began. Where I belong. Safely in his arms.

Oh that all of life would feel as safe as this—a long, winding road filled with love and hope and twirls that land us safely and certainly back to the place of our belonging. All of life can feel like this . . . can be this—a love dance through the mountains. But every now and again, the dance is interrupted, drowned out by the cacophony of noises that slow the pace and cripple the stride.

Those are the times when we must pull away, friends, and gather love closely to us so that we might remember and know for certain that all has not been lost in the night.

 

Love remains. Dances are still possible, and all of life is a journey.

Through a mountain.

Marking the miles, one after the other, on the road toward home.

The embers still burn with hope. How I pray you feel their warmth this day. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

when God speaks a “something” over you…

“. . . the word of the LORD tested him.” –Psalm 105:19

Sometimes he tells me. Sometimes keeping it inside pins him down . . . pushes him down where the pain hurts deeply and the tears flow easily. Sometimes the world slams cruelly and unfairly into him, moving him to the outer edges of what’s reasonable. Sometimes it’s just too much. Last night was one of those times.

And so he told me . . . laid down beside me, took my hand and shared with me the deepest ache of his heart.

 “Elaine, I can’t give in to this despair. Even when I want to, I can’t, because I believe that at any moment, on any given day, God might show me that something I’ve been waiting to see. And if I give in to despair, I’ll miss it–God’s something. And baby, I don’t want to miss it. I don’t want you to miss it either, so I’ll keep holding on for both of us.”

And then I broke, lying there beside my man. Hand in hand. Hearts aching together. Hearts longing for, looking for, and believing in that something . . . God’s something. A something spoken over our lives a season ago that brought us to this place, this space, this dot on the map named ministry.

A long time ago, there was a boy on the verge of manhood, a seventeen-year-old dreamer named Joseph (see Genesis 37-40). God, too, spoke a something into his heart. A dream or two about taking the lead, about rising to the occasion, about being the man in a season yet to come. What incredible privilege to hold such holy affirmation, confirmation in one’s heart—to be told in advance that you’ll be needed, you’ll be trusted, you’ll be used by God in a mighty way! Joseph’s dreams were far grander than his reality, and to pack all that truth inside his heart only to be cruelly taunted by that truth . . . for years? Well, lesser men would have given in to their despair, would have wilted under confinement, and would have stopped anticipating God’s greater move . . . God’s grander something.

But Joseph wasn’t a lesser man. Neither is my man. Both of them, God’s men—God’s appointed leadership despite a long season of taunts to the contrary. Like Joseph, my husband is a man willing to believe in a dream and to keep his feet and faith planted on the path that will move him closer to seeing that dream become a reality, even when that path feels like a dead-end.

There are no dead-ends with God. Only living ones. Living-ends with the Lover and Creator of our souls. The dreams that God breathes into our hearts, the plans that he has for us, the thoughts that he thinks toward us, well, they are holy. Consecrated. Truthful. Enduring. God’s dreams for our lives arrive with a pulse and with a promise—that he who began a very good and gracious work inside of us will be faithful to see it through to completion (Phil. 1:6). Dreams that begin and end there—with God—are dreams that cannot be thwarted, only anticipated.

And so, today, my man anticipates. With one hand, he grips the dream—God’s something—and with the other hand, he grips me. He pulls me toward anticipation . . . toward the dream, and I am swallowed up by the quicksand of his faith. I’m drawn into it, immersed in the raw and gritty determination of the dream, and that which began as a great pain in my husband’s heart last night has transformed into a great strength for both of us this day. Once again, we give our hearts and our hands to this place, this space, this dot on the map named ministry.

Today just might be the day when the dream awakens to reality. I don’t want to miss it should it arrive. As always…

Peace for the journey,
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PS: Many thanks to all of you for entering the give-away. Unfortunately, only two winners this go around, and they are… Jane Babich and Kathie! Ladies, please contact me with via e-mail with your mailing information. Jane, I don’t have any contact info for you. Thanks.

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