Category Archives: obedience

a teacher’s apology and thanks …

I’ve been thinking about them some … my last-yearers. It’s been odd seeing them so close-by yet realizing that they’re “hands off” – not mine, not this year. I’ve kept my professional distance, and they’ve kept theirs. A few of them have made their way to my door, even stepping into the classroom a time or two, surveying the surroundings to see what’s familiar and what’s different. They’ve been quick to notice the changes:

“We didn’t have that last year, Mrs. Olsen. That’s not fair.”

And my laughter regarding their assessment is quietly accompanied by the truth of their judgment. In the secret recesses of my heart and soul, I know that they are right. What my students had last year isn’t and won’t be what my students have this year, at least to a certain degree. The curriculum remains the same, but the teacher? Well, she’s changed a bit. I still answer to Mrs. Olsen, but I am a wiser version therein, seasoned and shaped by my previous year’s, hard obedience.

When asked six months ago about my returning to the classroom this year, I didn’t have a solid answer. The stress attached to returning to teaching (after a long hiatus) had taken its toll on me. I was overwhelmed by the many responsibilities, and I was unconvinced that another year of more-of-the-same would be good for my health and for my family. Still and yet, I had a feeling (really more of a willing response) that I owed it to myself and to the countless hours already invested into the teaching process to see if a second year might be kinder to me … an easier fit.

Eight days in, and I have my answer. This will be a better year for me and for my students, not because the crop of children is any “better” this year than it was last year, but rather because I am better. The difficult “yeses” of my last year – all those times when I yielded my hands, my heart, and my flesh to the sharp edge of the Farmer’s spade despite my gut reaction to flee – have cultivated for me and in me a seasoned understanding of what it means to be a teacher and what it is to be God’s servant therein. That’s a win for everyone concerned, and that’s the reason I can heartily agree with my former students’ assessment of the classroom.

“We didn’t have that last year, Mrs. Olsen. That’s not fair.”

And for that, I offer them an apology. I also offer them a word of thanks. Shaping seasons – those that change us for God’s better – require fallow soil and a willingness to receive the blade of the farmer’s plow. What grows there, in that difficult soil of obedience, is often the sweet harvest of holiness. It may not seem fair at the time, but in the end, it’s always better.

I’m better, and I have a sneaking suspicion that most of my last-yearers are better too. To God be all the glory, great things he has done. Great things he will continue to do. As always …

Peace for the journey,

when harvest comes …

Rough edges. I have some. They were readily exposed for me to clearly see this past year. The catalyst for that exposure?

Fifteen students hand-picked by God to move me on toward my perfection!

For the past several years, I’ve been incubated from such exposure; life and its many detours have allowed me some shade and protection along these lines. Certainly, there have been occasions when I’ve felt the soul-shaped sanding from others but not as intensely as I have experienced it in these past ten months.

Most days, I wanted to run away and hide, crawl back into the shell I had so carefully crafted for myself during my earlier season of isolation. Exposure was painful and bloody, with precious few moments of joy to temper the ache. But I hung in with Jesus … every single day. I called upon the name of the Lord more times than can be counted. Together, he and I walked the school year through, and as we rounded the corner toward the finish line, I was finally able to see the amazing work of grace.

Growth.

I grew. They grew. And as we spoke our final good-byes, I held a little fruit in my hands – the same hands that (to date) had only held seeds, only sown seeds in hopes of one day having them grow into something more substantial.

This has been a fruit-bearing year for me. I couldn’t see the fruit in the beginning, and I certainly couldn’t feel it along the way and as we went. But I always believed in it, always trusted God for the greater work of grace that surfaces as a direct result of willing obedience to the call of Jesus Christ.

Sometimes we choose the mission field, friends; sometimes it chooses us. Either way, the responsibility is the same – to sow extravagantly the seeds of our faith. To break up the unplowed ground beneath our feet with the spade of God’s Word. To water it with the sweat of our brow and the tears of our surrender. To nurture the seed and soil with fervent prayers and gentle hands. To trust in the unseen work of the soil and to believe that every hour of intentional investment will yield a harvest of eternal proportion.

Sometimes we have the privilege of holding that resulting fruit; sometimes we can only believe in it. Either way, our responsibility remains.

Keep sowing God’s seed in this season of your life. Whether uncomfortably exposed or intentionally hidden, you have a choice to make regarding the faith seeds that are stored in your heart. In releasing them for the greater work of the kingdom, you are making a choice for growth – for yourself and for others. Don’t be surprised when the spade digs deeply and (sometimes) harshly. Expect it, believing all the while in the unseen work of the soil and in the eventual harvest to come.

What cannot be seen or held is seen and held by God. He is superintending the process, and the outcome is not in question. But don’t take my word on it, take his …

“This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples. … You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit – fruit that will last.” –John 15:8,16

In season and out, sow generously and sow believing that He who began a good work in you is faithful to see it through to completion. As always …

Peace for the journey,

lift them up

“ … lift them up.”

Chambers’ words have shadowed my heart today. They’ve stepped all around and into my thoughts, throwing down the gauntlet for obedience. I warm to them, slowly melt into them knowing that they are the remedy for this stretched-out submission to this certain calling. I need to remember why I’m doing what I’m doing. Simply and, yet, profoundly to …

lift them up.

Where?

To a higher place, a kingdom that includes them. A kingdom that some of them have yet to see, but a kingdom that I know, from time to time, shakes the soil of their souls and softens their heart-ground to receive the Father’s heart-seeds.

There are days when I forget to lift. Some days, there is less lifting and more maintaining … less holding up and more holding on for dear life. Some days, I think I’ll crumble beneath the weight of this load. These are heavy souls, freight far too weighty for my weakened resolve. Still and yet, I choose to try because there is a lot to lose by not doing so—another year of lateral living, seeing only at eye level instead of seeing from a higher perspective.

I will not cripple the view from the top. Instead, I will do my best to take them there – to give them that better vantage point. One by one, heart to heart, hand in hand, and crawling on all fours if need be. I will carry them forward and upward. Jesus Christ has done the same for me. Should I do any less?

I don’t often think of myself as a saint. I’m just doing my part on this little parcel of ground, this tiny speck of earth that lies beneath my feet and within reach of my heart. Are you doing the same? Doing your part in your little corner of the world? Are you …

lifting them up?

Lift them up, friends. Show them life from up above. Extend your heart and extend your reach so that others might be elevated into the kingdom sphere and might begin to experience a little bit of heaven on earth. There is no greater joy than participating in the King’s work. This is the highest privilege of a saint, the gift of sacred participation – when you and I link arms with the Father to lift the veil, revealing eternity.

Warm words, indeed. May they melt into your heart and surround your witness with the strength of our King. Lift often. Lift willingly. Lift always in the mighty name of Jesus. Somebody needs to see the kingdom today. As always …

Peace for the journey,

Do you or someone you know need a lift today? I’m giving away two copies of Peace for the Journey. I pray it will be an encouragement to weary souls. Leave a comment today indicating your interest. Share about the give-away on your social media sites, and you’ll receive an additional entry for this give-away (indicate your participation in the comment section below).

Peace continued . . .

Sometimes we cannot see the way that God is taking us. Really, most days it’s that way, is it not? Just steppin’ on in faith because it’s the best we can do. As a people deeply connected to the heart of God, we try to honor that connection through our obedience and our allegiance to those not-yet-taken steps by actually taking them . . . one at a time.

We scratch our heads, as well as our hearts, and wonder what God is up to – believing that he is, in fact, up to something. Isn’t that most of the battle—settling our confidence regarding the God who can be known and trusted? That he thinks holy thoughts about us and offers holy ground for the clay feet that carry our frames forward?

This is faith on the edge. Alive, active, keeping pace with the day and keeping prayerful during the night.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so settled in my life of faith. Even four years ago when those death words were spoken over me and my faith sprouted all kinds of fresh wings, even then my faith was less. God grew me in th

 

at season, shaped my heart in a way that might not have been shaped otherwise. I accept this shaping. Most days, I glory in this shaping because I can measure the progression of my heart. Without those suffering days, I’m certain that my God-confidence would be lesser in this place where I am standing today.

I would still be waiting for faith to take hold at a deeper level. I’d still be wading in the shallows instead of splashing around in the deep. Life is better here in the deep. To be certain, it’s more mysterious, perhaps even a little more dangerous. But it’s a better pool of trust when the only shoreline within reach is the hemline of a water-walking Jesus.

I’m not saying that my faith is as strong as Peter’s was on that night when he took those sweet steps of trust across the sea. I am, however, simply willing to position my heart in a similar place of possibility. I’ve been keeping my eyes and my mind fixed on Jesus, and the communion has been sweet and certain.

 

Kept in peace. This has been a year for such a sacred keeping. I couldn’t have imagined on the front side of 2014 all of the many challenges that would confront my peace-keeping mission. With three months remaining, I imagine that a few more disruptions will work their way onto my calendar.

But I will cling to Peace.
And I will dip my hand over the side of the boat and wait for the waters to stir.
And when I feel the holy vibrations from the approach of the water-Walker, I will be brave.
And I will step out.
And I will step forward.
And just maybe (if only for a moment) I will walk on the waters with the King and know what it is to be fully alive and fully at peace.

The waters are stirring, friends. The Master approaches. Keep watch and keep ready. These next steps just might be your best ones. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

Lasting Fruit

I told them to keep working . . . that I needed to take some pictures and not to pay any attention to me. After eight days of getting to know their new teacher, they are beginning to understand that I am a woman who lives for the moments.

Too many of these moments are slipping by without much fanfare – like the “on the fly” relay race I put together for our recess time yesterday. If only I’d had my camera then; if only I could have bottled the laughter readily present in that moment. I’m sure it would have been enough to at least (temporarily) put a smile on the ache of the world.

With each tick of the clock, I’m keenly aware that I will only have this baker’s dozen in my charge and keep for a short season. Eight days down; one hundred and seventy-two remaining. There is so much I want to tell them . . . give them. In most of our moments together, I feel wholly inadequate with the telling and the giving. In most of those moments, I want to sit down and cry because of the overwhelming responsibility that’s now filling up my thoughts day and night and every moment in between.

I am so very past tired. My body aches from head to toe. I crawl into bed each night with tears in my eyes because of the physical pain that is riddling my joints. But there is liquid joy in the pain, because I know that I have done something sacred with my day. I have planted good seed into God’s very good soil. Time will bear out the results. I may or may not be privy to them, but I can and am relinquishing the outcome to God.

The seeds are in my hands and issue forth from my heart. The fruit, however, belongs to God’s hands and his heart. His Spirit will break up the fallow ground beneath our feet and will superintend the harvest with holy watchfulness. God will grow what I cannot.

My job?

Releasing the seed . . . one lesson plan at a time. One conversation at a time. One correction at a time. One getting down on the floor to help a student find his/her homework at a time. One reminder to put a name on a paper at a time. One extra look up on the computer to find out more information about Leif Ericson at a time. One more phone call to a parent at a time. One more inch of me invested into this assignment from God until it is finished.

One more one more, because it’s been that clear to me from the beginning that this isn’t my doing but, rather, it is God’s:

“You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit – fruit that will last.” –John 15:16

Lasting fruit.

That has a holy ring to it, and one day I will know the fullness of what is being planted in these days. Until then, I’ll keep walking the fields with Jesus and watering his garden with these tears of obedience.

‘Tis a very sweet, sweet fellowship and privilege to journey alongside the King and to sow kingdom seed as we go and along the way. So . . .

Leave me, Lord Jesus, for as long as you will;
In this place of great trust – keep me quiet and still.
To wait for your timing, your words and your heart;
To give to your children the wealth that will start …

New beginnings in them that will push them along,
Forward in your kingdom – make them brave, make them strong.
Keep them safe, keep them tender, keep them willing to learn;
Keep me always at the ready, help my heart to discern.

What is best, what is right;
What is noble and true.
What is good, what is worthy;
What is holy from You.

Plant your rows, sow your seed;
Use my hands, take the lead.
One step at a time, one prayer from the heart;
This is grace, this is fruit,
This is faith, set apart.

Amen. (F. Elaine Olsen, 8-30-14. All rights reserved.)

Peace for the journey,

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