Category Archives: pilgrimage

choosing when to walk . . .

Rain.

I’m growing weary of it. Not of its existence; rain is needful. It cleanses the earth, grows the seed, and cools the summer scorch. No, I’m not knocking the benefits and beauty of the rain. I am, however, a bit disgruntled by its timing.

Let me explain.

I’m an evening walker. I used to walk in the mornings, started my day off fresh with a hearty three or four mile jog in the brilliance of the sun’s light. Somewhere along the way, things changed. Life changed. My jogs turned into walks, my schedule obliterated by the urgent and necessary. My schedule, these days, not so necessary, less urgent than my previous one, yet new habits have taken over where old ones once reigned. And so, I now walk in the evenings. There’s nothing profound or deep buried in this reality. It’s just how it is.

For the last several weeks, the rain has accompanied me on my walks. I may start out dry with blue skies and a smattering of gray-bottomed, cloudy pillows as my companions, but I usually return to the house with a few drops of heavenly dispensation on my clothing. In all my years of living on the East Coast, I’ve never experienced such predictability. And so tonight (with my son’s promised forecast for sunny skies and lower temps), I began my customary stroll around the neighborhood. This time I took my umbrella . . . just in case. Good thing. My “just in case” rolled in about the time my feet rounded the corner on Fordham Drive.

Buckets of rain, absorbing through my cheap umbrella, making sure I knew it meant business. I wasn’t going to escape the wetness. Instead, I was forced to endure it . . . again, all the while praying that anyone in my household might look out the blinds to notice my predicament and run to my rescue. They didn’t. Instead, they stayed dry in the comfort of our home while I willfully pushed through puddles and streams and soggy socks, all the while hating the rain and wondering why it seems to prefer my walking hour rather than the other twenty-three that fill up a day.

I know what you’re thinking. I’m thinking about it too. Why not change the time of your walk, Elaine? Why risk the rain at night, when the morning promises more dryness? Why not the certainty of the day rather than this new predictability of the evening?

Why, indeed?

I don’t have a good answer for you. I won’t even tell you that “into every life a little rain must fall.” You get it. You know about the rainy season—those times when we cannot choose the climate surrounding our hearts and we must press through the rain because there’s no other option. That’s not what I’m talking about here. What I am wondering about are those times when you and I have a choice . . . to walk in the rain or to walk in the sunshine. What about those times in our lives when we stubbornly choose the rain over the sunshine? When we refuse a change of habit and heart and cling tightly to our way over a better way? Why walk with the clouds when the sun is available?

I’ve had a lot of rainy days as of late; I cannot predict all of the clouds that will move in and out of my life, nor the precipitation they’ll bring with them. I can, however, predict a few of them—those evening showers. Accordingly, I can make a choice to avoid them . . . to move my walking to daytime hours. In doing so, I’ll avoid some wetness, some heartache as well.

I don’t always have to get wet. You don’t either. Sometimes we get to choose when we walk. Sometimes we have an option . . .

The sunshine or the rain.

Seems to me a better choice to enjoy the sun while it is shining brightly overhead rather than to be caught in the rain with regret. And therein lies a thought or two worth considering. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

My friend, Melanie Dorsey, has also written about “choosing” today. Join her in worship by clicking here.

vintage faith

“This is what the LORD says: ‘Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.’” –Jeremiah 6:16

 

In searching through the old, I find something new. And so I went there yesterday . . . to the Cotton Exchange and Livery in downtown Fayetteville in search of my new.

 

I love old things, vintage items that date me by a few years. Linens, glassware, trunks, and clothing. Standing amongst them, I travel through time, taking a step backward, a step inward to feel what it must have been like to first wear that shawl, hold that hankie, or cook with that iron skillet. Immersed in all things vintage, I pay respect to the generation that first embraced the newness of these treasures. Used and preserved over the years, they’ve outlived the people they first served. They now serve as a witness to the lives lived before me. What stories they tell me . . . mostly imagined, yet relevant for me in the search for my new!

The story that comes before me is the anchor that writes the story now in me and the story that will follow after me. I need to visit the old, to rediscover my roots so that I might move ahead with understanding. So that I might find rest for my soul.

As it goes with my search for all things vintage, so it goes with my faith. To move forward requires a pause at the crossroads, a deeper immersion in the culture and times of my spiritual ancestors. Being with them in their history via the lens of Scripture is like finding a compass for the road ahead. Living with their old brings new perspective into my right now. Antiquity isn’t wasted when it comes to faith. Antiquity enhances faith. That which once was still is. Faith lives on, above extinction.

 

And so I go in search for the old, because that which is new is not always that which is best for my soul. Old things, ancient treasures, and a faith that lives in antiquity, this is where newness of heart and life can be found. With Abel and Enoch. Noah and Abraham. Isaac and Jacob. Moses and David. Gideon. Rahab. Samuel and Daniel. Jeremiah, Isaiah, and the prophets of old. John the Revelator and John the Baptizer. Peter. Paul. Mary and Martha. Stephen. Timothy. Elizabeth and Zechariah. Sarah. Ruth. Esther. And Jesus . . . always Jesus.

Yes, this is where I will stand, in the middle of their stories and then some. In doing so, I find my anchor and my rest. And that which is very old becomes new breath to my aging flesh. I breathe in the smell of an ancient faith, and I am revived.

 

The story that comes before me is the anchor that writes the story now in me and the story that will follow after me. Faith lives on, and by God’s grace, it lives on in me. Perhaps there will be day in the years to come when a future generation will take hold of something I have said or something I have done, that will thread them back to the heart of Jesus. I cannot imagine what that would be, but today I’m challenged to believe that there really could be . . .

 

A faith in me that survives extinction. A faith that serves the kingdom long after I’ve made the journey home to Canaan. Who will wear this shawl of faith that now cradles my shoulders? Who will see it as treasure, pay the asking price, and preserve it forward?

 

Old to new. New to old. The cycle of faith that never dies. Only lives.

Find yourself there, and find rest for your souls. I’ll meet you at the crossroads. As always . . .

 

Peace for the journey,

 

a secret worth sharing…

May I tell you a secret? For those of you who know me personally and do life with me on a regular basis, it won’t be fresh revelation. But for others—those of you who only know me as the woman who writes these words in this public place—my disclosure might come as a surprise. Are you ready?

 

I’m here today, writing these words, out of obligation—an allegiance to a gift that once flowed so naturally through my heart and my pen.

 

Obediently, I take to the task, not because of some burning desire to engage with my words, but because I owe it to the woman I once was—a woman who easily and willingly penned the thoughts of her heart. That ability was shattered by the rigors of cancer treatments. I want it back. Life would be so much easier (or so it seems) if desire was here to fuel my “want to.”

 

Obligation—the driving force behind most of my decisions these days. Obligation, not emotions, keeps me connected to my world . . . to people, to work, to faith, to God. I do what I must do—what I know is the right thing to do—in order to keep moving forward, believing that somewhere down the road my emotions will kick in and supplement obligation with a healthy dose of desire.

 

For now, my emotions remain unpredictable, yet another surrender that has been made in the name of health. I chose this, gave my good “yes” to the doctors when they asked for my consent regarding chemo, ovary removal, and a long-term drug that would block any remaining estrogen produced in my body. It was a good decision back then, the best one to prolong my life. But today, it seems too costly. In eradicating the cancer, I’ve eradicated most of my desire, and I find that a life based on obligation and void of desire is a very difficult life to live at times.

 

So be it. I’m not the first person to let go of desire in order to take hold of lasting life.

 

Why the confession? Why plead for your understanding and make it all about me and my woes today? Because in doing so, I believe there is a truth that surfaces for us all—a holy undertaking that typifies the life of an earnest believer.

 

Good health, optimal health, is often the result of hard surrenders. A choice for life is usually preceded by a choice for death . . . letting go of and stripping away the weight that keeps us tethered to the fleeting and unconfirmed desires of our infancy.

 

The life of a saint is a life of work, despite desire, emotion, or a lack therein. To grow up in Christ is to stay near him, move with him, lean into him, and learn from him. The life of a saint is a life of obligation. Once you give him your “yes,” you tether your forever to his. It’s the inescapable reality of salvation. God never promised us a life of ease. Instead, he promised us his presence in the unease, in the struggle, and in the sometimes torturous releases that best enable us to dig into, hold onto, and live unto his glory.

 

So what do we do when desire and emotions aren’t around to fuel our obligations?

 

We keep going. We base our choices for survival on good health, on previous faith, and in the truth that what is not always felt by us is felt by God. Knowing that he holds my desire—knowing that he hasn’t forgotten the woman I once was and the gifting I once felt—is enough to push me forward. I don’t have to understand it all; I just have to keep obliging my feet, my heart, and my mind to the faith that has carried me thus far. It will assuredly carry me home.

 

Obligation. It keeps me connected to God. It keeps him doing the same. We are holy, certainly, and beautifully obliged to one another, now and forever more. And that, sweet friends, is a secret worth sharing . . . one I won’t make you keep to yourself. Go ahead, tell everyone. You have our permission.

 

Peace for the journey,

 

How are you living out your obligation to God despite the difficult surrenders along the way? I’d love to come alongside you in prayer.
 

the boy I want to be . . .

“When Jesus looked up and saw a great crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, ‘Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?’ . . . Peter’s brother spoke up, ‘Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish . . . .’” –John 6:5,8-9

Here is a boy with loaves and fishes. I want to be that boy. A boy prepared to feed his hunger. A boy who doesn’t come empty-handed to a day’s worth of doing.

Here is the Jesus with bread of his own. I want to know this Jesus. The Jesus prepared to feed my hunger. The Jesus who never comes empty-handed to a day’s worth of doing.

Here is a boy with a better agenda, not a fixed one. One not chosen for him, but one he chose for himself. I want to be that boy. A boy not conditioned by the daily norm. A boy who sets aside busyness so that he might busy himself with the business of Jesus.

Here is the Jesus whose only agenda is us. I want to know this Jesus. The Jesus who set aside heaven so that his might busy himself with and immerse himself into our mess.

Here is a boy with expectation. I want to be that boy. A boy who anticipates the outcome on the front side of its unfolding. A boy who understands that the best show in town is passing through and that, should he miss it, he won’t have any stories to tell his friends, his family, the generations to come.

Here is the Jesus who exceeds expectations. I want to know this Jesus. The Jesus who’s seen it all—from the front side of all’s unfolding until the final curtain drops. The Jesus who is the one show in town that still has folks talking some 2000 years later.

Here is a boy with open hands. I want to be that boy. A boy willing to release his provisions into the hands of Jesus so that they might abate and satisfy the hunger of others.

Here is the Jesus with open hands. I want to know this Jesus. The Jesus who willingly released his provision—all that he had—to a cross so that he might abate and satisfy the soul-hunger of everyone.

Here is a boy with a witness. I want to be that boy. A boy who knows first-hand the mighty works of God. A boy who’s been given the divine rights and benefits of sonship and who has the awesome privilege of joining his Father in kingdom ministry.

Here is the Jesus who can make it happen. The Son who knows first-hand the mighty works of his Father and who willingly grants us the gift of sacred participation along the kingdom road.

Here is a boy . . . with loaves and fishes; with a better agenda; with expectation; with open hands; with a witness.

Here is the Jesus with all of the same.

When the two collide—the boy in me and the Jesus from God—a crowd gets fed, a story gets written, and the Gospel moves forward.

Here is a boy . . . here is a girl who is ready to take on that role. How about you? Are you ready to be that boy, that girl whom God grants the privilege of sacred participation? The child who willingly releases what you have into the capable hands of Jesus so that he might bless it, break it, and feed it to the hungry?

If you’re ready, then come to the mountain this day. Christ has pitched his tent near yours. The show has already begun, and the crowd is beginning to notice its hunger. You are the one Christ has chosen to fill their need. What privilege it is to be called the sons and daughters of God! This is who we are. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

a DON’T to DO…

“I’m writing on the 5 D’s to workout motivation. Can you guess one of the “D” words?” So asked Melanie Dorsey on her facebook wall yesterday afternoon. My response to her was immediate . . .

 

“DON’T eat a piece of the chocolate cake I just posted a picture of on my wall . . . I mean really, just the word ‘Don’t’ speaks a message all its own. Just don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Apply it whenever necessary.”

 

Of course, I was making an attempt at humor, but as I stepped back from my statement, my “don’t” took root; so did my ruminations.

 

Don’t. Just don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. What if we could really do our don’ts—move past our declarations and start walking our determinations? This is what happens when we bravely and willingly do our don’ts. We move forward. We get unstuck.

 

The Bible is replete with “don’ts.” I spent two hours last evening combing through Biblegateway’s online concordance, taking note of each “do not” listed there. There are thousands of them; I scribbled down four pages’ worth. All of them, when applied to a heart, are motivators for getting a stuck faith moving again. Don’ts like . . .

 

Don’t worry;

Don’t be afraid;

Don’t lose heart;

Don’t doubt;

Don’t do what they do;

Don’t have in mind the things of men;

Don’t be alarmed;

Don’t put God to the test;

Don’t belong to the world;

Don’t be silent;

Don’t let sin reign;

Don’t give up;

Don’t give the devil a foothold;

Don’t handle, touch, or taste;

Don’t be carried away;

Don’t harden your hearts;

Don’t forget to do good;

Don’t merely listen to the Word, do it.

Don’t ________________.

 

You get the picture, and this is just a mere scratch at the surface of what seems to be the great many regulatory “don’ts” of Scripture. Now, before you shut down . . . before you see these as obligation rather than as a road map toward freedom, allow me to share with you the one “don’t” that struck me through to my soul’s marrow. The one “don’t” that I’m going to do this weekend.

 

Would you be willing to do that? Just work on one? Just do one don’t that most significantly strikes a chord with your faith? I’m convinced that just doing one of God’s don’ts is enough to propel our faith forward, even just a little bit.

 

Here’s is the one don’t I plan on doing:

 

“Don’t throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded” (Hebrews 10:35).

 

This “confidence” in the Greek context means “boldness, assurance, freedom in speaking, without concealment.” Boldness in speech, being sure of my words, freely speaking without a hidden agenda? Well, for this to happen and to happen rightly, my confidence must be rooted in truth—yet, another confidence.

 

“Have no fear of sudden disaster or of the ruin that overtakes the wicked, for the LORD will be your confidence and will keep your foot from being snared (Proverbs 3:25).

 

God as my confidence. Contextually speaking, God as my “flank.”

 

So what does this mean for me going forward—as I do my “don’t”?

 

Don’t throw away your confidence, Elaine, because your Confidence has you covered. Don’t throw away your boldness, your freedom in putting forth the truth plainly, because God is your flank. God has situated himself around the most vulnerable, tender part of your faith, and he will not let you be destroyed. He has you covered from all angles. It’s safe to move forward, speak forward, live forward, because God’s got you covered every step of the way.

 

Don’t throw away your confidence. Don’t. Just don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Apply it whenever necessary. Just do this one don’t and see if God is not faithful to apply his movement, his strength, and his limitless confidence to your faith.

 

What if I could really live this one? What if I could really do God’s don’t? When a faith moves in that direction—when a heart really takes hold of that kind of understanding—the possibilities are endless. For what it’s worth, I’m going to give it a try.

 

What are you going to try? What’s the “don’t” that God is calling you to do? The one deliberate “do not” that you can apply to your heart that will get your faith unstuck and moving forward in a good direction?

 

Do your don’t, and then don’t be surprised by what God will do. Don’t and do’s. Do’s and don’ts. Sometimes it’s just as simple as it seems.

 

Now, get busy. And when you have a moment, check out Melanie’s 5 D’s to Workout Motivation. I’m sure her list has less to do with “don’ts” and much more to do with do’s. I’ll see you on the other side of Sunday. As always . . .

 

Peace for the journey,

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