rest | Elaine Olsen

A Good Day

May 24, 2009

Good days.

I don’t know if we get a quota on them—like one good day a week … a month … a year … until we reach the max, and then we’re done. I know that there have been seasons in my life that seemed to portion out like that. Times when no matter how I turned things, wished for things, and even prayed for things, good remained hidden.

But not today. Today was a good day any way you turned it. In fact, this week has spent in good measure. Full and rich and close to perfect. Yes, there have been moments of chaos and times when my mind wandered beyond the boundaries of certainties. Tears have found their home upon my cheeks, and a pain or two has whispered its insistence into my heart.

But as I stand this night on the threshold of a seventh-day pause, I do so with a backward glance that yields a satisfactory nod to a week well-lived and to a God who isn’t capable of authoring otherwise. We sometimes think that he does … author otherwise. When pain, hardship, heartache and questions are our requirement, it’s difficult to reason the good of God.

I understand. Life has afforded me a few occasions for arriving at that conclusion. But life and the pursuit of all things sacred have also afforded me something else.

A growing understanding and knowledge of God.

For every comprehension that eludes me, for every question that surfaces in my heart to challenge the integrity and goodness of the God whom I call Father, there is an overriding and overwhelming anchor that pushes my thoughts through to the other side of my confusion.

Faith and the certainty of all things therein.

That is where my conclusion lies. In the unseen and unimaginable wealth of a God who is willing to sustain my breath a day longer in hopes that I will arrive at a declaration concerning his incomparable goodness. Regardless of the mitigating factors that collect and gather to beg my thoughts in another direction, God is after my acknowledging him for his goodness.

Some days, like today, it’s an easy reach … an easy write … an easy prayer of thanks. Some days, not so much. Perhaps for many of you, there’s been nothing easy about this day. I’ve heard from a few of you. I want you to know that I walk with you. I covenant with you in prayer for some easy and some identifiable good to work its way onto the scene of your life. But just because we don’t always see God’s good doesn’t mean that it has been diminished because of our difficult.

This faulty theology cannot stand up to the truth of who our Father IS. We can spend a lifetime blaming him, labeling him, squeezing him into a box that “fits” our need to have everything make sense, but at the end of the day … at the end of this life … no seemingly justifiable scrutiny on our part will keep God from being good. He simply and profoundly cannot help himself.

Good is what God IS. Good is what God does. God’s good is what woke you up this morning. God’s good is what will safely see you through another night’s rest. God’s good cannot be fully explained nor can it be completely measured. Still and yet, we get the privilege of trying. And for me, today, it was an easy find.

Today was about as good as I imagine an earthly good to be. Tomorrow holds a good all its own. When I get there, I pray for the willing eyes to vision its unfolding and the expectant heart to receive it all the more. I earnestly and sincerely desire the same for you. Would that we all could get to the end our week with the overriding and truthful conclusion that our God is good and worthy of all our praise.

Sing him well in your Sabbath tomorrow. From my pew, I’ll be listening for your voice alongside mine.

So shall he. So shall he.

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Good Soil

March 12, 2009

For Joy… may you find some good soil with our good God this day.

“Then he told them many things in parables, saying: ‘A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants. Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop—a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown. He who has ears, let him hear.’” (Matthew 13:3-9).

He who has ears, let him hear.

I’ve been listening to this passage of scripture for several months now. An intentional haunt of sorts, both on my end and on God’s. A hearing so intense that I cannot shake its echo. Let me tell you what my heart has been hearing as I read.

“Good soil.”

Not the well-trampled soil, nor the rocky or the thorny soil, but rather, the good soil.

What qualifies one more than the other? What makes the earth beneath the sower’s seed more viable for the growth over the others? How do we define our lives accordingly … within the sacred ground of the good rather than in the contemptibleness of the others?

Why not the less desired? After all, our lives are mired in the well-trampled and the rocky. Why not some growth in the common place of our common walk rather than in the pasture lands of a lush and green that often seem too far out of reach and too far beyond reason? Why not in the thorny and in the loosened earth that cradles our weary feet?

Good questions. Ones that I have thought a great deal about in recent days. And here’s what I think as it pertains to the seeding of God’s Word into the good soil of our hearts over the seeding of it elsewhere.

Good soil is the preferred breeding ground for God’s best because good soil is the most receptive to its growth.

Good. Kalos in the Greek meaning “good, honorable, beautiful, sound. Good as to quality and character.”[i]

If God’s Word, which is the seed, is to stick and to know the bounty of a fruitful harvest, then it is worthy of an honorable and beautiful soil. A soil of sound and quality character that willingly and carefully guards the sacred planting with all intentions of seeing it come to full bloom.

Good soil is meant for Godly living, but good soil is not always an easy find.

Why?

Because to get to the good one has got to be willing to walk through the others. Good is hidden. Good is deep. Good is buried and is contrary to human nature. But make no mistake, good is there. It just takes getting through a few layers to unearth the soil that was meant to seed the good of God’s intention.

The heart.

A difficult find most days because on most days, the well-trampled and rocky and thorny is the common pounding beneath our feet. Even today, many of you are walking the ills of such a path. Perhaps, you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed by the trampling over and upon your lives through the feet of others who claim territorial rights that were never theirs to claim. Perhaps the rocks are the pebbled annoyance that is, not only impeding your progress but is, also, wounding your feet with the jagged rough and cut of sharp intention. Maybe the thorn’s prick against the tender of your moment bleeds too deeply … too suffocating … too fully so as to cut the life out of your faith.

And while our God is more than willing to sow his Word into those moments of our lives, he understands that in those times of difficult pilgrimage, his seed is likely to fall prey to the demands of the immediate, rather than taking root toward the eternal.

Thus, he waits for our rest in the good soil. He commits his time and his energy to the lush and the fertile green and asks for us to pilgrim through the less in order to arrive at his best—the ideal location for a beautiful and honorable planting.

In these moments of uninterrupted pasture, our Father opens up the treasures and secrets of the kingdom and generously pours their seeds into the furrows and gullies of our freshly tilled hearts. Without the well-trampled—the rocks and the thorns—to impede their roots, God’s secrets grow a beautiful crop.

A hundred fold. A sixty fold. A thirty fold. A good output based on a good input by a good God who makes our hearts into a good soil for a good Word. This is the way of a good and gracious life that lives to the full and that pours to the overflow.

I don’t know about you, but I am more than ready and willing to pilgrim the well-trampled, through the rocky and between the thorns, to get to the lush and green of a sacred planting.

Good soil, friends. God’s best. He who has ears, let him hear. Thus, I pray…

Keep me listening to the truth of your Word, God. Plug my ears to the insistent pleas of my temporary and unplug them accordingly to receive the seeds of your truth. Let me not forsake the journey to the verdant for the choking of the urgent. I long to rest in the pasture of your deep and hidden because I long to know the sacred seeding of a divine kingdom. Thank you for the privilege of knowing you, Father. You are good. You are God. Amen.

[i] Entry for “kalos,” The NIV Hebrew-Greek Key Word Study Bible (Chattanooga: AMG Publishing, 1996), 1637.

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Bench Time

February 22, 2009

We’re not going to win a single game this season. I don’t have to imagine otherwise. It’s just one of those years. The forecast came about mid-way through our first game. After fifteen years of doing this “thing” called rec sports, youth sports, middle school and high school sports, I can tell early on how things are going to pan out. I’ve logged enough time on the bleachers and driven enough miles to warrant my badge of expertise.

Thus, very little enthusiasm accompanied me yesterday morning as I traveled to my youngest son’s basketball game. Per usual, I had very low expectations going in, but by the time the game was finished, I exited with something quite different. Something more than my usual thankfulness for the final buzzer.

I left with some perspective.

Watching my older two sons play basketball over the years has been a delight for me. Partly because my younger years provided me with more energy for the “doing,” but mostly because of their strong determination and agility for playing the game. I never had to wonder if I was going to get a “show” from my boys. They’ve excelled at life, both on and off the court. They understand the game and have the tenacious drive to ramp up the scoreboard. Whenever they lace up their shoes, you can be sure that they are playing to win.

I don’t see that drive in my younger son. And while he loves playing the game, he’s less concerned about his stats and more interested in simply playing his position on the court … in cheering for his teammates and in his “thumbs up” accordingly. Jadon’s instincts for the game are different than his bigger brothers, and just yesterday, while watching my son as he stood fastened to his spot, I had a thought.

A question or two for myself, especially as it pertains to my personality and my instincts for playing this game called life.

Am I more interested in my stats—in my taking the charge toward raising the score? Or, am I content in my role as a team player … a thumb’s upper … an attaboy and attagirl cheerer? Do I see myself as a lone ranger in the game or as an integral part of a process that calls for my participation rather than my sole determination? Where is my comfortable fit?

For those of you who know me, you don’t have to linger very long with that question. My instincts for the game fall in line with those of my older sons. I have a tenacious and persistent resolve for driving up the scoreboard. I feel the tremendous need to walk a victory at every turn, and quite honestly, am often disappointed if I’m not part of the reason behind the win. If it’s going to be, I’ve got this idea that it’s always going to be up to me.

And while I am confident that God appreciates my willingness to dig in and drive hard to the basket for a score, yesterday He gave me the gift of a contrasting option. An option that allows for “passing the ball” on occasion rather than feeling the need to carry the load of the victory in selfish isolation.

Some days are meant for my full throttle run up and down the length of the court. Some days are meant for my obligatory thumbs up to my teammates as I park it on the bench and watch them raise the score. All days lend themselves to my participation, but not all of them need my frontline stats to bring a victory home for the team.

True in theory; more difficult to live in the everyday. But I need to … live it, even as I preach it.

Not all occasions call for my leadership and my perfection therein. I’ve spent a lifetime pursuing that option, and quite frankly, it’s exhausting some days. And while I always want to put my best foot forward, both in life and in spirit, I think, perhaps, that God is deepening my outlook in the matter.

Today, He’s asking of me a hard question, the answer of which speaks the truth about how I am choosing to “play” this life that I’ve been given. Simply put…

Do you trust me with your bench time, elaine?

Deeper still…

Are you willing to go there, elaine, … to step aside and offer up your support while your teammates have their go at running up the scoreboard?

Further still…

Is it enough, elaine, to simply be on the team or do you prefer to single handedly be the team?

Good questions; a painful wrestling and just exactly the pondering that I was left with as I watched my son leave the court at the conclusion of his game, no worse for the wear and completely at peace about his level of participation in the matter.

Could it be that after 42 years of doing life, the time has finally come for a shift in my thinking about my participation in the matter? Could it be that after over fifteen years of watching my children play sports, I’ve finally come across a child who more fully understands the art of team play and who is willing to log bench time as well as court time because he knows that all of his time belongs to a plan intended to bring about a good and final conclusion?

Yesterday’s conclusion may not have been the conclusion that I wanted. After all, I’m after a win. But as I enveloped my son in my arms after the buzzer blew, and as I listened to him describe the game in as much vivid detail as his eight-year-old mind could articulate, I’m not so sure that we didn’t get a win.

For Jadon, all of life is pretty much a win, whether on the bench or whether staying glued to his position on the court. Either way, he enjoys the gift of participation. And that, my friends, is a contrasting option that I need to receive as my own.

Thus, I am going to spend a few days on the bench this week watching you run up the scoreboard, all the while offering up my thumbs and my hearty cheers on your behalf.

I am not running this race alone; if “it’s” going to be, then “it’s” going to be up to all of us to see it through to conclusion. Sometimes from the bench. Sometimes sweating it out on the court, but all of the time, loving the game because I’ve been allowed to play it with you by my side.

I can’t think of a finer group of teammates with whom to pass the ball. Consider it passed, sweet friends. Play well. Play hard, and do it all for the love and glory of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I’ll see you on the other side of my bench time. As always,

Snow Days, Hot Chocolate, and a Sacred Trust

January 20, 2009

For Nick … you were the missing piece of our snow day. We love you!

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the LORD and shun evil. This will bring health to your body and nourishment to your bones.” (Proverbs 3:5-8).

Either we trust God or we don’t.

Today I’m stuck. Somewhere between my trust and my don’t. And since there is no middle ground, I suppose, that I don’t …

trust Him. At least not enough.

On a day intended for snow angels and hot chocolate and lots of lazy—a day designed for the simplicity of childhood understandings—I’m bogged down in the complexities of what I thought was a well-matured faith—a faith content and at peace with the unanswerables.

Instead, where peace usually reigns, there is a wrestling. Where contentedness usually flourishes, there is a mixture of emotions that scream their resistance. Where a well-matured faith usually roots, there seems but a few seedlings fighting for their anchor to the soil.

When my kids woke up this morning, they woke up to a snow day—a day off from school and from their usual routine of mandated learning. When I woke up this morning, I woke up to a day that requires my attendance in God’s classroom, where a mandated learning becomes my necessary if I want to bring health to this body and nourishment to this soul.

If my faith is to grow in its understanding of all things sacred—an understanding that issues from the wisdom and plans of Almighty God rather than my fragile attempts at the same—then I must be willing to lean into a deeper posture of trust.

What does that look like? Better still, how do I … how do we … get there?

King Solomon, rich in wisdom and with the pen to scribe accordingly, offers his voice in the matter.

“Acknowledge him.”

Acknowledge. The Hebrew verb Yada meaning “to know, to learn, to perceive, to discern, to experience, to confess, to consider, to know people relationally, to know how, to be skillful, to be made known, to make oneself known, to make to know.”[i]

To acknowledge the Lord is to simply and to profoundly know him. We lean into a better understanding and trust whenever we take the time to learn of our God, to consider his ways, and to discern his heart and mind in the many matters that fill ours with certain doubt and wavering belief.

To get there … to come to a knowing of our God … we must trust in the one resource that he has so amply provided for us. I’m currently looking at eight of them. Some opened up upon my bed; some waiting on the bookshelf for their turn.

Our Bibles—the living, breathing, and active Holy Word of God (Hebrews 4:12).

It matters not to Him what translation we read. We all host our own preferences. What matters to God is that we, in fact, read them. Ponder them. Find ourselves somewhere within the story which, in turn, always finds us in close proximity to the heart and mind of Father God.

Charles Spurgeon writes (in reference to Jesus Christ),

“He knew by His omniscience what was the most instructive way of teaching, and by turning at once to Moses and the prophets, He showed us that the surest road to wisdom isn’t speculation, reasoning, or reading human books, but meditation upon the Word of God. The quickest way to be spiritually rich in heavenly knowledge is to dig this mine of diamonds, to gather pearls from this heavenly sea. When Jesus Himself sought to enrich others, He worked in the quarry of Holy Scripture.”[ii]

Knowing God will never happen through accidental measure. Rather, it comes with the purposeful pursuit and with the intentional posture that is willing to enter into God’s classroom, where the only required textbook is the one that was written from his heart via the pen of man’s deliberate obedience.

If our paths are to be straight, if our trust is to be certain, if our bodies are to know the health and the nourishment of solid footing and sound theology, then we must be willing to walk contrary to our human nature. We must set aside our momentary need for instant understanding and, instead, rest upon the truth of God’s understanding.

Our wisdom will never exceed his. Our wisdom should be based on his, but even when wisdom seems a far reach—when answers remain at a distance and our doubts arise as to their certain arrival—we can know that our Father thinks with a greater understanding. An eternal knowledge that is timeless and void of the parameters that we so often seek.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to limit God’s work in my life. I don’t want the doubt that I currently hold in my hand to be the final word in the matter. I don’t want the answers just for the sake of having answers. Rather, I want to trust him for more. I want to know him more and to believe that with the knowing will come a wisdom that exceeds my current and very temporal way of looking at things.

An understanding that can, every once in a while, take a day off to enjoy the simple faith of child who isn’t worried about tomorrow, but instead, is frolicking in the embrace of winter’s gift. In the trust and belief, that snow angels and hot chocolate are the order of the day and that everything else will takes care of itself, in God’s time and in God’s way. Thus, I pray…

Give me the trust of a snow day, Father, when I can rest and enjoy the moment rather than worrying about the moments to come. Thank you for the gift of your Word that allows me to know you, thus finding my peace for the journey. I freely admit that I cannot understand the road ahead. I am frustrated by the unanswerables that have found their way into my hands. Give me the courage to place them into yours. Teach me the trust and certainty of a sacred leaning, and keep me at your feet until I pass the exam. May the treasures of your Holy Word be the rocks that build my solid and sure foundation for the season to come. Amen.

[i] Baker and Carpenter, entry for “Yada,” The Complete Word Study Dictionary Old Testament (Chattanooga: AMG Publishers, 2003), 3038.
[ii] Charles Spurgeon, entry for “January 18,” Morning and Evening (Hendrickson Publishers, Inc., 1995), 37.

Crossroads

January 9, 2009

“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. But you said, ‘We will not walk in it.’” (Jeremiah 6:16).

“If you write conviction, elaine, you’d better live conviction or else be prepared for conviction to find its way to your table.”

God’s message to me in my spirit moments ago. Fast and certain and with resolute clarity while I was washing my face. I kept repeating it for fear that I would forget it before finding my pen. It happens sometimes. God impresses his thoughts upon my heart, and I cannot help but give them ample room to grow. To breathe their depth as I take the time to unpack them before God and his Word.

Tonight I unpack them alongside the prophet Jeremiah’s pen as he scripted God’s heart to a people who had lost their way. To God’s dearly beloved, who were instructed to stand at the crossroads and to examine the path before them. Behind them. To the left and to the right of them, and then to ask God for his directional good—those ancient paths that secured safe passage to his place of rest.

His heart.

It would have been easy for them to find their way home if they had been willing to stand at the crossroads. But they weren’t, they didn’t, and consequently, they found themselves on the road toward a restless exile and a formidable captivity. Nothing good and certainly no rest came for those who were adamant to keep walking without pausing at the crossroads.

God’s crossroads, not theirs.

We all come to a crossroads at least once in our lives. Some of us, multiple times. Whether we mean it or not, we are quick to mouth its refrain.

(I’m standing at a crossroads, and I don’t know what to do. Where to turn. What path to take. What wisdom to choose.)

I understand. I’ve said as much even this day. But there is a danger in our paying lip service to our crossroads. As God’s children, dearly loved and carefully protected, when we come to a crossroads in our journey, he asks more of us than simply an approach to the process. He means for us to fully engage with its truth.

To come to the center of the matter. Where beam meets beam. Where horizontal hammers into vertical. Where wood and nails collide. Where faith and flesh intersect to bleed the witness of a sacred juncture.

When we do that … when we stand smack dab in the middle of Christ’s crossroads … it is easy to discern the good and ancient path that will secure us safe passage to God’s rest. When we center our lives at the heart of his willing sacrifice, no matter the direction we turn—whether before or behind, to the left or to the right—we are bathed in the lavish cover of a Father’s love.

We are reminded of just how far he traveled on our behalf so that we, like the ancients of old, could find our way home.

The problem? Many of us never make it that far. We choose the perimeter of the cross because, quite frankly, the center bleeds too red. Too messy and too fully. We deem our standing at the cross with Jesus as enough; but God calls each one of us to something greater.

He asks for us to stand in the crossroads with him.

Then, and only then, will we be able to measure the worth of God’s intended rest and peace for our lives. It’s a peace I want for always. My heart’s desire is to walk the path of the ancients and to rest in God’s good as I go.

Thus, this night I write the conviction of my heart. I am prepared to live its depth so that conviction doesn’t re-visit my lip service with the poke and prod of a Father’s hurt.

Tonight I am willing to walk to Calvary because I feel deeply in need of doing so. In many ways, I seem to be standing at a crossroads. There are decisions to be made. Big ones. Ones that not only involve my future, but ones that also include the future of those whom I love the most.

Rather than stand at the perimeter of the cross, I’m going in. To its center in order to stand where Christ has stood and to receive the cleansing truth of my salvation. I believe that my vision will be clearer there. That wisdom will be more readily available, and that the path of the ancients will present itself so that I might walk in it and receive God’s good and needful rest.

Perhaps, like me, you’re sensing the need to walk your heart toward a deeper point of surrender. Your life is at a crossroads, and the only thing you’re certain of is your uncertainty about what lies ahead. Would you join me on the road as we walk the beams of our Savior’s bloody surrender until we come to the heart of the matter? Would you, this day, be willing to live your convictions all the way into the center of his sacrifice? If so, then may the prayer of my heart belong to you as well…

Father, your cross is serious business. Forgive me for thinking that I can stand at a distance and see clearly the path that you would have me to follow. Thank you for the conviction that leads me into the center of your surrender and that baths me in the truth of your love. Baptize my feeble understanding with your wisdom that bleeds pure and true and full of insight so that I can find my way through the chaos that is pressing in ever so tightly and so certain. Bring me to your crossroads in my many matters, and show me the path of the ancients. Keep me, then, to that secure path until I find my way to your heart and to your good and promised rest for my journey. You are my life’s end. Bring me safely to my perfected conclusion. Amen.

~elaine

PS: Friends, I ask for your prayers tonight, not just for me but for all who are standing at a crossroads and need the widsom of a standing “in” with Jesus at the helm. If you’re struggling and you need a friend, please feel free to email me your thoughts or leave a request in the comment section. To read an excellent post about conviction, please visit LauraLee for further thought and inspiration. Shalom.

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