Category Archives: truth

Wisdom in View

Welcome 2022. Truly.

Last week, I listened to a podcast by John Cooper (lead singer of the group Skillet) on Facebook. He brought up this verse from Proverbs in the podcast, and it has stuck with me ever since. I think it will be my verse focus this year (Remember when we all started blogging and adopted words/verses for the year? Perhaps it’s a worthy habit to return to … a way to re-engage our hearts and, most importantly, our minds on better things.)

Wisdom. Where can she be found? Who’s looking for her? Who’s settling for less? Who thinks they have more? Who thinks they have best? To what lengths might we travel to hold her treasure?

To the ends of the earth?

The ends of the earth. How does one get there? Getting to the ends of the earth has never been easier for us. The internet is happy to oblige in this regard. We troll and scroll, like and share, emoji and meme, and just generally trip our way through endless #searchingforwisdom websites and links. The cacophony of voices competing for our attention is incalculable. This endless pursuit of wisdom via the cyber-sphere is a thought that resonated with Cooper. It resonates with me as well. You?

For the past two years, I’ve spent a lot of time wandering around on-line, searching the “ends of the earth” for wisdom. Some of that searching has yielded valuable truth. A lot of it has yielded a treasure trove of nothingness – a vain attempt at grasping for truth only to realize, in the end, its vaporous deceit.

Satan is pleased. He’s the master of such treachery. And if he can pull us away from truth by dangling endless resources in front of our fingertips to “help” us in our search for wisdom, then his devilish schemes have occupied a space in our minds that should be reserved for the true fount of wisdom – Jesus Christ. As Jarrin Jackson often says, “In through the ears and through the eyes for the domination of the key terrain of the mind, for the prize of the soul.”

Our minds are the gatekeepers of our souls. We should do better about guarding that gate. Keeping it solid. Stopping the turnstile from revolving. There are no open borders in wisdom’s territory. Instead, wisdom builds a fortress around her land and secures it with watchtowers of the Word and the sentinel of the Spirit of the living, one and only true God.

It should be an easy choice for believers … our default. So often it is not.

So here I am, nine days into a new year, vacillating between two women – a foolish one and a wise one. For the health of my soul, it is a wrestling that must be decided.

Wisdom. It has never been more vital to our survival than now.

Go get her in 2022, friends. Gather her. Grow her. Guard her. Give her.

Keep her in view by keeping your fingertips on the gilded pages of God’s Word. She will never lead you to a dead end. Instead, wisdom will lead you to the place where you were always meant to live. As always…

Peace for the journey,

For those of you who follow Jadon’s story, we had the wonderful privilege of hearing him preach the Word this morning – “The Good Law and the Glorious Gospel”.

amplify their voices

My good friend, Judith, once told me that I was a truth-teller. It remains one of the highest compliments I have ever received.

Generally speaking, I think she was right. I’m not certain at what point “truth-telling” got written into my DNA; a lot of credit goes to my parents. My parents were never afraid of personal exposure, even when it was hard, even when it cost them something. As a child, as a teen, and as an adult, they’ve allowed me to express myself – sometimes to my detriment, sometimes to my gain … as long as it was/is the truth.

In one of the darkest periods of my life, daddy spoke the words that are now firmly etched across my heart…

“Elaine, your sins will never damn you; but your secrets will.”

He’s right. Secret-keeping isn’t for saints; it’s for sinners who are intent on staying that way – blemished, stained, hidden, unforgiven, hopefully forgotten.

Yep, that’s the makings of hell – a whole bunch of blemished, stained, hidden, unforgiven, and, ultimately, forgotten souls.

When souls refuse to tell the truth … refuse to stand on the side of exposure … they risk more than momentary, personal embarrassment; they risk everlasting abandonment from the Father who knit them together in their mother’s wombs.

Maybe that’s why I’m a truth-teller. At an early age, I understood the magnitude of what’s at stake, because from an early age, I’ve had a real relationship with my heavenly Father. He’s always been with me, revealing himself to me along the way and as we go. To lose him would be to lose everything. It just won’t happen.

Jesus in me… me with Jesus … we’re solid. Fixed. Permanent. Established. Life with Truth.

Accordingly, I will not live any other way. And those who choose to live otherwise – those who refuse to bear witness to the truth and who are comfortable with their secrets and remain intent on keeping them?

Well, my tolerance is limited. Why? Because it’s only when truth is revealed that healing and, ultimately, freedom can breathe. Exposure is where that transformational, life-giving journey begins. And who doesn’t want that – healing, freedom, a life-giving journey?

Apparently, a lot of folks.

We’re living in a world steeped in secrets; accordingly, my recent prayer for God to amplify the voices of truth-tellers. To silence the lies; to magnify truth.

Today, one of those truth-tellers released a documentary exposing the lies of our recent national election. He has nothing to gain and everything to lose. A most unlikely voice, silenced by social media, stores that carry his wares, and television outlets, all except one. The millions of dollars he has spent, the countless hours he’s invested, and the team of experts he’s brought to the table have all been for one purpose – to expose the truth behind what happened on November 3, 2020. For those paying attention, well, we know what happened that night. This documentary further proves that knowing.

So here we are – citizens of a country living with a huge lie. In doing so, we have made a mockery of our democracy. I don’t imagine it’s the first time we’ve been fooled; I don’t imagine it will be the last time. But we’re getting closer …

To it being that last time.

The scale on which this deception is predicated is massive – world-wide. Some say the beginning of the end. The last days.

Perhaps.

I don’t know God’s will in the matter as it pertains to our country. What I do know is that He who calls himself “The Way, the Truth, and the Life” cannot abide untruth – those lies we harbor privately or the ones we support publicly.

They will surely damn us in the end.

If these days are the beginning of the end, so be it. These will not be my last days, because I stand on the side of truth with the Truth-Giver. Accordingly, my best days are ahead of me, never behind.

But yours may not be. Your best days may be right now because if you stand on the side of untruth … if you prefer your secrets over your exposure … then you’d better grab hold of whatever pleasure you can get now. A small taste of worldly pleasure is a poor substitute for the eternal gain of heaven. And that is the risk you are taking.

I know these are heavy words; I know that some of you will not appreciate my sprinkling politics in with kingdom talk. I am unbothered by your objection because there’s too much at stake to stay silent, both for our country temporarily and for you eternally. I am nearly fifty-five years old. I’ve stood on the edge of my own mortality more than once, and I may not have the luxury of another day on this earth.

The lies we are content to live with are the chains that will eternally tether us to our tombs … dead in our transgressions with no hope of resurrection. And this, friends, is the gravest reality of them all. This is the greatest truth I can give you. So…

Be a truth-teller – all of it. Even if you don’t like it. Even it costs you something, maybe every worldly gain. At the other end of your exposure is the heart and hands of the One who made you. He will pull you into his light. He will show you the Way home, speak Truth over your secrets, and bring Life to your damaged spirit.

Indeed, secret-keeping isn’t for saints. Truth-telling is. May God amplify his voice therein.

Peace for the journey,

Rehearse Your History with God

“Rehearse your history with God.”

This was my recommendation to my family last night as we sat around the dinner table. Our discussions lean toward the “heavy” these days. So much going on in the world. Chaos, confusion, concerns. You know. And out of that deep well of heaviness, I drew forth these words:

“In times like these, family, we need to rehearse our history with God. Trace his faithfulness. Trust in his goodness.”

Billy acknowledged my words with words that my father used to say to me … “You know, Elaine, that’ll preach.”

A smile passed between Billy and me, and then the internal gnawing began within my soul … the rehearsing of my history with God.

There’s a lot to recall, to reflect upon, to remember. Instead of focusing on recent memories, I dug further into my past – twenty-five years in retrospect.

As a single mother of two young boys, I made the decision to return home to Wilmore, KY. If “home is where the heart is,” then I definitely made the right choice to move back to the Bluegrass. Wilmore is the place where I first trusted God and began my long obedience with him. Most importantly, Wilmore was where my parents were living, and I needed the safety, acceptance, and love afforded me therein.

I also needed a job. After a disappointing interview with a Christian school down the road (one where the questions were centered more around the reasons for my divorce rather than my qualifications as an educator), I decided to apply for a job at Asbury Theological Seminary – the vocational home of both of my parents. Dr. Kenneth Kinghorn was looking for an administrative assistant; he’d known me as a child, and now he would better know me as an adult. The interview process went forward, and within a week, I had a job. And while I mostly didn’t have a clue what it meant to be an administrative assistant, I did know that, for the first time in a long while, I was safe. Dr. K had given me a chance to start over, to further “grow up” and mend my heart in an environment that had earlier shaped my beginning days of faith.

For three years, I sat under the great favor of Dr. Kinghorn. He protected me, challenged me, walked alongside me while never judging me. He stocked the supply closet with Diet Dr. Peppers, and he lovingly allowed me long lunches with the Beeson girls (you know who you are), as well as daily walks to my mother’s office on the other side of campus. When the bi-weekly chapel hour came, he put the closed sign on the office door and said, “Let’s go.” When my boys showed up at my office after getting off the bus from school, he ended my work day early. When asked for his counsel, he wisely engaged. He daily prayed over me and, on occasion, trusted me with campus “intel” reserved for the privileged few. He didn’t micro-manage my work nor meddle in my personal affairs. Instead, Dr. Kinghorn allowed me the privilege of personal healing according to God’s time table and his immeasurable grace.

Dr. Kinghorn wasn’t the only one. There were many moments throughout my three years at ATS filled with similar privilege. Dr. Ellsworth Kalas’s mentoring moments – his sermon and directives from Moses on Mt. Nebo. Dr. Steve Seamands’s Ash Wednesday service where a quote from Omar Cabrera took center stage in my heart. The day Reg Johnson handed me an envelope with cash inside – the exact amount I needed to cover an unexpected bill. Bill Goold’s after-chapel walk with me, asking me how my “desert season” was going. Maxie Dunnam – a president never too busy for a hug or a word of soul-stirring encouragement. Albin Whitworth’s exuberance, laughter, and invites for the boys to come and swim at his pool.

The list goes on – I suppose not enough room (or time) in this space to record my thoughts. But in my time of remembering today, in rehearsing my history with God from this limited segment of my past, a tender truth is emerging:

Not all men cast stones. Some men carry them instead.

Stones not to harm the guilty, but rather stones to heal the broken-hearted. To stack and to build a better future rather than to hurl and to re-injure a wounded past.

In that season so long ago, I couldn’t fully appreciate the stones that those giant men of faith were carrying on my behalf. But in rehearsing my history with God today, I am overwhelmed with their willingness to do so. Perhaps they did it, in part, out of their great love for my dad, Chuck Killian. No doubt, because of their great love for their heavenly Father. And just maybe, there was a little part of them that knew something of grace because of their own histories with God. Regardless of their reasons, twenty-five years later, I am stunned by their intentional generosity toward me.

Not all men cast stones. Some men carry them instead.

Indeed.

So today, friends, if you’re feeling heaviness of heart, if confusion is creeping in and around your spirit, I encourage you (even as I am encouraging myself) to rehearse your history with God. Look for the stone carriers from your past, your present. Remember them; be grateful; do likewise.

There’s a broken heart nearby who needs the benefit of your strength and the grace of your history with God.

Those who have ears to hear, let them hear. As always …

Peace for the journey,

(7.11.2020. All rights reserved.)

on course-correcting indulgence

Christmas has cost me a few pounds. A recent doctor’s visit and my turn on the scale indicated this reality. Accordingly, upon my return home, I purged the remnants of my kitchen–those remaining crumbs of a recent, earlier delight. I had had enough of indulgence. My body knew it; perhaps even greater, my mind … my spirit was in agreement. And when those two entities collide, when the flesh and the spirit are in agreement, then healthier choices take place. The fullness that comes to our stomachs when walking in tandem with the spirit is a course-correct that will eventually balance out the cost of earlier, unchecked indulgences.

And while the human spirit is a mighty force for change, God’s Spirit living in us through the powerful work of the cross, is mightier … holier … the same kind of strength exhibited in Christ’s resurrection from the grave (see Romans 8:11-12, Ephesians 1:19-20). As Christians, God means for us to daily walk in his resurrection strength, to breathe and to take in the fullness that he offers to us, so that we might know the difference between an earthly, hungering stomach and an eternal hungering spirit. So that we might run to the right cupboard for the filling.

Long before my recent purge, another purge of sorts took place on Judean hillside. The crowd numbering in the thousands had gathered to hear from this teacher, this miracle worker named Jesus. On that day, Jesus addressed both of their needs–their hungering stomachs and, even greater, their hungering spirits. It was the latter filling that led them to follow him to the other side of the lake for more. It was then that Jesus released a truth that many of them could not fully absorb:

I am the bread of life. Your forefathers ate the manna in the desert, yet they died. But here is the bread that comes down from heaven, which a man may eat and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world (John 6:48-51, NIV).

Jesus then furthers the discussion with talk of “drinking his blood” — a partaking in what some would deem too strange of a feast. Eating flesh? Drinking blood? What on earth was he talking about?

Jesus wasn’t talking about earthly things. Jesus was teaching about eternal realities, about that place, that moment when the body and the spirit collide and come in agreement for a healthier road forward. This is the course-correct that balances out unchecked indulgences. This is the course-correct that will fix the human condition–those irrational hungers that bloat, that burden, and that distend the soul to damaging limits.

The world we’re walking in, is a damaged, sin-sickened society that makes it all too easy for us to distend our souls. The world’s cupboard is full of choices to satiate our hunger. They’re hard to miss; they crowd our kitchens and their aromas fill our nostrils until we are convinced that we must eat, we must partake, we must cram final crumbs into that remaining void without even considering the cost to our souls. The momentary overshadows the eternal and, before long, the scale lives to tell the tale.

When that happens, when the mocking of indulgence comes back around to taunt us … to haunt us … it is time for us to release that burden to the cross; it is the only scale that will balance the bloating of our souls. Christ leveled the playing field when he submitted his flesh to a bloody surrender. In doing so, he has made a way for us to overcome our earthly hungering. The cross and our bloody surrender therein, eliminates the extra pounds.

The cross is the course-correct for the fledgling and fragile and failing human condition. It is a strange feast indeed; yet it is a beautiful and bountiful one in which we must partake if we want his life to be made evident in ours.

So today I ask you the question that I am asking myself. What has your recent indulgence cost you? What scale are you using to calculate that cost? Are you tired of the bloating, the bulge that has you stretched to your limits? Has your stomach and your spirit come to an agreement on the matter? If so, then you are ready for a course-correct. Your seat at Christ’s table–his altar of grace and mercy–has been reserved.

Dine there. Feed there. Cram in the cross. The hunger that cannot be filled by earthly cupboards can be filled to overflow from the rich storehouses of heaven. This is the sacred balancing of our souls.

I’ll meet you at the table, and as always…

Peace for the journey,

the song of the brook …

My students and I have just finished reading Song of the Brook by Matlida Nordtvedt. As literary prose goes, it doesn’t measure up to the classics, but it does serve a purpose in our classroom. It’s one book in a continuing series of books presented annually to students who use the Abeka curriculum; they seem to enjoy keeping up with the Johnson family from year to year.

The main character of the story is Hilda, a young girl from Bellingham, Washington, who is learning to live with change: a move to a new community, the disappointment with that community, discord amongst extended family members, bullying on the playground, overcoming insecurities, and the like. Despite the chaos in Hilda’s new life, she finds solace in an unexpected place – the babbling brook running beside her dilapidated house. At night, she sits next to the open, bedroom window and listens as the brook “sings” her a song. Repeatedly throughout the story, the brook impresses upon Hilda’s heart various phrases to soothe (and sometimes to meddle with) the aches within her heart. Her brookside meditations are Hilda’s way of spending time with God and hearing his voice therein.

Even though Hilda’s story is set in time nearly 100 years ago, the problems she faces back then are not unlike the problems we face today. Who of us haven’t known the ache of relocation, the tears of disappointment, the fracture of beloved relationships, the taunts of a bully, and the crippling of insecurity? Today’s troubles aren’t much different from yesterday’s harms; the scenery simply has changed.

Unlike Hilda, I don’t have the beauty of a singing brook running by and next to the parsonage in Laurinburg, NC. I don’t raise my windows in the evening for fear of unwanted critters (or humans) disrupting my night’s slumber. The sounds of my city at night are no match for the idyllic evening lullabies of the countryside, those wide-open spaces that seem to more easily host the voice of the Creator.

Still and yet, I hear the Father’s voice. His words speak to me as I take the time to listen in, to open up the window of my soul and to meditate upon the scriptures he has written to me in his holy Word. Sometimes God’s melody soothes the aches within; sometimes his refrain meddles with my will. At all times, his song is truthful. God cannot lie; neither will he sing a song over me that will lead me down a wayward path. Instead, his song … his words are for me, for my good and, most importantly, for his kingdom good.

Lately, his holy refrain has been crystal clear:

As I have done for you, Elaine, so you must do for others. Wash their feet.

Over and over again, for the past several weeks, these words have cycled repeatedly throughout my mind, like the lyrics of a song you just can’t shake.

As I have done for you, Elaine, so you must do for others. Wash their feet.

In living out this obedience from John 13, there are always ample challenges. Stinky feet aren’t my preference. It’s easier to touch cleanliness than dirtiness. It’s less problematic to embrace the feet of a friend than it is to embrace the feet of a betrayer. Even so, the Father sings…

As I have done for you, Elaine, so you must do for others. Wash their feet.

I don’t know what this will look like for me in the days to come, how this yielding will play itself out. But of this I am certain … it will play itself out. Whether at school, at church, at home, and maybe even at Wal-Mart, stinky feet are everywhere – walking in front of me, behind me, next to me, over me, and, yes, sometimes within me. We all get our feet dirty from time to time. The Father’s basin and towel are equal to the cleansing task, yet another undeserved grace from his heart to ours that allows us to get clean and then to offer that same cleansing to others.

As I have done for you, Elaine, so you must do for others. Wash their feet.

The window of my soul is open. The song of the brook is singing. Even so, Father, I am listening.

As you have done for me, Lord, help me to do so for others. Amen.

 

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