Peace for the Journey | Elaine Olsen

Let the Words of our Mouths

January 15, 2009

“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in your richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, whether in word of deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” (Colossians 3:15-17).

Been to a church council meeting lately? You may not call it as such, but if your heart and life revolves around the church, committee meetings and the like are common fare.

I’ve long since given up going to council meetings. Not because they are unimportant, but rather because emotions usually are the rule of the day rather than reason. And when emotions rule, words flow freely. I know. I was the reason behind Jesus’ words in Matthew 12:34:

“For out of the overflow of the heart a mouth speaks.”

Thus, I no longer attend. I have a very difficult time in keeping my tongue when others are liberally offering theirs in all matters. It doesn’t mean that I’m better than anyone; it simply means that I’m choosing not to enter the fray. And when you’re a preacher’s wife, that fray invariably involves the leadership or perceived lack thereof of said preacher husband.

We know the wounding of words. We’ve got the scars to prove it. And while some would say it comes with the job, I say otherwise.Words are never meant for the wounding. Instead, they are given to us as a gift from God for the teaching and admonishing of one another with the wisdom of heaven so as to bring about a peaceful unity amongst the body.

When words become our weapon rather than our encouragement, we’ve missed the mark. Not only as members of the human race, but more importantly as members of the kingdom of God. If we can’t level kindness and love within the walls of our own church … our lives will level as useless for God outside of those walls.

I’m not kidding; neither is God. He has called us to be…

His light (Matthew 5:14-15).

His temple (2 Cor. 6:16).

His ambassadors (2 Cor. 5:19-20).

His ministers of reconciliation (2 Cor. 5:19-20).

His kingdom carriers (Luke 17:20-21).

His new creation (2 Cor. 5:17).

His heirs (Romans 8:17).

When our passionate embrace of our well-intentioned causes—the carpet, the budget, the fellowship hall, the use of the building, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera—when our protection of these ideals becomes more important to us than the caustic words we level on their behalf, our light grows dim.

We are but a resounding gong and a clanging cymbal to a world that needs the contrast—the love of Jesus Christ pouring out through our mouths and with our actions because our hearts simply cannot contain their melody any longer. God’s song was meant to be sung through the likes of you and me, and when we can’t sing it in love, better to keep our mouths shut.

I’m not kidding; neither is God.

“When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise. The tongue of the righteous is choice silver, but the heart of the wicked is of little value. The lips of the righteous nourish man, but fools die for lack of judgment.” (Proverbs 10:13).

“A wise man’s heart guides his mouth, and his lips promote instruction. Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.” (Proverbs 16:23-24).

“If anyone considers himself religious and yet does not keep a tight rein on his tongue, he deceives himself and his religion is worthless.” (James 1:26).

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t voice our passions. God created us as a passionate people, especially when it comes to “doing” the business of the church. But therein lies the rub. How do our notions of “church business” match up with God’s notions of the same? And while I don’t have the full understanding of God’s mind in the matter, I feel confident that he never intended for our inward “doings” to be oiled and greased by the rancor that is so readily spoken via our mouths.

When our impassioned “doings” and the defense of them accordingly becomes more important than the wounds we’re exacting along the way, time to sit down and re-examine our hearts beneath the illuminating light of God’s heart.

Then, and only then, do our words work for the better good. God’s good.For the building up of the kingdom and the sacred seeding of all things eternal. And those “things,” my friends, have nothing to do with carpet selection or building repairs. Rather, eternal things are rooted in the saving of a human heart.

I’m not kidding; neither is God. He sacrificed his own Son to prove his mind in the matter.

Thus, let’s get to it. Let’s stop the free flow of our caustic criticisms and allow the grace of Jesus Christ to be the seasoning from our lips that salts the world with the flavor of eternity. Thus, I pray…

Forgive me my words, Lord, when I am quick to offer them in matters that matter little to you. Instead, fill my mouth with your words of purpose and promise that fill rather than deflate. That restore rather than condemn. That illuminate rather than darken. That strengthen rather than weaken. May the heart of our churches reflect the heart of your grace, so that, indeed, your kingdom comes as intended—because of us, rather than around or in spite of us. Clean up our hearts with the redemption of Calvary and season our response with the sweet words of your song. We concede them both—our hearts and our lips—to your refining touch this day. Amen.
Copyright © January 2009 – Elaine Olsen

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Nothing Else I Choose…

January 13, 2009

“This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the LORD your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the LORD is your life, and he will give you many years in the land he swore to give to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. (Deuteronomy 30:19-20).

I’ll be honest friends…

You are worthy of more than what I have to offer you this day. I confess that I have few words to give to you. Not because they aren’t available, but rather because of the “pressing in’s” that are insisting their walk upon the soil of my 24/7. I’m feeling the frantic pull of many directions, and when my heart gets pressed with the chaos of the seemingly urgent, I have a hard time marshalling enough energy for any of it.

Thus, there is a simple phrase I want to give to you today based on God’s Word from the book of Deuteronomy and on a song that’s been running through the speakers of my mind and my stereo this day.

Choose life.

Choose Jesus. Choose the walk of a sacred pilgrim and find your rest.

What joy it must bring to our Father’s heart when we bow the knee and bend the will to a righteous journey that places his agenda at the helm. We have a choice in the matter. There are those who would argue to the contrary—that somehow, my choice in choosing to do life with Jesus is a mute point and an invalid reasoning because it’s already been chosen for me.

My heart tells me otherwise, but my thoughts aren’t designed to invite controversy. Not today. Instead, they are meant to be a word of witness to the powerful, life giving potential that exists when choosing to walk this journey with Jesus.

I’ve been walking it with him for as long as I can remember, and there is nothing—no person, no place, no accolade, no adventure, no memory—that exceeds the worth of walking this life with the Lover of my soul.

Everyday, in simple and sometimes profound ways. In and out, over and above. In the mundane and in the occasional extraordinary when he splits the skies and reminds me that his eyes are ever on me.

He takes my breath away; thus, today I choose life.

With him at the helm and with my family in tow, so that we can know the joy and promise of a sacred fastening that keeps us anchored to the faith of our spiritual ancestors and to the heart of our life-giving, promise-keeping God.

He, alone, stands worthy of all my love and all my choosing. Accordingly, I leave you with the song that’s been running its witness through my speakers and within my soul this day.

“So in Love” by Jeremy Camp. Choose life and find your peace!

As always…

PS: I feel like a give away… you guessed it–the new JCamp CD, Louder than Words. Leave a comment, and I will draw a winner later in the week. Shalom!

On the Arm of My Son…

January 11, 2009

It occurred to me today that there will be few occasions, if any, when I will take the arm of my son and walk the aisle as his date.

Tonight may have been my swan song.

When he was a child, many were the times when he would take my arm. His hands belonged to me then. They needed me, even cried out for me on a regular basis.But time has walked its own story, and it seems they need me less. I know better, but for a few moments this evening, I felt a familiar ache. It first surfaced on a similar occasion two years ago with his older brother.

Tonight, I was reminded, yet again, about the fragile nature of time’s existence and the incredible responsibility that God has given me to handle its truth. To be OK with the fact that seventeen years have breathed their witness and soon will require my letting them settle into a son’s memoir. A season that seems to have quickly passed without my notice.

One day soon, Colton’s arms will belong to another. That’s the way of a growing heart. But tonight was my night. Tonight was a moment to take hold and to hang on and to more fully understand that my mothering, coupled with a whole lot of God’s immeasurable grace, has grown him into a young man filled with strength and laughter and the tenderness of heaven.

Not all mothers will have such an occasion; thus, my grateful heart and my joy-filled thanks to my Father for allowing me the privilege of such a gift–

A walk down the aisle on the arm of my son.

A very good night, friends.

A stone of remembrance to carry in my pocket … my heart … for the rest of my days.

As always,

For fun…

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.

Where I Used to Live

January 6, 2009

“The LORD said to Abram, ‘Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you.’” (Genesis 12:1).

God’s people are a people of movement. From the very beginning of an Eden’s expulsion, we’ve been spreading our outward influence. One home at time. One town at a time. One state at a time, and for some of us, one country at a time.

My outward has included sixteen homes, eight towns, and five states. I’m confident there will be a few more “outwards”before God calls me home.

Home.

They say you can’t go there … ever really return to the place that you once called home and have it be the same, feel the same, carry the same weight in your heart that it once did.

Yesterday I tried. To return to the place…

where I used to live.

An unplanned doctor’s visit took me there. One hundred and fifty round trip miles out of my routine on a day when I needed the beauty of a routine’s homecoming. A day when kids donned their backpacks for the post-Christmas return to school and when the college eldest packed his car accordingly.

It would have been lovely to retreat. To stay in the warmth and cover of a Monday. But lovely isn’t always our luxury. Routine isn’t always our comfort. Sometimes we forego the usual for the sake of a greater purpose—a purpose that requires our return to the safety and harbor of a “used to” because our “used to” is sometimes best used in our now.

The understanding birthed in our long ago and far away can be the sure and vital anchor that serves us in our now.

For me, my “used to” was a long-standing relationship with a doctor in whom I place my highest confidence. And while I have many other reasons for returning to the community that I called home for four years, my visit yesterday was singular in purpose.

My health.

I can’t think of a better reason to return to my “used to.” Can you?

I’ve been back for funerals; for weddings; for baby showers and for all manner of impromptu gatherings with friends. We loved our lives on the Pamlico River. During our tenure there, we added two children to our family and watched as our older two sons grew from boys into young men. When we moved in 2004, our pockets were filled with enough stones of remembrances to commission a large and lasting memorial.

It would take us a long season to recover from the grief of our “letting go.” But we did, we have, and the place we “used to” call home has been replaced by the community that now houses our hearts.

I am thankful for the outward pulse that exists within me. And while I don’t always readily embrace its rhythm, I value the portrait that it paints. It is a picture that breathes with the truth and understanding of our Father’s intention for our lives.

God means for us to move beyond ourselves. For some of us, it’s a literal move. For others, it’s an inward resolve to become an outward person. Regardless of our physical locations, whether it is one or many throughout our lifetime, God has set his “go” into our spirits. Not because he’s trying to make our lives difficult, but rather because he’s allowing us to make his matter.

His life. His will be done on earth as it is in heaven. In us, through us, and beyond us as we walk our obedience and scatter his seed accordingly. We need not fear the corners that lie ahead. Instead, we can turn them with the confidence of all eternity. Why?

Because the understanding birthed in our long ago and far away can be the sure and vital anchor that serves us in our now.

Long ago and far away, God interrupted the place where you used to live with the truth of your forever—the place where you will always live.

At home with him. He is the only place where you can truly return, and have it be the same, feel the same, and carry the same weight in your heart that it always has. You carry that truth with you wherever you go.

Thus, no matter your station in life, no matter the twists and turns of your current “going,” God is your Confidence, and the long-standing relationship birthed with him on this side of eternity secures your heart’s health for the outward obedience required to get you there. To get me there.

To our final destination where feet no longer gather dust and where hearts no longer grieve the pain of our letting go’s. Until then, may the consecrated ache that precedes our arrival be the eternal fuel that keeps us moving, with an eternal “go” in our spirits and with God’s kingdom end in mind. Thus, I pray…

Bring us home, Father, to the place where you have always lived. Forgive me when my temporal dwelling becomes too important—when the aches and pains of my moving beyond myself exceed the portrait of my eternal journey. You have made my faith to be a moving faith…a progressive and outward influence that refuses the stagnancy of an inward focus. Keep me moving, Father. Whether in this current station of life or in another, never let me forget that my steps are forged with the truth and love of an unseen kingdom that is calling me onward and upward to receive my crown and your forever kingdom’s rest. Today, I concede my heart and will for the outward pulse of the journey. Amen.