Peace for the Journey | Elaine Olsen

Imagine

August 24, 2008

For those of you who need to know that your God sees you this day…

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge. There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard. Their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world. In the heavens he has pitched a tent for the sun, which is like a bridegroom coming forth from his pavilion, like a champion rejoicing to run his course. It rises at one end of the heavens and makes its circuit to the other; nothing is hidden from its heat.” (Psalm 19:1-6).

Can you even imagine? Better still, do you?

Ever imagine?

Him.

Pitching his tent in the heavens and watching over your every move. Not because he is waiting for you to make a mess out of your life, but simply because he is waiting for you to take notice of his.

His constant presence. His everlasting love. His faithful glances in your direction.

He is there, but most days, our preoccupation with the flesh leaves little room for the imagining of him. Horizontal focus trumps the beauty of vertical visioning because horizontal focus usually voices the loudest. That which cannot be heard is almost always overlooked. Overshadowed and nearly forgotten. Almost.

Not today. Not for me. For today the heavens voiced a melody that trumped any earthly sound. They scripted their chorus in the sky above, and only those with the eyes to look up and the hearts to look deep had the privilege of singing along. God gave me a gift this morning through my imagination. Maybe you, too, will be able to hear the song.

Imagine a beautiful Sunday morning. A day set apart for the worship of the Creator of your heart. Imagine going to church, parking your car and grabbing hold of the hands of two young children. Imagine, then, looking up and seeing the sky painted with the brushstrokes from a Heavenly Father’s morning walk.

Imagine commenting on their beauty to your children and then finding your camera to take a few pictures to benchmark the moment.

Imagine going into the church, finding your pew, only to be distracted by the beauty of a sky’s sacred witness. Imagine retrieving your camera from your purse and perusing your earlier remembrances while the choir sings their anthem.

Imagine, then, being disturbed by a seemingly odd coloring on a few of the pictures.

Imagine, then, zooming the camera’s focus in to take a closer look.

Imagine then, the possibility of what you think you see.

Imagine.

Call me crazy. Call me emotional. Call me way over the top. Call me hysterical for Jesus. That’s OK. I know Who I imagined this morning, and I am perfectly fine with your labels. Better still, I am perfectly fine with believing in the One whose eyes are always on me and who is coming soon to take me home as his bride.

“For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him” (2 Chronicles 16:9).

“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.’” (Revelation 21:1-3).

It won’t be long, friends, until we truly see him in all his glory. For now, we can only imagine him, watching over us and waiting for the divine “go” from his Father. In that moment, his voice will split the sky, and he will shatter earth’s darkness with the glorious illumination of our forever. Can you even imagine?

It’s a holy imagining worthy of our thoughts this day—a Sabbath day when our focus should level toward the vertical and our faith should level toward the seen possibility of a wild and sacred imagining. He’s been my portion this day. How I earnestly desire the same for you.

Look up, for your salvation is closer now than it has ever been! (Romans 13:11-12). As always,

~elaine

I came across this song last night for the very first time. You’ve probably heard it before, but would you take the time this day to listen again and to imagine your Father’s watchful and loving gaze over you right now? This song brought me to my tears and to my knees. I pray it will do the same for you.

Raising Faith (part ten): Embracing Your Intercession

August 23, 2008

“I urge, then, first of all, that requests, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for everyone—for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness. This is good, and pleases God our Savior, who wants all men to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth. For there is one God and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a ransom for all men—the testimony given in its proper time.” (1 Timothy 2:1-6).

What do the department store Target, handcuffs, two sobbing women (one old, one young), and a “no shirt wearin’, boxer brief showin’” teenager have in common? Absolutely nothing, unless your name is Elaine and you happened to be cruising the Target parking lot around 5:00 PM this evening.

No. We weren’t robbed. We were simply witness to the arrest of a young man who had apparently done something worthy of handcuffs—a rubber-necking moment if there ever was one! Police cars and flashing lights were enough to garner our immediate attention. But as soon as we had passed the scene of the crime, my curious attention suddenly turned to tears. Lots of them. Before long, I had my daughter crying and my son and husband wondering as to the reason behind my emotional outburst. I can sum it up in one word.

Compassion.

When I saw that young man standing beside the patrol car, half-dressed and with a look of warranted fear in his eyes, my heart beat with the love of a mother. Through choking sobs, I spoke the penchant of my heart’s pause to the carload of dazed companions. Words like…

*That is somebody’s child.
*This boy didn’t start out this way.
*He was made for more than handcuffs and crime.
*Somebody’s getting a phone call tonight that they don’t want to get, and it is likely to bring heartache.
*Who is going to tell him that life doesn’t have to be this way—that there is a Jesus who loves him and died for him so that he might truly live?
*How will he ever know the hope of heaven?
*Who is going to stand beside him when he comes before the judge?

Words like that, and before we’d left the parking lot, everyone else was caught up in the drama of my tearful wondering. We took a few moments to pray, asking God to shatter the darkness of this young man’s heart with the truth of Jesus Christ. To bring a person of influence alongside him who will lead him to the foot of the cross.

It may not sound like much. I suppose in the grand scheme of issues that now await this boy, it offers little in the way of an immediate salve. But it’s all I have to give him. And prayers, when offered on behalf of others, are sometimes the difference between heaven and hell. Between life and death. Between handcuffs and freedom.

I will probably never know the outcome of tonight’s prayers. At least not now. But I do know that my Father heard me and that he is faithful to act on behalf of all of his children, especially those so prone to their shackles and their cells. What happened tonight in my van wasn’t contrived or superficial or #10 on the list of “30 Full Proof Methods for Raising Godly Children.” No, what happened tonight was solely rooted in the witness of God’s Spirit living within, provoking me to compassion and moving me to action.

That action was prayer. It doesn’t always breathe this way. Sometimes, more is required. Sometimes, I am the one charged with the responsibility of coming alongside. But tonight, my requirement was different. It was about lifting the life of a young man before the throne of heaven in love and asking the Father to move in his favor. It was also about the drawing of young hearts and minds to do the same.

Sacred seeding on both counts. One seed for another mother’s child. Two seeds for my own. All seeds acknowledged before God because God is in the holy habit of receiving our prayers.

Intercession is a privilege and is the sacred ladling from our heart’s well. Unfortunately, we spend a great deal of time and energy underestimating its power. When prayers go seemingly unanswered, we are prone to keeping our silence. We closely guard our words for fear of having our faith challenged when God doesn’t breathe in compliance with our requests. Thus, we level the assumption that prayers matter little when all along, the very opposite is true.

Prayers matter much because prayers voice the witness of our relationship with the living, breathing Creator of the entire universe. Our words mean something to him. And when our words breathe on behalf of his children, he is tendered by our outward focus. We may not know them by name, but he does, and he is well-pleased when we take the time to acknowledge the value of a single human life.

I want my kids to grow in their understanding of prayer. I don’t want their lives to be so cloistered within the walls of a church that they forget the reason and purpose behind the church.

To go. To preach. To baptize and to make disciples of all people. To cry on behalf of a lost soul and then to petition the heart of the Almighty because they understand that heaven and hell hangs in the balance. That kingdom work can be accomplished through the pure intention of their young hearts. That sacred shaping doesn’t just happen on Sundays, but on every day. At every occasion, even when that occasion includes the Target parking lot.

If faith is to be raised in this generation, then prayer must find its witness through our voices. Yours and mine. We are who they are watching.

And tonight, while my daughter may not have fully grasped the weight of my tears or hers, she nevertheless gave way to something deep within. She gave way to her gut, and her gut told her that something of kingdom value was going on, and she wanted to feel it…just like her momma.

Oh for the heart of a child, so easily taught and so easily moved to her own well-intentioned prayers. May it be so for each one of us this day, and so I pray…

Move us quicker to our prayers, Father. Swifter to our knees in times of trouble, and truer in our petitions on behalf of your creation. Forgive us when our focus remains secluded toward self. Foster your outward focus within us as we live and move and have our being in you. Let our casual prayers be less and our intentional prayers find room to breathe in their absence. Thank you for always listening, and by the power of your Spirit and through the saving work of your Son, Jesus Christ, I ask for grace to come to a jail cell tonight for a young man who needs to know that a King and a kingdom await his arrival. Seed his heart for your forever. Amen.

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The Dark Side of Genesis

August 21, 2008

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light ‘day,’ and the darkness he called ‘night.’ And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.” (Genesis 1:1-5).

“Momma, how old is God?”

“God doesn’t have an age. God simply is. He is timeless.”

“Is he at least a hundred?”

“At least.”

“A thousand?”

“At least.”

“Was he here before it was dark?”

“Of course he was. Well…hmmmmm. Let me get back to you on that one.”

My children’s questions about God are the rich treasures in this season of our “doing life” together. Their hearts are tender and ripe for the seeding of sacred truth. They couldn’t have asked such questions a few years ago; their articulations prevented them from doing so. But they’ve grown, both in the physical and in the spiritual, and their hearts cry out for further clarity on some issues. For truth. For the firm roots that will form their theology about who God is and about his role in their world. Theology formed in the right now, will likely stay with them for a long season.

Thus, I want to answer them correctly and with the truth that is firmly entrenched in my own heart. I want to, but unfortunately, there are times when my “want to” doesn’t match up with my knowledge. Today was one of those days.

My daughter wants to know if God was around before there was darkness.

Darkness to her may not mean the same thing as it does to you and to me. As Christians, we level countless spiritual metaphors with the concept of darkness.

Evil.
Satan.
Sin.
Lawlessness.
Prodigal living.
Separation.
Hell.

But my daughter wasn’t asking for metaphors and for spiritual application. Darkness to Amelia means a few simple things.

Bedtime.
Bath and pj’s.
Absence of sunlight.
Moon and stars.
Monsters and an entire host of scary happenings that seem to only surface when the lights go down.
Insecurity.
Separation from mom and dad.

What Amelia wanted to know was where her God was when “dark nights” came into being. Was he alive? Was he aware? And I think, in part,

What in the world was he thinking?

If God was in the beginning, a God wrapped in unapproachable light and glory, why on earth did he create life with a dark side? Why, indeed?!

It’s a good question. And while darkness defines differently for my daughter and me, to ponder its beginning is a worthy dig for me tonight. Thus, I head back to the beginning—to the genesis of all beginnings. And here is what I know to be true as found in Genesis 1:1-5. In the beginning there was…

God (Elohim /plural).
Heavens.
An earth void of form.
Some dark.
Some deep.
Some waters.
Some holy hovering.

(Read it again, forming the picture in your mind…)

And then…

There was light. The first spoken word of creation. Light. Good light. A day’s light that allowed a day’s expression and appreciation for God’s creative genius. Darkness didn’t find its creation on that first day. It already was; it simply found its separation from that which received God’s audible and holy “good.”

Does this mean that darkness is bad? I’m not sure. But it was surely present in the beginning, and God thought it important enough for there to be a division between darkness and light. It makes sense that He who created the one is also the creator of the other. God speaks to this through the prophet Isaiah when he says,

“I form the light and create darkness, …” (Isaiah 45:7).

And to Job when he says,

“‘Who shut up the sea behind doors when it burst forth from the womb, when I made the clouds its garment and wrapped it in thick darkness, …?’” (Job 38:8-9).

So it seems as if I have an answer to the first notion of my daughter’s question. Yes, precious Amelia, I think that God is older than the darkness. But as to the second unspoken part of your question that deals with the darkness’s purpose, the answer is more veiled. And while I cannot fully reason the importance of a night’s darkness, God permitted its breath.

Perhaps to allow evil to find its metaphor.
Perhaps to allow free will to find its roam.
Perhaps to pulse the antithesis of God’s lighted witness.
Perhaps, because, God knew that without it, we would never fully appreciate the embrace of a new and every morning’s kind of faithful light.

And perhaps, just maybe, because he knew that the faith of a child lives pretty simply and that the mystery and seeming danger of a night’s hold would create the needful longing for the light’s approach.

Twenty-four hours of light, 365 days a year, breathes complacent and walks easy. But when half of our life breathes heavy and walks hard with the darkness that is allowed its measure of influence, well…it creates in us the same needful longing that it creates in my daughter.

A hunger for Light.
A desire for living, not sleeping.
A yearning for awareness and for participation in a day’s doing.
A longing to see that which cannot be visioned under the cover of darkness.

And that, my friends, seeds some purpose into any night’s pause. If it leads me to my hunger for Jesus in deeper measure, then heartily and willingly I pray,

Let the evening come, Lord, and let it blanket me with the expectancy of your morning’s Light. Let not the separation fuel my fear, but rather let the separation stir my longing for walking in the illumination of a new day’s faithfulness. Thank you for the mystery of my beginnings. Keep me to the study of your Word so that I am ready with an answer for the hope that breathes within me. But most importantly, keep me to my awe for the mysterious unanswerables in your Word. Root me in knowledge, but anchor me in faith. Amen.

~elaine

How grateful I am for the treasure of God’s Word and the study therein. I might not always do it perfectly, but I am confident of its effectual work in me. I hope that you feel the same. Thank you for the privilege of “digging” alongside you this day. May God’s Word breathe its strong witness over your heart and life even now! Shalom.

A Morning’s Glory

August 19, 2008

“Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. (Hebrews 12:10).

This morning, I almost didn’t do what I needed to do.

Almost.

But I didn’t. Instead, I did what I needed to do and in doing so, I got a taste of some morning glory!

I ran, and I am the better because of it.

I made the choice to partake in a discipline that’s been following me for over twenty years. Most days, I hate the doing. It is a dread that wears hard and heavy on my will. Discipline is like that. It rarely feels good at the time, but in the end, it usually works toward my good. And while my outward doesn’t necessarily mirror the fruits of my hard laboring, my inward boasts the beauty of my commitment.

Heart health.

As it is with the temporal, so it is with my eternal.

I’ve got a heart that needs strengthening and a faith that needs walking. It’s what I need to do, and on most days, it’s what I want to do. But there are those occasions when my faith walk seems better left untouched. Unchallenged and untamed by life’s daily because, quite frankly, life’s daily wears hard and heavy upon my stubborn will.

No matter. Long ago, I made the decision to reposition my will behind God’s. In doing so, I signed up for a life that chooses best interest over preferred interest. And as much as I am prone to the latter, it is the former that keeps me on the road toward heart health.

When the health of the heart takes precedence over the emotions of the heart, God is faithful to honor such obedience with a measure of maturing that cannot be attained otherwise. We may not see it, feel it, touch it or taste it in the immediate, but down the road, it will be our strengthened portion when we most need the power of its witness.

A walking faith is a difficult faith. It means that we surrender how we think it ought to breathe and, instead, receive the deep breath of the Holy Spirit who abides our steps, no matter how sharp and hard the path. It means drinking Him in, even when our preference leads our lust toward the ladle of another well. It means keeping to the Word and believing in its effectual and accomplishing power even when the script reads as seemingly void of purpose.

It means getting up, day in and evening out, and living the truth of who we are as children of the Most High God, even when our preferred inclination leans toward the snooze button.

Fully living our sacred adoption is our good and gracious requirement if we are ever to share in his holiness and to reach our perfected end. This is the overriding truth that keeps me on the path, friends. Not my emotions or my feelings. They’ve run the show for most of my life and almost always run counterproductive within God’s agenda for me.

Thus, I am learning to deny them their unhealthy portion of influence. Instead, I am filling my life with the discipline of Jesus. Yes, that’s what I wrote. Discipline. As Eugene Peterson would say, “a long obedience in the same direction.” It doesn’t sound too exciting, does it? In fact, to most it sounds rather boring and walks even more laborious. But there again, it matters not how it sounds or feels. What matters is the choice to embrace the journey.

I am finding that with such a decision comes some of the most fantastic growth I have ever known as a Christian. Why?

Because choices that seed on behalf of the heart always yield long term benefits—a lasting harvest of peace and righteousness that will carry this soul to its perfected end.

This is what I’m after. This is why I will keep to the road…to the run, even when my preference leans toward the snooze. Jesus Christ is the great finisher and completer of my faith journey; thus, I will keep repositioning my will behind his until he brings me home to my forever.

I don’t know how this strikes you today. Many of you are weary. Many of you are in the middle of making some hard decisions, perhaps even living the effects of some bad ones. Some of you stand at the edge of a road, wondering if the walk ahead is worth the process. Some of you stand at the end of a road, looking back with regrets and wishing the opportunity for a do-over. A blessed few are skipping along with the pure contentment of trusting in Jesus for the unseen. A gracious many, unfortunately, are hitting the snooze button one more time in hopes of waking up to a better day.

No matter. What does matter, however, is what we choose to do with our now. What will be the next step in our journeys toward heart health? Our steps matter, and together, we can do this thing. We can walk home to Jesus with a measure of sure victory because we are his chosen dwelling. Rarely will it breathe easy, but always will it breathe with the hope of heaven.

“Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. Make level paths for your feet, so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed. Make every effort to live in peace with all men and to be holy; without holiness no one will see the Lord. See to it that no one misses the grace of God…” (Hebrews 12:12-15a).

or the magnificent glory of a morning run! See to it, friends, see to it. And thus I pray…

Keep us to the path of our long obedience, Lord, which leads in only one direction—home to you. Strengthen our frames to do that which our souls need to do, rather than what our emotions cry out to do. Show us the beauty and lavish expression of your heart, so that we in turn will chose to tend to ours. And when all seems too hard and too costly, fill our frames with the wind of your Spirit who breathes sacred perspective over all our “seeming” until our seeming fades beneath the truth of our becoming. Thank you, Father, for your good discipline that is leading me on to my completion. And while it sometimes hurts and requires a hard humbling, I know you mean it for my holy. Thus, I gladly yield to your staff and to your rod this day. Amen.

Raising Faith (part nine): Embracing Your Release

August 17, 2008

It’s been a year now since we moved our son into his second floor dorm room at Campbell University. Even tonight, those memories come to me with clarity as if lived only moments ago.

Everyone told me it would get better—this pain that kicked me in the gut with the force and fury of a winded hurricane. I didn’t believe them then, but time has walked its cadence. And now a year down the road, my wounds of separation have healed, as God has tenderly walked me through this mothering milestone with the prayed for measure of grace that speaks the witness of a Father’s faithfulness.

Tonight we stand at the edge of another letting go. We are preparing to send him back. I won’t be making the trip this time. There is less need now, but there was a deep need back then. Then was painful. Now is joyful. Not because I am glad to see him go, but simply because I am free to let him do so. Free to let him become and to grow into the man who God has called him to be.

Nick and I have done a lot of maturing over the past year. I’ve come to understand that my “release” is necessary if he is to fly. I know it sounds simple. In theory, it is. But doing it—embracing the letting go? Far from simple. For me, it’s been the most complex learning to date. Honestly, I’m glad to be on the other side of this one, but while my heart rests this night in peace for the process, I know that there are those of you who are profoundly feeling the effects of being on “this side” of the letting go.

I’m drawn to you. My tears have wept for you. I cannot keep from being filled to a heart’s brim with a deep measure of understanding love and compassion for the steps that you are making. What can one mother possibly render as useful in this time of painful transition? What could be said that hasn’t already been spoken over your bleeding wounds? Probably very little.

But this I will tell you, for I know it to be true. I’ve lived and breathed its witness in this past year and in the previous nineteen that lie behind.

Our God is faithful and good. We will never rightly “let go” of anyone without his knowing and without his holy nod of approval. What pains us, pains him. Those we hold as dear and precious in our hearts are held as more precious in his. He allowed them our homes and our influence for a season, and now he asks us to release them back into the hands that held them first. To the God who shaped them and formed them and adorned them with the lavish expression of heaven (Psalm 139).

He asks of us a hard thing. But hard is not always bad, and in this case, hard is very good and especially right and our necessary portion if our children are ever to find their firm rooting in Jesus.

I didn’t like it then, but it swallows easier tonight, for I have gained the wisdom of a year long learning. I have hindsight, and before long, you will have it too. It cannot be rushed through, even though your heart cries out for the finished process. It simply must walk. Step by step until you find yourself on the other side of “letting go.”

As a word of witness this night, I want to share with you my penned ache from a year ago. Perhaps it voices the tears of your eyes even now. (an email sent to friends on August 18, 2007…)

There are some things…some places in all of our lives that simply are too tender for words. Moments when we come to the utter edges of ourselves and wonder where we will find the strength for the next moment. Where we are caught in the fragment between breaths and find it difficult to breathe our next.

I had one of those moments today. To date, it is the most difficult pain I have ever known. For those of you who have been through it, you’re nodding your head just now. For those of you who await its arrival in the somewhere not so distant future, you’ll not fully appreciate it until it arrives.

I hugged him tightly, cried my eyes out, and groaned with utterings that words cannot express most of the hour ride home from Campbell University this afternoon. I listened, in turn, as the 16 year old in the back seat uttered his own share of groanings. Bless Billy…all he was allowed to do was to manage the van back to our driveway. And just when I thought I had conquered my angst, I arrived home to find a beautiful bouquet of flowers on the kitchen counter. It arrived somewhere around noon today, while my in-laws were watching the little ones.

Completely of his own accord, my college freshman son (who I’ve often thought not quite ready for the world…for you see he has so much more to learn…so many more ways to mature) did a very “adult” thing. A very lovely and gracious thing. He thought of his mom, and he told her that he loved her…that she was his heart.

All I could do was hug my flowers and have my husband take a picture of me pitifully cradling my gift. A memory for the years to come. To remind me that, perhaps, Nicholas is ready for the world, and that with God’s help, we will both manage the transition with a measure of grace and joy.
Thank you for the times when you’ve prayed for us. I felt every one of those petitions honored today. Tonight I will gaze upon my bouquet as I let their beauty and my tears lull me to sleep to awaken me to another day. A Sabbath day.

A day that will rise on all of us and beckon our participation. I pray that all of us will find rest with our great and awesome God as the dawn announces its arrival.

I love you all. Thank you for loving us.

Peace…sweet peace for the journey and for the next.

Sabbath did come, my friends, and I found my peace in this journey through God’s amazing love and tender care over my soul. It will come for you, too, for Sabbath rest is always our portion when we allow our Father the freedom to walk our hurt and to heal our hearts.

This won’t be my final chorus of surrender as it pertains to my children. It has been the first and because of it, I will have some courage and understanding for the next. Perhaps, you need a little courage and understanding tonight. Your heart and your pain are safe with me. Greater still…

Your heart is perfectly loved and safe with our Father. More than anyone, He understands the painful tug of “letting go.” He walked it with his Son so that we could walk to him with our surrenders and lay them safely in his hands.

May God grant you the grace, wisdom, and beauty of a sacred release tonight. And may He always…always…give you his,

PS: Nick’s just taken off…I am fine. There is, however, another young lady who isn’t faring so well.