a walk with dad

What do you do on the day after the most painful day of your life?

I’ll tell you what I did. I drove thirty miles down the road to Lake Benson Park by myself. I walked that familiar trail, over and over again, soaking in the sights and sounds and warmth of the sun. Why?

Because it’s all I knew to do – the closest way I could think of to get to the man I am now separated from…

My dad.

We used to walk that trail together – too many times to count. That trail is Garner, NC – it’s where I fell in love with the town that my mother and dad called home for many years. Whenever I round that familiar bend and spy that weathered red barn set against the backdrop of that sparkling lake, well, my soul breathes better. It feels like home … like mom and dad. Like I could hop in the car and be around their kitchen table in under three minutes.

Mom and dad don’t live in Garner anymore. They moved to Raleigh at the end of 2019 to a senior living community. And then 2020 happened. And then a continuing series of events that could not be helped that have finally culminated in the event that has caused us all great heartache and sorrow.

Yesterday, my mom walked dad down to a different wing of their senior retirement community where some assessing will be done regarding my dad’s care going forward. Accordingly, my mother (along with the rest of us) are separated from my father for the first time in our lives and for a time yet-to-be-determined.

I hope it’s not for long; my spirit tells me it will be longer than any of us would like.

And because of COVID restrictions, visits are limited to one person, one hour a week. To hell with it – really. It’s time for COVID and all its wretchedness to move back to the place from whence it came – to the bowels of hell.

History will not be kind to COVID-19 and all its separation rules, especially as it pertains to the elderly who aren’t sick and who’ve plunged a needle into their arms in hopes of having any measure of freedom. It will go down as one of the cruelest, most inhumane treatments ever perpetrated on humanity. It is wrong; it is evil; it is not living to live apart from those you love. Woe to the men and women who are arbitrarily making ill-fitted rules that keep loved ones apart at, perhaps, the most vulnerable times in their lives.

I believe this to the core of my being; I’ll preach it until my breath is gone. I’ll die on that hill, friends.

And so tonight, on the night after the most painful day of my life, my dad is sitting alone in a new room, probably wondering where we all went. Maybe not. I hope he’s not fully aware of the separation. But the rest of us are … fully aware of it all.

My hands are tied. Sometimes pain cannot be escaped but only embraced as a consequence of a less-than-desirable solution to a complex problem that really doesn’t have any good answers despite our praying toward that end.

And I have prayed … and prayed. Thought and thought. Rammed my will part-way through an impenetrable wall only to be left bloodied and bruised by good intentions.

The deepest desire of my heart is for my parents to have the best care going forward. It is the most natural impulse of my heart to honor the ones who gave me a good beginning by giving them a spectacular ending to their earthly journey – to hold their hands tightly, securely, courageously. To walk them home to Jesus with dignity. That’s how it should be; however, that may not be how it goes.

Accordingly, to date, the most painful day of my life.

I am in good company. I am moved tonight by a similar scene on a Judean hillside 2000 years ago. Jesus, in one of his final acts of love before his death on a cross, wanted to make sure that his mother had a good ending:

“When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, ‘Dear woman, here is your son,’ and to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.” (John 19:26-27)

In the middle of his doing the work that he came to, while all the sins of the world (past, present, and future) were being strapped to his back and were ripping his flesh apart from top to bottom, Jesus looked beyond his personal pain and noticed his mother’s. It was the most natural impulse of his heart, to make sure that the woman who gave him his very good earthly beginning would, indeed, have a very good ending of her own.

There’s a kinship there on that soil … between Jesus and me. The love he had for his parents mirrors the love I have for mine. I would trade all of my earthly possessions in this moment to fix the separation that now exists between us all. Worldly things mean nothing compared to the eternal reward of getting home safely … securely … hand-in-hand with the ones given to our charge and keep.

That would be bliss. That would be best. And that is how I will continue to pray… for a better ending for the man and the woman I call mom and dad. What was served up yesterday ain’t it – not even close. Instead, it was wretched, terrible, and everything I had hoped it would not be.

So wherever daddy is tonight, I pray that through the gift of the companioning Holy Spirit’s presence in his life, he’ll know deep down the love we all have for him. I pray that, when he looks at our pictures, he’ll remember that we’re here for him, even though we’re separated from him.

And while I will never again have daddy’s companionship while walking around Lake Benson Park, and though I may not get the privilege of walking him home to Jesus hand in hand, he and I will have the fields of heaven to walk through together.

I know this to be true; our citizenship is certain. Of all the gifts he has ever given to me, this is the best one – the gift of Jesus Christ and my eternal residency therein.

That’s my small sliver of silver lining, friends. The only one I can find tonight. It will pull me through to tomorrow.

For those of you who know my folks and some of our story, we appreciate your prayers for brighter days. Would you speak a little favor on my dad and mom tonight? I do heartily believe in the power of prayer, and I know that God’s peace is available to us all.

I just haven’t been able to take hold of it recently.

#muchlove,

Back in 2014, Mayor Ronnie Williams of Garner interviewed my dad as “one of the great people of Garner.” You’ll enjoy seeing that interview by CLICKING HERE!

A cup of warmth; a cup of dignity

A cup of warmth; a cup of dignity.

That’s what I bought him today. It only cost me five bucks and a little bit of time – a small price in comparison to the gift given.

I saw him walking down Main Street, carrying a backpack along with multiple grocery store bags. Instead of holding his groceries, they held his worldly possessions. Freezing temperatures and spitting rain are hostile enemies of the homeless – just more fuel added to an already burgeoning fire of helplessness.

I wondered if he would follow me to the McDonald’s just down the road. Daughter and I were headed there for our usual Monday lunch date. McDonald’s is one of the last stops before the interstate. Perhaps he would venture in before venturing onward.

He did, quickly making his way to the back corner of the restaurant. A look of shame covered his face, his eyes not wanting to meet anyone else’s until they did … meet mine. Before praying at our table, I made my way over to his.

Can I buy you lunch, Sir? What would you like today?

He looked up; his response was humble.

Yes, whatever you’d like to get me.

After nailing him down as to the specifics, I brought a chicken sandwich, fry, and Sprite over to him. I asked him his name, and then I asked him how I could pray for him.

I want to be warm, and I want to be protected.

Accordingly, we prayed together.

As I made my way back to my table, the tears began to fall.

I watched my new friend out of the corner of my eye while he ate. He took off his hat, plugged in his small radio, and for a few minutes, he was warm. He was protected. For a little patch of his day, he belonged somewhere.

Funny how five bucks and a prayer can buy someone so very, very much.

A cup of warmth; a cup of dignity.

As my daughter and I bundled up to leave, I waved good-bye, walked out to my not-yet-paid-for vehicle, turned on its heater, and headed home.

I have so much; Bobby has so seemingly little.

But for a few moments today, we sat together on level ground, talking to the Ground-Leveler, Jesus Christ. At God’s feet and before his throne, life gets simpler … safer.

That’s where I want to live. That’s how I want to live. Giving the warmth and protection of Jesus Christ to others. In Christ, and in him alone, all people re-discover their dignity.

Pay attention to the world around you, friends. There’s a world full of Bobbys waiting for you to take notice. A little time on your hands, a little prayer in your heart, and a little money in your wallet will exponentially move the kingdom of God forward. To the Father’s glory, for his renown, and for his name’s sake give a cup of warmth and a cup of dignity to someone today. In doing so, you bring heaven to earth.

Amen.

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,

follow the lights

The remembrance crept into my mind this afternoon – a memory usually left somewhere in the back, catalogued for an occasional trip down memory lane.

It was hellish ride that night. We huddled tightly together in the backseat of a friend’s truck, following behind an ambulance that carried my injured boy. We could barely see the vehicle’s reflecting lights for the ferocious havoc of Hurricane Florence. The storm was only beginning its assault on our community, and my son was one of its first victims.

“How will I know if he dies on the way to Charlotte? That’s a long trip to not know the condition of my son. How will I know?”

My heart was breaking as I questioned the valiant EMTs who’d made the three-hour journey from Charlotte in hurricane-force winds just to turn around and head back into them with my son as their cargo.

“We’ll meet you in the ER, Mrs. Olsen. He’s in good hands.”

And just like that, they were gone. I couldn’t touch my son, couldn’t hold on to him should he slip away to Jesus during those hours of dark separation. Instead, I could only release him to the night’s drive in hopes of his survival.

With communication cut off, I entered into the deepest, darkest moments I have known on this earth. I had no way of knowing if the son I loved so dearly was with me or if, instead, he was with his Father in heaven. I simply and profoundly had to let go and tarry with the unknown … come what may.

That’s a difficult holding, friends, to be suspended in a place of not-knowing.

Some of us are feeling a similar weightiness right now. We’re trailing behind an ambulance that holds someone … something … we dearly love.

Yes, a different season with different circumstances. Still and yet, a time that feels heavy … like a storm is brewing just off the coast, readying itself for landfall. A night pregnant with the possibility of a Cat-5 hurricane.

Howling winds; falling trees; rising waters; a lack of communication with the ambulance up ahead.

That’s how weighty this day in 2021 feels to me, a bit like that night back in 2018.

Two thousand years ago, another mom stood at a distance from her son’s wounding. She couldn’t hold him in the dark hours of separation, only tarry with her punctured heart:

“When all the people who had gathered to witness this sight saw what took place, they beat their breasts and went away. But all those who knew him, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things.” (Luke 23:48-49)

All those who knew him – standing at a distance.

Let that sink deeply into your thoughts. Picture the scene. Feel that moment of utter separation and desperation.

The pause seems interminable.

As it was for those who were distanced from Christ 2000 years ago, and as it was for me two years ago, so it may be for some of us today.

As questions begin to mount in this space of not-knowing, so can the fear. What cannot be understood in these hours of silence can only be imagined. And those imaginations left unchecked are rarely the underpinning of a solid faith; instead, they are often its undermining.

This is the heart stretch … the reaching part where our faith must exceed our grasp.

We’ll not know the outcome of the ambulance ride until it reaches the ER. And to get there, we must be willing to follow behind its reflection.

Into the winds; around fallen trees; through rising waters; without communication.

Indeed, the heart stretch of faith.

The ambulance is moving, friends. Get in your vehicles. Follow closely the dimming lights in front of you. Follow trustingly. Follow prayerfully. Follow fully – all the way through to the ER.

God is with you on the ride; God is waiting for you as you arrive. A Cat-5 hurricane is no match for the accompanying and powerful presence of our Lord.

You’re in good hands. So am I. I’ll meet you in the ER. Until then…

Peace for the journey,

PS: For those of you new to Jadon’s story, you can click here to see more. 

gathering information

I watched the faint blip of light hop through the night sky. It was barely noticeable set against the clear, brilliant backdrop of the crisp January evening. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have noticed it during my walk; ordinarily I’m not looking up.

But two nights ago, I did – look up. Some nights require it.

Accordingly, I took to my back-porch stoop and quieted my heart before God.

Look up, child.

After an agonizing couple of days of looking around, I was more than willing to look up.

It was then that I saw it – a dim light passing through the heavenlies. I spoke my heart out loud with a chuckle:

“Probably not a plane; probably just another drone gathering information on me.”

No sooner had the words left my mouth when God let a few of his own words leak into my heart:

“Me too, Elaine. I’m out here gathering information … on you.”

Tears began to flow, and I was deeply comforted by that singular thought.

God is gathering information on me; my God is an evening-gathering God.

I don’t know what it is about the darkening of night that seems to reveal more clearly the whispers of the Father. Perhaps the slowing down of a hard day’s laboring better hosts his inclinations. Our days are mostly cluttered, overstuffed with noise. But when the sun steps off the daily stage, the hours open up a bit more. And in that widening space, our souls begin to breathe … begin to look up and behold the heart of the Father.

Two thousand years ago, Jesus took an afternoon walk with two strangers. As the sun began its descent, the strangers made a simple invitation to Jesus:

“… they urged him strongly, ‘Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.’ So he went in to stay with them.” (Luke 24:29)

And in those evening hours, Jesus did something that Jesus does willingly for all those who urge him to stay – 

He revealed himself to them while breaking bread with them.

He wrapped up their hard day’s laboring with a soul-breathing, life-giving revelation of just how far he was willing to walk on behalf of kingdom expansion.

Jesus was willing to walk to their table. And two nights ago, he was willing to walk to my back-porch stoop and break bread with me as well.

What a moment of tender grace … to look up and then to look in and sense the assurance of my Father. The lights above me were no match for the Light within me. God was there, gathering information on me. Checking on me. Surveying my heart and allowing me to survey his.

It is the same for you.

Jesus sees you; he loves you; he’s with you. Even now, he’s gathering information on you.

Jesus wants to know how you’re doing. He has some tender moments of grace and time reserved just for you. This is your privilege as children of the one true God.

No other god sees you; no other god loves you. No other god is gathering information on you because no other god is real.

Only Jesus. Simply and profoundly, holy Jesus.

So tonight … look up, child.

Give your soul some room to breathe in these coming hours.

For it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.

Let us strongly urge the Christ to linger around our tables for a few moments longer.

Revelations await our hungering souls.

Revelation comes to lead us home.

Peace for the journey,

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