a guessing game and give-away

a guessing game and give-away

Time for a guessing game.
Where am I?
What am I celebrating?
With whom am I celebrating? (Billy doesn’t count…)
And a bonus for those who’ve been following me on the journey for a season or two…
What does this crazy guy do for a living that I have so much fun doing alongside him?
Leave a comment with your guessing; I’ll select two winners sometime upon my returning home. One winner for getting the first three right; a second winner for getting the first three plus the bonus right.
knee-deep conviction…

knee-deep conviction…

“I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had no where else to go . . .” a quote spoke by Abraham Lincoln as the Civil War waged on during his presidency. Spoken further . . . “My own wisdom and that of all about me was insufficient for that day.”

I read the quote while visiting Marsha’s blog and watching this video. On Saturday morning, the postman delivered this package from Kathy. Inside?

 

It now hangs in my bedroom so that it cannot be missed with my “lying down for the night” and my “rising up for the day.” A reminder of the power and privilege that is mine as God’s child. That my convictions—those soul-stirrings that refuse release—belong to my knees and that surely, like Lincoln, “my own wisdom and all of that about me is insufficient for this day.”

 

Today, I find my knees, because no matter the places I’ve tried to put my trust—find my anchor and hold my ground—they’ve all fallen short and not brought about the peace I desire. Today, I need to talk to Jesus about some things. Things not easily resolved with my “riding in the van” or “taking a walk” kinds of prayers. Not “over the dishes” or “putting away clothes” kinds of prayers. No, these things require a bit more deliberation. These issues I’m staring at full force on need the benefit of knees and worn carpet and an intentional posture in my heart before the Lord.

 

I imagine you’ve had a few moments like this in your own journey with Jesus—times when you needed to pour out your tears, worries, and fears before him in a safe place. Times free of distractions when the only noises around you are the whispers of Eden . . . the promptings of grace. Times when the “war” going on around you and inside of you is an assault to your faith and only by stepping back and kneeling down can you gain proper perspective—God’s perspective.

 

Are you willing to live that kind of prayer life, a knee-bending, wear out the carpet kind of prayer life? Are your prayers in response to the truth that you have no where else to go . . . that your own wisdom and all of that about you is insufficient for the task at hand? Or, are your prayers simply added as a postscript to human effort and manipulation?

 

I don’t want to reserve my knees for special seasons of extraordinary struggle. Instead, I want to default to their bending on every occasion . . . a prayer posture that doesn’t wait for disaster to strike but rather, a prayer posture that is willing to bend the knee in all of life’s matters, whether large and intrusive or small and slightly irritating. Left to my own configuring, I remain as I am—sacred, hostile, manipulative, and worried. On my knees and before the Father, I live higher. I find peace and perspective . . . less of a need to control and better able to concede my will to God’s.

 

There’s a deep insufficiency within me to handle all of life and its rude interruptions. There’s a deep sufficiency in Christ, more so, to cover them all.

 

For this day and for the next, and for however many remain in this earthly pilgrimage, may the overwhelming conviction of our hearts remind us that we have only one place to go to find our peace for the journey. To our knees, before our King. He deserves nothing less. Even so, bring your heart before his throne today. As always . . .

 

Peace for the journey,

when "less" receives a helping hand…

when "less" receives a helping hand…

I’ve been feeling “less” today.
A lot less.
I think it has something to do with the seemingly “more” going on around me… in others’ lives. Maybe even in your life. I didn’t think anyone could talk me out of my feelings. They were pretty strong, fairly steadfast in their obedience to keep watch over my heart. But then I called her… told her I needed to talk to another survivor. And she talked me out of my lesser estate.
She reminded me about our enemy and his wicked intentions. His schemes. His craftiness. His willingness to tailor-make a trap for me. And then she said this…
The next time the enemy comes knocking with his lies, you rip open your shirt… you show him your scars, and you remind him of the price that’s been paid for your faith’s cultivation. There’s a story in your scars, Elaine. Write it before the Lord.
Her words stunned me, lifted me; challenged me and released me to the greater work of my faith. My heart is lighter now than it has been all day. A few well-spoken words from a sister survivor has made all the difference. She understands about faith’s scarring; she carries a few of her own. We’ve known a similar pain. We’ve walked a comparable path, and we serve the very same Lord.
And tonight, my heart is profoundly grateful.
For friends who know Jesus.
For friends who understand scars.
For friends who speak the truth.
For friends who answer their phones, despite what the Caller ID indicates.
Thank you for picking up the phone, friend. You didn’t have to, but in doing so, you’ve been God’s strength and love to me.
May we all, each one of us, add such strengthening and love to a friend in need this week. Never underestimate the power of a few well-spoken words on behalf of the King and his kingdom. He intends for his words to release their witness through his children.
Keep to it. As always…
Peace for the journey,
~elaine

 

PS: I plan on taking a bit of a blogging break this week, but I’ll be around to visit you as I can. Shalom.

"the hour has come…"

I had a thought last night in those closing moments before restless slumber. It didn’t originate with me, and I’m certain I’m not the first person to think upon it. It’s one of those “staying” thoughts as evidenced by its arrival to my consciousness upon waking this morning. It blesses me, challenges me, humbles me, and relinquishes to me a gift of weighty proportion.
A thought that belonged to Jesus first, and now a thought that belongs to each one of us who call him Lord, Savior, Father, and King:
“The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.”(John 10:23)
Jesus would carry the fullness of that mission; Jesus was and is the only One to explore the depths of what that would mean as he willingly surrendered his flesh to wooden beam and iron spikes. Jesus, better than anyone else, understood the measure of an hour’s approach; not just any hour, but an hour—an eternal moment—that gave perfect witness to the perfect plan set in motion by the perfect Father in the perfect beginning.
Calvary. The hour that changed everything. The hour when the Son of Man opened the door for the God of man. The hour that gave stage to the King and his story. The hour that shook the foundations of hell. The hour that gave the world entrance into the portal of heaven.
God’s hour. Christ’s hour. And by his grace, our hour as well.
I tread carefully here, for in no way would I want to diminish the work of Calvary by suggesting that you and I, mere mortals with an eternal pulse, could measure our kingdom work against the work of the cross. It wouldn’t be fair to Jesus; his glorification of the Father because of his surrendered flesh is too big, too wonderful, too weighty a standard for human shoulders. What I am suggesting, though, is that there may come an hour or two for each one of us that, like Jesus, will become an occasion for the Son of Man to be glorified in us… through us… most days in spite of us.
As the blood-bought children of the Most High God, as the temples of his pulsing Holy Spirit, you and I are given the unbelievable privilege of being a doorkeeper for the King and his kingdom… of making gracious entryway for Jesus and his donkey, the Savior and his cross.
I don’t know when that hour will arrive for you in coming days. Perhaps this one or the next will cradle eternal significance for you and for the life of another. Perhaps in coming days. But of this I am certain…
You won’t have to wait very long for an occasion to display the glory of God in you. He’s just too big of a deal, too wonderful and far too weighty to stay bottled up inside of you. I suppose you could refuse his release—his witness—to those around you; but in doing so, you forsake your God-ordained, sacred responsibility as a believer in Jesus Christ—to glorify God’s name. To make God bigger. To magnify his majesty. To give God the stage so that others might bask in the reality of who he IS.
Oh friends, the hour is upon us. Not just any sixty minutes, but rather an eternal moment when the response of our hearts to Christ’s cross and its reaching grace can make all the difference between life and death for a human soul. Carry your cross this weekend, friends, in light of how our Jesus has carried his. Our hearts may be initially troubled by its weightiness, but what shall we say?
Father, save us from this hour? No, it was for this very reason that we came to this hour. Father, glorify your name through us. (paraphrase of John 10:27-28)
The clock is ticking. May our hearts be willing to keep in tandem with its pace. As always…
Peace for the journey,
post signature

a Word for all seasons…

I remember the day he broke my heart. After a week long vacation of exploring his neck of the woods and getting to know his family, he told me we were “over.” The next morning he drove me to the airport and put me on a plane headed north, back to my parents. I was devastated. Nothing… no words, no Kleenex, not even the kind nun sitting next to me could absorb my grief.
Some pains need some time to work themselves out of a heart. Perhaps you understand.
This particular pain would be no different. I spent the rest of my summer licking my wounds, even having thoughts of transferring to another college. My parents were wonderfully supportive. I don’t think they’d ever seen their baby girl cry so many tears. They loved me back to functioning health, and when September rolled around I made the one mile trek back to college (a hometown school) with a stiff upper lip and a gaping wound.
Asbury College was and still is a relatively small campus. Everybody knew everybody, and everybody knew—almost before returning to the fall semester—that I was suffering with a broken heart. There was a huge “elephant in the room” walking through the campus grounds that semester; everywhere I turned, he was there… not the elephant, but the boy that I loved. He quickly moved on to loving someone else. My heart’s pace walked a bit more slowly. And I never thought my tears would end.
But they did, and now some twenty-seven years down the road, I reflect on that season of my first heartbreak and just exactly where the turnaround began.
It began with the Word of God.
I’ve been a church girl all of my life… loved Jesus, known Jesus from the cradle. I’ve heard his stories, sung his songs, claimed his love, and walked some faith from the earliest of articulations. Along the way, there have been strong moments of clarity regarding my commitment to Christ, and my sophomore year in college would prove to be one of them.
As a teenager I began to lightly study the Bible. My youth pastor and his wife beautifully depicted for me what it meant to walk in discipleship with Christ; as a youth, I memorized a lot of Scripture as a requirement for participation in various missions’ trips. But rigorous Bible study wouldn’t happen for me until my late thirties. Up until that time, it was a gradual “heating up” of my heart and my developing a rich appreciation for what God’s Word could do for me.
In the fall of 1984, God turned up the heat a notch, and I found a scripture (perhaps it found me) that would become my saving grace for that painful season. I don’t know how I happened upon it, but as I did, I was sure that God had penned it into holy writ as a postscript just for me. I didn’t know what to call it then—“it” being when the Word (Logos) of God becomes a personal, spoken word (Rhema) to my heart. Thankfully, my lack of understanding didn’t get in the way of my receiving. Instead, I let it wrap its blanketing warmth around my heart. I quoted it over and over again until it became my certainty, and today (ever time I think on it or hear it quoted by another), I cannot help but attach a memory or two from that season alongside it.
It was the anchor that held me…
“Therefore, we do not lose heart; though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. Therefore, we fix our eyes not on what is seen but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” (2 Cor. 4:16-18)
Twenty-seven years ago, my heart was in trouble. At eighteen years of age, that break-up was the largest “momentary trouble” I’d ever faced. I’m so glad that God doesn’t weigh out our needs before giving us his Scripture… as if some verses are reserved for those more sorely troubled. We’re blessed to receive the entirety of God’s Word as a personal anchor for all seasons, whether the heartache is perceived to be big or small.
My heart has moved on from the summer of 1984. My light and momentary troubles have changed over the years. There were more heart “aches” to follow that initial one, and as they arrived, even more of God’s Word to comfort and anchor my weary soul. But I’ve never forgotten that beginning “word” that helped me through that rough patch, and friends, I don’t suppose I’ll ever forget the current “word” that has helped me through this recent rough one.
It “found” me in much the same way as 2 Cor. 4:16-18 did in 1984… almost as if God had penned a postscript into Scripture just for me. Even though I had read it before, I’d never read it through the eyes of personal suffering. It gripped me seven months ago. It grips me still. It has been and will continue to be the anchor that holds me in the days to come…
“And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen.” (1 Peter 5:10-11).
God himself… restoring me. God using the best of what man has to offer me, but in the end, God himself… restoring me. Renewing me. Making me strong and firm in my footing and steadfast in my faith. Father God laying brick upon brick between mortar mixed by his own hands, making sure that the broken walls before him are restored to a beauty not yet seen. A loveliness not yet imagined.
Many doctors, nurses, friends, family members, and even strangers have held my hands in recent days, speeding me on toward my recovery. But only One has held my heart, making me his priority and making sure that I arrive safely there. Only God is capable of such healing. Only God knows when enough is enough. Only God holds the words, writes the words, and speaks the words that can truly tether a soul to eternity.
Perhaps today you need a word from God as well. Perhaps you’ve already claimed one as your personal postscript from his hand. Perhaps you’d like to use one of mine. God’s Word is a foothold for all seasons, including all manner of heartbreaks, heart “aches.” If your heart is filled with ample tears in this moment, then God’s Word is you answer. It’s filled with truth; it breathes everlasting. Dig in and take hold.
To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen.
Peace for the journey,
post signature

 

PS: A special thanks to Sheri for starting a scholarship fund for my attendance at She Speaks this year; I am humbled by her kindness.
error: Content is protected !!