one word…

“Just one word from You, and everything changes.
Just one word from You, will bring me life.”
–Vicky Beeching {“Listening”, Eternity Invades, 2010}
Just one word.
I awakened with this refrain running through my thoughts this morning. I’ve been thinking on it ever since… pondering the one word that would mean the most to me. The one or two or five situations in my life and the one or two or five situations in a friend’s life where one word from the everlasting Word would change the landscape of both of our lives.
One word. One thought. One loving look. One wink or nod in my direction. One break in the clouds. One droplet from the sky. One ripple in the water. One whisper from behind the veil. One gentle grace released from the Father’s heart, and everything changes…
for all eternity.
I don’t know what it is about our prayers that move the heart of the Father in one direction or the other, but I do believe that they do… move the heart of the Father. And today I’m just bold enough, harbor faith enough, to bring a few thoughts before him and ask him for that one word that would change everything… that would bring me life.
Perhaps you’d like to join me in the pondering—to take some time this weekend and speak some words to the Father, believing that with his one word, everything in your life will change…
for all eternity.
God’s words have eternal consequences. He doesn’t speak them casually or coincidentally. Instead, he considers them reverently and then reveals them to us with all the confidence and certitude of heaven. We may not always like what he has to say, but we can be certain that when he speaks, everything in our lives will change…
for all eternity.
Of this I am convinced, friends. There have been a few one word moments in my life over the past year, and eternity reverberates with the witness of what I’ve chosen to do with God’s holy utterings. How I pray always to be found faithful with their receiving, even more so with the living of them out on the pavement of my everyday life.
And so this day I pray for that one word from God that will make the best difference for all of his eternity. His glory. He renown. He knows what that one word will be regarding my one or two or five situations. He knows the desires of my heart, even as he knows his own. And somewhere between the two—my desires and his—an understanding is reached. A decision is made. A holy word is spoken.
I wait in anticipation of what that might be, whenever and however he chooses its release.
What is the one situation in your life right now that could benefit from a single nod from heaven—a sacred one word from the Father’s heart that would bring you life? The one word that would change everything… for all eternity? I imagine that you are intimately acquainted with that situation… that it rests heavily upon your heart and even more prominently in your thoughts. Even as I have asked myself that question, it doesn’t take long for me to recall my one or two or five weighty situations.
One of them pertains to my writing; in particular, my recent WIP (you can read about it here). Along those lines, I’d like the opportunity to flesh out my ideas with other Christian writers and make some stronger connections in the publishing arena. Lysa TerKeurst at Proverbs 31 ministries is offering two Cecil Murphy Scholarships to attend this year’s She Speaks Conference in July (a conference for women interested in speaking, writing, and leadership). I was able to attend the conference a couple of years ago and would like to attend again this year. There are still a couple of variables to weigh out in the matter in regards to my participation, but I’ve been praying over it and am confident of God’s leading in the weeks to come. I suppose I don’t have to tell you what a scholarship would mean to me.

 

It’s just one of the few things I’m earnestly talking to God about in this season of my life. It’s not the most important thing but important enough to warrant a few prayers in anticipation of God’s one word. I would appreciate yours as well. Now, if you care to share, what is the one situation in your life that needs the application of our Father’s one word? I’d love to pray for you this weekend. You mean more to me than you know. As always…
Peace for the journey,
~elaine

PS: If you’d like to read more about my first visit to She Speaks, click here.

thinking back…

Do any of you ever go back and read some of your old blog posts? If you’ve been blogging for a season or two or ten, then I imagine you’ve collected a few hundred by now. I don’t often re-visit my own. I’ve printed them off and organized them in three-ring binders over the years, but rare are the occasions when I peruse their contents. But today I did. Today I reached back over time to a year ago today, March 8th, to see if anything flowed from my pen on that occasion.
I wanted to know what was going on in my mind and heart in that season. To see how things have changed for me… where I was back then, where I am today in relation to my back then. I was delighted to discover that on March 8, 2010, I was in the middle of writing my Breakfast on the Beach with Jesus series; in particular Part Five: Eating What We’re Served. It’s one of my favorite series of posts that I’ve written. One of my favorite “talks” to give when asked to speak at a corporate gathering. Why?
Because, even as the conversation was intimate for Peter and Jesus some 2000 years ago, it’s one of the most intimate talks I’ve ever had with God as well. In Part Five, I write about some of excuses we offer the Lord for missing out on our morning meals with him.
1. Too intimate; a heart is often exposed when dining with the Master.
2. Too picky in regards to what’s being served; menu is often confrontational when receiving from the Master.
3. Too busy; schedule is often postponed when sitting with the Master.
And I am struck by my own reminder. When I wrote those words a year ago, I wasn’t struggling with my morning breakfasts with Jesus. In fact, there weren’t many days back then when I would willingly break from the fire to tend to other things. Even when I did, I carried the fire with me. I was all about Jesus and more than willing to eat whatever he was serving.
Today I weep with remembrance. Today I think upon that season… how rich and full and expectant I was and how, now, I long for nothing more than to return to those moments. To feel like I felt. To be fed by his hands. To know the warmth of a fire that nearly scorched me because of my close proximity to its flames. It was a beautiful season for me, even though my family was in the midst of an impending move. Even though we were undergoing a test of our faith in regards to church life. Even though change was imminent, requiring our strong willingness and obedience to acquiesce to God’s requirements. Despite the swirling chaos around me, God’s fire was burning brightly within me, and the Red Sea in front of me was nothing more than a hop, skip, and a jump to my “next.”
That was then, and this is now, and I wonder about that fire. That intimacy. That breakfast, and that Jesus. I want to go back there and know now what I knew back then. It’s not that the intimacy, the breakfast, the flames, and the Jesus aren’t the same, aren’t available and were only reserved for that moment in time. My mind and heart know differently, believe differently. I know that my Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. That what he had for me back then is what he has for me right now.
But my feelings aren’t there; not today. Not in the same way they were back then. Certainly I know what it is to be in relationship with Jesus; my faith has held, despite the recent assaults to my flesh. But those assaults have taken their toll, friends; they’ve robbed me of some of my passion. They’ve dulled my senses, broken my stride, and forced me to look at life through clouded lenses. It’s not what I’ve asked for; it’s simply what I’ve been given, and today I weep for a former season that didn’t hold so much loss.
Today I remember March 8, 2010. I remember those dining room windows and HWY 581 that served as my backdrop for my writing. I remember the urgent delight I felt when sending the kids off to school knowing that my time with Jesus was soon to arrive, and then out of that time, the overflow of a few words would make their way to print. I remember sensing that all was well with my soul and that I was firmly, resolutely walking smack dab in the middle of God’s will. I remember saying to my husband that no matter the road blocks ahead, this is what we must do, this is how we must live. That we were on the right path. That…
God’s plans for our lives have never felt so good… so right… so much of a “faith” thing.
And so we stepped out in faith. And now here we are, still anchored in faith, but in a different place; a different season; a different backdrop; a different test; a further trust.
Life doesn’t feel as good as it did a year ago. Faith doesn’t as well. But it is what I must do. Faith is how I must live. It’s what I’ve been named, Faith Elaine. God’s plans for my life feel jumbled… off kilter… a more difficult abiding than in previous seasons. We’re still having breakfast on the beach, Jesus and me, because my memory serves me well. And my memory tells me that an early morning fire with food from the Master’s hand is a good start for my everyday. But it’s been a long time since I’ve known the fullness of that last time… the “sure and certain” of my year ago.
Thank God for a record of remembrance… for a few years’ worth of written testimony to the reality of seasons and the ebbing and flowing of emotion therein. They buoy me along, speaking of a history that I am prone to forgetting, reminding me that faith is the anchor that holds me despite all the changes that come my way. I don’t know what I’ll be writing about a year from now, March 8, 2012. I don’t know what twists and turns, mountains and valleys await my up and coming year. But I hope that when I arrive there, that I’ll have a year’s worth of penned remembrances to look back upon that recall the steady faithfulness of my God. I hope to still be pulling my boat on shore and running to the fire to receive breakfast from his hands.
It’s what I plan to do. It’s all I know to do. It’s simply the best I can do. Accordingly, I’ll keep doing.
Doing breakfast.
Doing faith.
Doing Jesus…
believing that with all of the doing, my feelings will catch up with my year ago to become a rich stone of remembrance for the seasons to come.
You are a good people to “do” faith with, friends. In a season when so much else around me is changing, it’s a comfort to have the consistency of your presence in my life. I pray for you many intimate times with Jesus by the fire in coming days. Don’t forsake your breakfast moments with him. He has come to do life with us, impart life to us, live as life within us. To know that kind of life is to receive from his hands each day. Don’t wait for your feelings to urge you toward the shoreline. Go in obedience. He stokes the fire in anticipation of your arrival. As always…
Peace for the journey,
~elaine
50,000 words of faith…

50,000 words of faith…

It mocks me from a distance; sits on a shelf in my den, begging for notice while collecting dust. A purple, three-ring binder containing 50,000 words, personal words. Words written from a place of noble thought and understanding. Words that took nearly a year to write. Words that I thought would surely play a bigger role in my “next” than they currently are. Words that serve as a reminder to me of where my heart was twelve months ago…
A woman completely in favor of faith and the pursuit therein.
I thought I had it figured out… my faith. Little did I know that the greatest challenges to my previously rehearsed faith were dancing on the horizon, hidden from me in the moment, yet soon-to-be unveiled with the passage of time. Most of you might reason (even as I have reasoned) that, as my struggles came into view, I would take hold of the earlier written 50,000 words. That I could and willingly would apply “noble understanding” to the strife at hand. That I would pull the binder from the shelf, shake off the dust, and dig into the thoughts, precepts, and strength from my earlier season. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
Why?
Because maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ready to fully trust these words to see me through. They were good words, right words, words in keeping with all that I know to be true, but in many ways, words untested by the pulls and strains of a stressful season. Accordingly, I left the purple binder untouched, leaving it in the same place where it had been residing for the past eight months. That is, until today.
Today I dared to take it down off the bookcase. I began reading those 50,000 words again and wondering if the faith that I wrote about back then would match up with the faith steps I’m taking right now. Where did I get it wrong? Where did I, by the grace of God, get it right? Are these “old” thoughts in keeping with my new reality? Is this manuscript worthy of a second read-thru with the further goal of publication?
It’s a daunting task… this survey of a previously written faith, yet one I want to apply myself toward. In doing so, I expect my faith perspective to evolve into fuller understanding. I know some things now, hold some things now that I didn’t know or hold a year ago. Today, my faith lives and breathes at a higher level. Today, I can better address the issue of faith, because mine has been tested with the purifying flames of God’s eternal love. Today, I can hold the purple binder in hand with deeper clarity about the words printed therein.
Today, and in the days to come, I want to sit with my words before God and examine them under his microscope. I want to finish that which I thought was finished a year ago. I want my faith to live even as it writes… truthfully. Thus, I get to it. No timetable this go around, just a willingness to fall into some words, sentences, paragraphs, until the work is complete and up-to-date with my faith.
Along those lines, I want to ask you a question or two, even as I ask them of myself:
1. What would you hope to learn/gain by reading yet another book on faith? (I just typed in the word “faith” under the book tab on Amazon and the results are 93,862 currently listed titles regarding faith). Who needs another book on faith? What can be written about faith that hasn’t already been written? What is the take-away value for this book?
2. What format/style works best for you as a reader? Longer, fewer chapters? Shorter, more chapters?
3. What keeps you interested as a reader? Stories, anecdotes, scripture study?
4. Are application questions at the conclusion of each chapter important to you as a reader?
5. Any further thoughts on faith that would help me as a writer better understand what you as the reader wants…
I’d love your input; no need to answer all the questions, but your insight is valuable to me as I shake off the dust from my 50,000 words and attempt to edit them in this new season. For the record… I’m still a woman completely in favor of faith and the pursuit therein. This old, purple binder and a freshly tested faith seem like a good place to start.
Thank you for joining me on the road, and thank you for your prayers this week. I’m recovering, and I am at peace.
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Update on Elaine…

Update on Elaine…

 (snuggling with her Snuggie tonight)
To all of you friends and family that have been in prayer for Elaine, I want to let you know that the news of the day has all been good. After an early morning surgery to have her ovaries removed and a couple of hours in recovery, my wifeforthejourney is back home where she belongs.
The surgeon’s news was encouraging with words like “uncomplicated, clear, and good.” The nursing staff was all very kind and attentive – we have been blessed with quality care every step of the way. Now that Elaine has had this last surgery to remove her ovaries we have used every option available to us to get rid of her cancer and keep it from coming back. Apart from some long-term prescription meds (estrogen blockers) to take, Elaine is going to be concentrating on the slow path to recovery.
Knowing you share my love for Elaine, I ask that you continue in your prayers for her healing. Even though we are now six weeks and counting since her last chemotherapy treatment, she continues to endure the effects of “neuropathy” (painful damage to her nerve endings caused by her last cycle of chemo) in her legs and feet. Elaine has been such a beacon through her cancer, but she is well beyond weary with the whole experience. We have so much to be grateful for and our friends and family are right at the top of our list! I’ll write more when I have the proper time for reflection. Right now, the patient is calling.
Billy
from trash to treasure

from trash to treasure

I watched her out of the corner of my eye. Tears were forming in hers. We’d just settled into our evening watch of American Idol when I noticed her sadness. The “boys” present in the room shrugged it off as insignificant. Boys are like that sometimes, not seeing past the tears to the deeper issue at work. But this momma… the girl in me… recognized her tears. I cried some similar ones in my younger years. Tears that now, in hindsight, seem frivolous and unwarranted, yet tears at the time of their initial release important in keeping with the moment.
A letting go kind of moment.
Let me explain.
My eight-year-old daughter is attached to her stuff. Whether it be her well-worn blanket (a.k.a. burp cloth from her infant days), her stuffed animals (enough to allow her only an eighth of an inch of her mattress for sleeping purposes), her hidden stash of Kit-Kats from Halloween, or her Sponge Bob Crocs from two years ago, my Amelia isn’t keen on letting go of her belongings. She’s a keeper of things, believing in their significance even if they’ve outlived their practical usefulness. She’ll fight hard for their survival, and last night would prove the same.
Occasionally, my daughter drinks from a sippy cup; she wouldn’t do so in mixed company, but in the safety of home, she prefers the cups from her toddler days. Over the years we’ve thrown several out, but two remain… until last evening. Alas, one of the screw-on tops to the cups did a dance with the dishwasher and came out mangled. My husband made the tragic mistake of announcing its demise and, subsequently, threw it in the trash can. My daughter was stunned by the revelation but kept her emotions in check. For a few minutes. Until the familiar intro to Idol began. And that is when I noticed her tears.
Amelia, what’s wrong?
Silence. More tears. (*Note to self… asking the question usually opens the floodgates to further tears.)
Amelia, are you upset about something?
Silence. Tears now freely flowing down her cheeks; body beginning to shake.
Amelia, are you crying about your cup?
Hesitantly she spoke, carefully camouflaging her angst so as not to attract the attention of the boys in the room…
Mommy, I need that lid.
I thought that might be the case, daughter. Would you like to keep it in your room?
Yes.
Then go get it.
Tears stopped, eyes were wiped, and a bee-line was made to the trash can and then to her room. Moments later, she settled herself back onto the couch and all was well with her heart. And I got to thinking.
About attachments. About the heart of a child that is willing to hold onto “things”… needs to hold onto things even though others deem them unnecessary, unimportant, limited in their usefulness. About what makes a “thing” more than a “thing.” About when a “thing” becomes something valuable and about why, as adults, we sometimes think it necessary to make that something lesser in its status.
As adults, we’re well-informed and well-trained with our “letting gos.” We don’t get too far into our maturing without experiencing a few painful ones. The capacity to “let go” and do so with some measure of grace is often the mark of maturity. We preach it, teach it, write about it, and live it. My life history is replete with such benchmark moments. I hope they’ve aided in my maturation at every level, but just last night I started thinking about it all. Wondering if maybe it’s OK to keep some attachments to certain things. To store them away and keep them hidden because they became a something to me in a previous season.
That maybe, sometimes we rush the “letting go.” That we are quick to throw away the “things” that have become something to us just because they’ve gotten a bit mangled and torn by the daily wear and tear of our handling therein. That, perhaps, by keeping a few of them, we’ll have a better chance of remembrance in years to come when recall becomes paramount to our moving forward.
Indeed, we need to “get on with the gettin’” on as it pertains to our growing up on the inside, but what if our growing up is, at least in part, related to our holding onto a few things? What well-worn things have we prematurely let go of in favor of shiny, new ones just for the sake of usefulness? I have no illusions that the lid to my daughter’s sippy cup will ever serve as a functioning lid again. But to her it is useful, at least for a little while longer. Why?
Because it’s part of her history.
She and that lid have some longevity. They’ve shared some years together, been as close to one another as a temporal thing can get to an eternal beating soul. When she was a toddler, she carried it with her everywhere she went. At eight, she limits her carrying to times of thirst. And I imagine in another year or so, she’ll outgrow her need for its companionship. But for now, it’s still something to her. And I find that beautiful and poignant and a message of grace meant for my own soul this day.
She needs her lid, and I need a childlike heart that is willing fight hard for a few things worth preserving. Things that are worth holding onto because they’re part of my history. Things that are meant for the treasure box and not the trash can. Things that are more valuable because of their wear and tear over the years and because of my handling therein. Things that, in the eyes of others may not seem like much, but things that are precious to me because they have “touched” my lips and made their way into my heart as a forever keeping.
I’m not into hoarding or collecting stuff for collection’s sake. And if you’re a regular reader of my words then you know I’m all about the “letting go” process. But I will tell you this… I’m a proponent of holding onto a few things that have become somethings to us. If we don’t have a few somethings, then our lives run the risk of floating aimlessly through our earthly tenures.
We all need an anchor in this season. A tried and true, reliable “holding onto” that will see us through to tomorrow. I don’t know what yours is—the one thing that you are willing to dig out of the trashcan and hide away as a treasure in the deep recesses of your heart—but I do know what mine is. And in many ways, it resembles a well-worn, well-chewed upon, overly used, and mangled sippy-cup lid.
A holding faith.
And I will fight to the death for that one, friends. Cry some tears over it and make sure that everyone in the room, including the boys, understand the fact that my faith isn’t made for the trashcan. That instead, I’ll store it away where my daughter has chosen to store her lid.
 
In my treasure chest… my heart (I had to search hard to find it in her room this morning). There’s a history we share, my faith and me, that’s worth holding onto. May it be the same for each one of us. Let us not be quick to discard an old faith as unnecessary, unreliable, limited in its usefulness. Let us, instead, be quick to hide it as newly discovered wealth to serve as a continual anchor in the seasons to come. May your faith be your something… the one thing… you’re willing to fight for today.
Keep to it, my good companions on the journey. Keep to the road of faith. As always…
Peace for the journey,

PS: I’ll be MIA most of next week as I’m scheduled for surgery on Monday at 8:00 AM. I would appreciate your continuing prayers. Shalom.

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