Peace for the Journey | Elaine Olsen

a worthy clutching…

October 8, 2010

When we first moved here in June, I had it in my heart and mind to lead a new Bible study with the folks at our new church. I didn’t know if it would take… if there would be any interest in their hearts for the same. We have a few takers.

In addition, upon our arrival I had no idea I would be diagnosed with breast cancer. After receiving the news, I wrestled with the idea of forging ahead with the Bible study. I always want to give it my all when facilitating, and with Bible study days following chemo days, it seemed a bit of a stretch for my flesh. Still and yet, there was something about the study (chosen long before receiving my diagnosis) that stuck with me… that made sense to me… that seemed in keeping with every unveiling step in my journey.

Priscilla Shirer’s Jonah: Navigating a Life Interrupted.

So with faith at the lead, we forged ahead. This past Wednesday was our second session we had together. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was a difficult struggle for me.

But God. He prevailed in spite of me, and in the end, I was the one most blessed by our round table discussion and the message from Priscilla’s heart.

Isn’t that how our Father works on our behalf, even when we least expect it? He is faithful to honor his commitment to the Word… to having it all work out for our good, even when we are sometimes unaware of its benefits while “walking it through”? Long ago, I made a decision to keep to the Word, solely based on the faithful promise if Isaiah 55:10-11. I may not know what God’s Word is working in and through me in the moment of my reading it, but I have a holy promise that it’s sowing kingdom truth within the soil of my soul that will one day flourish more fully into blooms of faith.

And with that kind of guarantee, friends, I’ll keep to the Word every day. It is here for me… for you. I hope that you’re anchoring your heart alongside me today in the fresh-breathed words of God, and that his truth is alive and active in your every moment as you keep to the road of faith.

As I’ve read through the book of Jonah (it’s only four chapters… go ahead, you can read it in one sitting), many new wonderful truths I hadn’t seen before are jumping off the pages to engage with my thought processes. In particular, two beautiful verses that are now inscribed upon my heart:

“Those who cling to worthless idols forfeit the grace that could be theirs. But I, with a song of thanksgiving, will sacrifice to you. What I have vowed I will make good. Salvation comes from the LORD.” (Jonah 2:8-9).

Worthless idols.

What would qualify in your case? What are you clinging to today to help you get through today that, at the end of the day, might have had your forfeit some of the daily grace of God that is rightfully yours as a child of the King? Maybe they aren’t bad things. I’ve certainly had a short list in recent days.

Drugs.

Family.

My Bed.

Internet.

Countless books on cancer.

Phone calls.

Food choices.

All manner of accouterments to ease my transition in this season.

I imagine your list to look a bit different. I’ll allow you your expertise on this one. Safe to say, none of the things I’ve listed above are evil in themselves; however, if they are the only things I’m clinging to in this season of shifting health, then at the end of the day, I’m left depleted. Perhaps not fully bankrupt, but more depleted than had I not taken time to first cling to the one thing that will safely navigate me through this journey of grace.

The cross of Jesus Christ.

When word was released about my cancer to the pastors of the NC Annual Conference of the UM Church, we had several gracious replies from many of our contemporaries. In particular, Rev. Michael Hobbs sent me six clutching crosses (one for each member of my family), made by his own hands. Rev. Hobbs is a cancer survivor as well, and upon his recent retirement, had taken it upon himself to handcraft these crosses as a ministry to those who are currently going through a difficult season of pain. My cross sits bedside and has been in my grip throughout many of the nights since August 23rd. I don’t in any way hold it as an idol. It’s simply a piece of beautifully carved, cedar wood.

Rather, I hold the cross as my reminder. As of way of focusing in on my anchor in this time of great tribulation and testing, so that I can say in unison with the Prophet Jonah:

“But I, with a song of thanksgiving, will sacrifice to you. What I have vowed I will make good. Salvation comes from the LORD.”

The constant prayer of my heart in this season is to never lose focus of God’s perfecting work in me. To get to the end of this all, whether it be the projected four more months of treatment or something further, and to have not allowed God some of his power to be shown more clearly in my extreme weakness will feel a bit wasted to me. I’m not sure how he is going to work all of that out. My immediate thoughts are that my worse days are ahead of me. That being said, I’m fully taking God at his Word, daily reminding him of the promises he has made to me in his Word, and trusting (as best as I can) that what he says will, in fact, come to be.

That beauty will arise from ashes, and that “the God of all grace, who called [me] to his eternal glory in Christ, after [I] have suffered a little while, will himself restore [me] and make [me] strong, firm, and steadfast. To him be the power forever and ever.” (1 Peter 5:12).

God is the restorer of my flesh, of yours as well. He, HIMSELF, will do the work in us because he is the One who created us for more than our fleshly temples. He created us for his heavenly one. We are the flesh and blood of the living God, put on this earth with the single responsibility of pointing others to the way home—

the cross of Jesus Christ.

That is why I clutch mine closely in my grip throughout the night, for I’ve found that the nighttime is when I need its witness the most. Perhaps you understand.

Thank you for breaking a little bread with me this morning. I really didn’t think I had the internal strength to write a complete thought, but I needed to, wanted to desperately connect with you and let you know that God is alive and active and ministering to my heart in tender ways in this time. I’ll spare you all the details regarding the many ways this chemo is now beginning to attack my flesh. But may I always be faithful to tell you that God’s daily grace is sufficient to see you through… whatever is eating away at your flesh today. Put your focus there… on God’s daily grace, and clutch the promise of Calvary close to your heart.

Make good on what you have vowed. Salvation comes from the LORD. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: Some of you have mentioned your interest in Rev. Hobbs clutching crosses. If you’d like to talk to him further about securing 1-2 crosses of your own for someone in need, please e-mail me personally, and I will send you his contact information. Rev. Hobbs gifts these crosses as a ministry and puts a great deal of time into making each cross. Therefore, the amount of requests he can take at one time is limited. He’s also written a year-long book of reflections entitled A Servant’s Song. You can find it by clicking here. Thank you, Rev. Hobbs, for reaching across the miles, entering into my pilgrim journey, and blessing me with the work of your hands that has now made its way into the soil of my heart. You are sowing good kingdom seed. Shalom.

the next page {chemotherapy}

October 5, 2010

Today I’ve turned the page in my cancer journey… a new chapter entitled Chemotherapy. There was a great deal of mystery surrounding this event; new chapters are like that. We cannot hold their fullness on the front end. To see it all, hold it all, and taste it all before that “all” arrives is to mark that chapter as previously read… as “been there done that,” no further mystery to absorb. Not so in my case. Yes, the “process” of receiving my chemotherapy is now recorded as experience. The after effects are what remain hidden. As they unfold, I will be careful to take notes and to consider their influence over me. It’s simply too much to know today. Accordingly, I will leave it for tomorrow.

Which reminds me, yet again, about my “worrying” needs and the importance of placing them within the context of single day… sometimes a single hour. God has tomorrow covered. All I need to be concerned with is how to manage the fullness of today. And so far, today has been covered magnificently by the grace of God.

God is my hero, and when his Spirit living within me connects with his Spirit living in him, the result is an unstoppable force of nature—a channel of power, strength, peace, and goodness. I love keeping pace with my King. I love when my heart rhythms with his. Today has been one of those days for me, and I am grateful for the simple joy of a single day that is ending far better than how I imagined it would end even as it began a few hours ago.

{my chemo nurse, Sarah, who is from Montana! I’m certain that God hand-picked her for me… for those of you who don’t know, I have a penchant for Montana.}

{free hats from Friends of the Cancer Center / Cape Fear Valley Hospital}

I wish I could write more… words escape me in this moment. Safe to say, thank you for ministering to me and my family as you do. You are the fingerprints of God all over my heart. I count it a privilege to walk alongside you in this season. As always…

Peace for the journey

Intercession

September 30, 2010

Today, I write to you from a point of sheer determination and will, not from my feelings. If I were operating from my feelings, I’d leave the pen where it resides and forget about yesterday’s prompting in my spirit. Yesterday it would have been easier to write my faith; today a bit more strained. Why? Because today I am weak in body, and a compromised immune system doesn’t always cooperate with faith’s expression.

No matter. I keep to it, because my name is Faith Elaine, and faith doesn’t shrink back in the face of difficulty. Faith forges onward. Faith presses through. Faith lives even when faith is challenged. Faith speaks even when the taunts of the enemy seek to keep her silent. Thus, a word or two from my heart this morning—a thought, really, that has been marinating in my soul over these past couple of months since I first received my diagnosis on August 23rd.

Cancer gives back.

An odd thought really, maybe even an offensive one to some, especially for those of you who are currently carrying a tremendous grief because of the price that cancer has exacted on your hearts. If that is you, then I want you to know that I write this with tenderness and from my own personal perspective—my own way of choosing to live with my diagnosis, come what may.

Cancer is an ugly beast; so is any disease that has “entered” into our flesh in order to eat away at what is good in hopes of replacing it with everything bad. Cancer is a formidable foe, one that must be taken seriously and contended with ferociously. Believe me when I tell you that I have my boots strapped on and my weapons at the ready for the next battle that looms on the horizon. That being said, I’ve also made a choice to embrace the fullness of that battle. To receive its merits, along with its costs.

Every battle has its merits, for with the struggle comes further clarity about who we are, what we’re made of; Whose we are, what He’s made of. When called to battle, we are called to more than weaponry and strategy. We are called to completion—a though and through kind of process that allows us our sacred shaping and molding at every point along the way. Knowing this, and in the spirit of James 1:2-4, I made a deliberate decision on that first day of hearing my diagnosis:

I will look for the blessings of my cancer. Thus far, what cancer has given back to me has far exceeded what it has taken from me. What is has taken from me is a pound or two from my flesh… literally.

So what.

From the moment I made entry into this world, I began my exit therein. My life is a mere vapor, and I’m currently living on borrowed time—God’s time. So are you. This doesn’t mean we get wrapped up in the morbidity of it all; it simply means that we concede our life journeys to the time table of the One who knit us together in our mothers’ wombs, who steps the road with us along the way and as we go, and who will walk us home in due time.

Our steps belong to our Father, and if my cancer is going to be of any benefit to me on this odyssey of faith that I’m traveling, then I must be willing to receive its merits as well as its detractors. I will not stay hung up in the pain. Instead, I make a deliberate choice to be suspended in the promise of what it can do for me instead of what it longs to take from me.

One of the richest ways my cancer has given back to me is being the recipient of sacred intercession—the earnest and fervent prayers of the saints. Unless you’ve stood on the receiving end of such a gift, it’s hard to explain. I will tell you this… the daily peace I know and feel in my heart has a direct connection to the prayers that are being offered on my behalf. They have been genuine, heartfelt, spoken, and heard by God. And while I don’t know all of the stories surrounding those prayer moments, I do know the details of one. My father tells it best, so I leave you with his remembrance of a recent visit to small church in Estonia:

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Over the past fifteen years, Jane and I have made eight visits to Estonia. Those incredible people have always made me feel ‘at home’ among them. In many ways, our faith-journey has intertwined itself with those wonderful people in spiritually formative ways. It happened again this past Monday.

One of my former students there, Viktor Batov, pastor at Aseri, invited us to worship with his congregation on Monday, at 2 p.m. It was the only time we could ‘work it in’ the schedule. It was cold and rainy, but the small church was about half-filled. When we arrived we could hear them singing. And I knew I was home.

There were twelve worshipers there! Twelve disciples, you might say. When I was introduced, I brought greetings to them, and then asked Jane if she would like to speak. She looked at those elderly Russian ladies and remembered how our daughter, Elaine, had mentioned her ministry with the ‘ancients’ (the older women at her church). Jane saw another congregation of ancients, and simply asked them to pray for our daughter, Elaine, who had been diagnosed with breast cancer.

She no sooner mentioned that, when the pastor asked, “Chuck, your daughter?” I nodded and he immediately began to weep. He stood up and said, “Let us pray right now.” There was no altar to kneel at, so Viktor and I knelt, prostrating ourselves on the floor, and the praying commenced, with everybody praying aloud in Russian. We could not understand a word, but we understood full-well what was happening! Upper Rooms are like that.

These ‘twelve disciples’ felt our pain, knowing that we were four thousand miles away from the one we love so much! Their hearts were ‘breaking’ on our behalf, as they carried our daughter to God’s healing mercy and grace. As I lay there on the floor, I don’t recall the words of my prayer. I was weeping, trying to pray, but all that I could muster was, “God, you are in charge. Only you can fix this.” And a peace that ‘passes all understanding’ came and confirmed that reality in my heart. God is in charge!

When the service ended, one of the ‘disciples’ came and gave Jane a slip of paper, torn out of her prayer journal, simply stating September 20 (the day of our service)…Thursdays at 2:30 (the time and day of week) she would be praying for Elaine. That nameless Russian believer was added to a host of names interceding for our daughter. It was like hearing, “We are all in this together, separated by thousands of miles, language, and culture; but all getting together at prayer time!” I’m so glad I’m a part of the family of God! {by Chuck Killian, my father}

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Thank you, friends, for your continuing prayers. Tomorrow, I will have my port placement, and chemo will begin on Tuesday. Accordingly, I’m not sure how often I will be here to visit with you. My precious friend, Juanita, will be arriving just in time to walk me through the aftermath of my first round of treatment. I count it a joy to have friends both near and far who are willing to step this path with me. Take good care of your hearts in this season; keep praying for one another, and if I can be an intercessor for you, please let me know. As always…

Peace for the journey,

on being a "Luke"…

September 28, 2010

{for Nancy, my “Luke” today}

“Do your best to come to me quickly, for Demas, because he loved this word, has deserted me and has gone to Thessalonica. … Only Luke is with me.” (2 Timothy 4:9-11).

The words from his pen haunt me now, even though nearly two thousand years have passed since they were first inked onto parchment.

Only Luke.

Two words that paint a vivid portrait of comfort and pain all in the same brushstroke. To have a Luke is a special gift. To have only one, especially in times of intense suffering, is a difficult abiding. Why? Because sometimes our pain needs more than one Luke. Sometimes our prisons and our shackles, our tumors and our tumult better benefit from corporate comfort rather than the solitary efforts of the one. Sometimes we need the beauty of a bouquet rather than the bloom of a single rose. Sometimes… our woundings cry out with more need, more desire, more desperation than can be aptly handled by a single saint.

Sometimes, my good friends, we need the church.

You have been the church for me over the past six weeks. To chronicle the fullness of what that has meant would take too long and would, more than likely, leave out a few important mentions. I don’t want to risk it. You mean too much to me. Safe to say, I’ve felt the corporate touch of heaven’s hands in manifold measure. As God has prompted you, you’ve been obedient to yield to those promptings. Calls, cards, gifts, food, face-to-face visits, prayers… the list is endless. Your love has come in waves, ebbs and flows and currents that allow me to pause in between the pulse to reflect, contemplate, and be thankful.

I wish I could open up my heart so that you could peer inward for a closer look at the work of the cross. If I could, I have no doubt that any reservations you might have had regarding the faithfulness of God would be put to rest once and for all. You’d see him there, spilling over every crevice and gully of my being and filling me up to over flow. You might even get wet in the process.

But I can’t… physically cut open my heart and let you see. Instead, I give you my word… my many words in hopes that you’ll believe me when I say…

I am better for having you in my life than if our paths should have never crossed.

You’ve expanded my understanding about grace and God and about what it means to be a fervent pilgrim on the road home to Jesus. You’ve watered my feet and my soul with your servant’s posture, and you’ve walked a mile or two or ten in my shoes just because you could. Not because you had to, but because Jesus lives in you, and it is your pleasure to do so. I don’t fully understand you willingness, but I receive it as yet another undeserving grace from a God who keeps on giving, despite my readiness to sometimes hoard the blessings therein.

So thank you… for being the church. And thank you for being a Luke when God called upon to be one. For walking alongside my cancer and for sitting ringside to my pain. For offering your gifts and for bringing your “little” to the table so that at the end of the day, any king would be proud to pull up and chair and partake of the gracious plenty. I don’t know why you love me so much, but I am your willing recipient for this season. I only pray that when your turn comes—when prison bars and pain find their way to your heart—I’ll be as gracious in my giving to you.

To being your Luke. Or your Nancy (above picture)—a faraway friend who willingly receives your spur of the moment visit in order to gift you a haircut. And some gel to make that free haircut cuter. And some barbeque from the freezer to feed your family for the week. And some hugs and tears and prayers just because we’re friends.

Me your Luke. You my Paul.

Me your Paul. You my Luke.

I imagine that each one of us can claim one position or the other—the posture of a prisoner or the posture of a servant. I don’t know where you’re at today, but I do know that our pain belongs to one another. It is a gift we give to each other—the sharing of our pain—for God never intended for us to go it alone in this world. He means for us to live as one beneath the watchful gaze of heaven. When we get that… when we really take hold of what it means to bend and to bow, to wash and to serve all because of the One who first gave us the blueprint on loving, then hell’s determined purpose is vanquished and victory belongs to the King.

Tomorrow is another day to live your kingdom conferment. Someone will cross your path that needs the love and commitment of a Luke. Be that Luke, friends. Continue being and doing what you’ve been and done for me over these past weeks. And should you be the one in need, never fear to ask for more. To pen your words of request to our Father and then to make sure that letter gets into the hands of the saints. If there’s one thing I’ve been privileged to witness in the course of my cancer it is the unmerited, lavish love of God through his people.

I never knew it to be so strong. I never knew it to be so long and wide, high and deep. It stretches across my soul this night, even throughout the world. Even to a remote church in Estonia, but that’s another post for next time. Until we arrive there, may the love and peace of Christ rule in your hearts, and may the outward expression of that seeding intersect with a heart in need of receiving its nourishment. As always…

Peace for the journey,

therMOMmeter… {for Jadon}

September 24, 2010

“But you, man of God, flee from all this, and pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness. Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses.” (1 Timothy 6:11-12).

My son got into a fight on the playground today.

Yep. That’s what I wrote. A fight. My almost ten-year-old, blonde haired, brown-eyed boy (who’s always been the tenderest in spirit of my four children) threw the first punch on the playground this afternoon, leaving his taunter, his teachers, and his parents in utter shock. Please understand… Jadon isn’t aggressive in nature; he is kind, gentle, and loves the life he’s been given, along with the people therein. He spent the entire last year at his former school being bullied by his classmates, refusing to tell anyone, let alone get physical with any of them (even after us giving him permission to do so).

So today’s news was a new twist in the story named Jadon. And while we are concerned with his aggressive behavior and in no way condone the physical harm of another individual, we cut him some slack. Why? Because of the reasoning behind his decision—

Me.

Apparently I was under attack during a game of “You’re momma is ____________.” You know the game—a series of taunts exchanged by young boys who are determined to get the upper hand where their genetics are concerned. I imagine we could all fill in the blank with some comedic responses, but to ten-year-old boys fighting for dominance on the playground, humor isn’t a priority. Control is. So, what did they say about me?

You’re momma is evil.

When Jadon heard that it was “game on.” I asked him to express to me his feelings in the moment that it happened. This was his response:

Momma, my therMOMmeter snapped. It was like all those memories of last year came back to me, and the cups were filling up, and when (culprit) found me on the playground and continued to talk about you, something in me snapped. I had to take him on. So I lunged at him.

His words; not mine. He didn’t mean to say therMOMmeter; again, it was a Jadon-ism at its best—him trying to find the right word but missing the mark by a slight margin. We all knew what he meant. Even more so, we all knew what was going on underneath the surface of his tussle.

Jadon is angry about my cancer. A month beyond my diagnosis, he hasn’t shown much emotion other than extreme love for and care over me. He guards me and takes great pains to care for my every need… sometimes even before I make my needs known. That boy would walk over hot coals for me if it meant I could skip this cancer and just feel better. So when a taunter takes on my character with a word like “evil,” Jadon’s all in… come what may.

And I am glad for the defense; not that I need it. Trust me when I tell you that there have been lesser things said about me. I can handle it. But a little boy confused and concerned about his mother’s condition? I think him less able to walk away from the assassination of my character. Jadon just wants to make it better for me, and today (in his mind) he did. He took up for his mom… the dearest love of his life… his “Faith Elaine.”

And I ponder the sacred parallel. About Paul’s charge to Timothy to fight the good fight of faith. To defend the Gospel and truth of Jesus Christ… come what may. To take up shield and sword for the King and his Kingdom and to rightly and justly divide truth from lies. To protect, guard, and preserve the name and character of Jesus Christ because of familial, sacred bloodlines—our connection as children to the Father because of the cross of Calvary.

God doesn’t need our defense when the world calls him out and equates his deity with evil. He can handle the taunts of the playground. Heck, he made the playground! But in our defending him—his name and his character—we take up for our Father, the dearest love of our lives. We stand for faith and fight its cause regardless of the consequences that will, undoubtedly, arrive for us on the other end. When God’s integrity is called into question, our “therMOMmeter” should rise. And while we should always lace our responses with grace and mercy, we should most assuredly respond. To do nothing is to live less… is to say it’s OK to make fun of our Father.

Christian… where have you compromised your life of faith? When have you said nothing in defense of your King? When have the playground taunts been too frightening for you, thereby relegating your response to walking away rather than to entering the fray? Does God mean enough to you to take them on? To go all in and to fight to the finish?

Our God is worthy of the tussle with the playground bullies; not that we should seek them out, but rather that when they come calling with their taunts in tow, we are solidly prepared to enter the fray because our God is too important to us to let the lies slip by as truth.

Today I’ve cried over my son’s pain. I wish it didn’t have to be. That being said, I cannot remove it from him. I can only allow it its shaping in him. In this season, his maturing may be different from the other boys his age. He’s been asked to handle something huge in addition to multiplication, Bakugan, and the latest episode of Swamp People. His mother’s cancer has been added to his equation, and he (along with the rest of us) will be forever marked because of it.

Today, Jadon turned a corner. Where it will lead, I’m not sure. But of this I am certain. When he is old and grey and his mother is long gone on to glory, he’ll remember the day when his therMOMmeter rose in her defense, and he will be proud of his response.

I am proud as well, my son… young man of God. Always live your life in defense of your family, your faith, and most importantly, your King. He is worth fighting for. He has traveled long and deep and far and wide in defense of you. His cross tarries as your reminder. Never fear the outcome of your valiancy. The battle has been won on your behalf, and we will all share in the spoils of victory together around his throne. I count it a joy to have you at my side in this battle. Fight hard. Fight on. Fight through. Finish strong.

I love you.

Your mom,

Faith Elaine

PS: Comments are closed on this post; not because I don’t value your thoughts, but mostly because I feel so guilty by not being able to respond to them as I would like. It’s been extremely hard for me to manage my life and my blog visiting in this season. That being said, I’ll be around to see you as I can. If you’d like to be in touch with me, send me an e-mail via the “contact” link in my blog header! Blessed Sabbath rest to you and yours this weekend. Shalom.