Peace for the Journey | Elaine Olsen

the mysterious path of a generous grace…

September 6, 2010

{photo compliments of Shirley}

I have a confession to make… an honest, writer’s confession to bring to the table before one thought is brought to you this morning:

I have a lot I want to say; I just don’t have the words to say it.

They got lost somewhere in the middle of my night… somewhere between my Percocet and my pain, reminding me, yet again, that there isn’t a perfect guidebook regarding how this “thing” is going to go—how this cancer is going to unfold for me on a personal level. I’m five days post-op; still and yet, it doesn’t seem real. Instead, it seems as if I’m standing on the outer edges of my life looking in. As if I’m on the perimeter watching the drama unfold while others are meandering in and out of the scenes of my life with little notice of my side-line status.

I am the lead participant in my cancer, and yet I seem to prefer the shadows of it all—the “behind the scenes,” balcony approach to living it. To watching from the director’s chair, yet knowing that what is required of me is my “down below”—the getting my hands dirty and being willing to engage with every angle of the drama. And it’s frustrating… exceedingly frustrating because today all I want to do is to crawl away from it and live differently. Today I want to live without the reality of:

Drain tubes to empty.

Pain to manage.

Body odor to disguise.

Expectations to meet.

Uncertainties to ponder.

Decisions to be made.

The emotions of others with which to contend.

Today, I want a different option on the table… one that doesn’t require so much of me. One that is content to let me “sit this one out” while others do the hard work of recovery.

I imagine that there are a few of you who understand these feelings… those of you who, for whatever reasons, are living the harsh ramifications of your current realities. Those of you who, like me, want to crawl away from your “disease” and live with your pain in isolation. You may not be living with a diagnosis of cancer, but there are other malignancies that are eating away at your flesh—your heart, mind, and soul. What is happening to you on your “inside” is far worse than what is eating away at your exterior, and you’d like another option on your table for consideration.

I understand. I also realize that with each malignancy comes hard work. There is no “sitting this one out” where cancer is concerned. A life diagnosed (whether with cancer or with a less-clarified disease of the heart) is a life thrust into the limelight, and for our scenes to end with understanding, you and I must be willing to take to the stage, to read our lines through, and to act our part. We must fully live our stories and allow our stories to fully live through us. Should we live otherwise, then we live less. We finish with less.

Less understanding. Less joy. Less faith. Less laughter. Less hope. Less peace.

An outer-edge approach to today’s living isn’t in keeping with God’s perspective. Certainly, there will be seasons when we need to pull back, to investigate our heart’s pulse, and to assess our personal level of involvement with the day’s activities. Today is one of those days for me. But when it comes to assigning our “diagnosis” to someone seemingly more qualified—to relinquishing the hard work that has been entrusted to us to someone else’s guardianship—we must proceed carefully, deliberately, and full of caution. Why?

Because there are some diagnoses that best belong to each one of us. Some that we will be better able to live and breathe and have victory over than others. What’s eating you may not be what’s eating me, but I imagine that the contingencies of your particular disease are better handled by you than me. And maybe, just maybe, drain tubes are more in keeping with what I’m better able to handle today than you.

We are, each one, the lead participant in our stories. No one lives you better than you. No one lives me better than me. And I’m just thinking (perhaps not as coherently as I would like) that maybe the kingdom would be best served by our willingness to live within those personal boundaries rather than wishing for someone else’s. That maybe what happens in you and through you today (because of God’s grace and only his grace) will far exceed what could happen in me and through me should I be allowed a similar walk in your shoes.

Maybe.

Who can fathom the depths of our Father’s wisdom? The breadth of his understanding? The willingness of his heart to entrust his children with so much? This is a mysterious path of generous grace we’re traveling, and while I may not want to live with the reality of my cancer today, I want to live today with the reality of God’s generous grace. That’s the only option on the table worthy of any trade I might make. The only option capable of generating enough kingdom perspective in me so that I might willingly embrace my story—

Cancer and all.

Keep to it, friends. Keep to your story of grace, your malignancies, God’s diagnoses therein, and his healing. It’s likely to “wear” a little worse before it wears better, but in the end, you won’t have to wonder if the hard work was worth it. On the backside of your healing, you will live the fruition of your front-side investment, and it will live excellently. Live perfectly. Live in accordance with a kingdom joy and beauty that far exceeds what your mind and heart can currently conceive. As always…

Peace for the journey,

update on "wifeforthejourney"

September 2, 2010

I have received a gift that far exceeds being the guest blogger on my favorite website: the gift of Elaine.

From the day her father (unwittingly) introduced us on the campus of Asbury Theological Seminary some fourteen years ago, through marriage, parenthood and pastoral ministry I’ve always known Elaine was the best thing I have going for me. Last Monday August 23, 2010, I sat in a doctor’s exam room, listening in shocked silence as a PA told us that the result of Elaine’s recent biopsy was cancer. I felt a chill like someone had poured ice water over me. As a pastor I had been with numerous families in the aftermath of a cancer diagnosis, stood at many a bedside in both pre-op and post-op with cancer survivors and done multiple funerals for cancer victims. Suddenly I’m on the other side of the hospital bed and I was having my own “you-don’t-know-what-you’ve-got-until-it’s-gone” moments.

How could my wife have cancer? Elaine’s answer at the time was, “Billy, instead of me saying ‘Why me?’ I should be saying ‘Why NOT me?’ Since when does my being a Christian mean that I’m exempt from suffering?” See why I think Elaine is the best thing I have going for me?!?

A little more than thirteen years ago I asked Elaine’s parents for their blessing because I wanted to ask Elaine to marry me. When we married in 1997 I had my sights set on being with her for the rest of my life, and yesterday I learned that a golden anniversary is still in my future!

During a post-op meeting with my wife’s surgeon yesterday afternoon, I found out that everything is looking positive for Elaine’s “long term.” Though there are final test results to come, the preliminaries all seem to indicate that her cancer has not spread. Though Elaine will still have to endure chemotherapy, she may be able to avoid radiation. And even though she’s stuck with me as her chief nurse, today they told me I could take her home.

Thanks to every one of you that has prayed, loved, cared about, supported and encouraged Elaine. She has needed you all for this season, and still does. Jesus has always been her “peace for the journey”; today I’m celebrating that I have her as my wifeforthejourney.

~Billy

tomorrow…

August 31, 2010

God is huge… really huge; so huge that it would be impossible for me to shrink him down and cram him into my pint-sized capacity for understanding. Still and yet, there are days when he breaks himself down for me so that my “pint-sized brain” can experience a measure of what it is to know him more fully, more intimately. These past few days have been some of those days for me.

God has tenderly knelt beside me, met me eye-level, and cradled me close to his beating heart. There has been more laughter than tears, more joy than sadness, more hope than despair, more faith than unbelief. I am grateful for my “more” that has anchored in sacred soil rather than in the tainted, diminished earthen sod that cradles my temporal steps. I’ve also been surprised by it… been overwhelmed by the gracious, sustaining hand of my Father who has not only made this cancer diagnosis bearable for me, but even more so, understandable.

I cannot explain the rational, reasonable response of my heart; whereas even a month ago I would have told you that I couldn’t possibly “do cancer,” I’m doing it today. I’m living with my diagnosis, with the stresses and strains of having to make some difficult decisions because of that diagnosis, and with the reality that I’m still a mom and wife with laundry to fold, bills to pay, and homework to be managed. That kind of “living with” can only be filtered through the lens of peace.

God’s peace—Jesus Christ. Not as the world gives (thank you God), but as he so determines. The world’s offering of peace is limited, is budgeted according to fleshly understanding and carnal appetites. God’s peace, however, is limitless and is budgeted according to kingdom standards and based on holier appetites—soul cravings that issue forth from a deep hunger to get more of our huge God crammed into our pint-sized understanding.

I’ve been living in kingdom peace these past weeks, and the cravings of my soul have been amply fed by the hand of the King who bends low to listen to the heart cries of his children… who stoops low to “raise the poor from the dust and lift the needy from the ash heap” (Ps. 113:6-7). I am exceedingly grateful for the gift of his sustaining presence and his willingness to be heavily invested in the story of my cancer.

God is so very willing to be part of all of our stories, friends. All he is waiting on is our invitation to him to start writing his memoir through us. You may not think your life particularly fantastic or worthy of print, but when you hand our Father the pen, he scripts authenticity into your story—every chapter, every line, every word, every letter. Every year, every month, every day, every hour. When God is given the publishing rights to our manuscripts, he promises to make everything count—the good, the bad, and all the mess that resides in between these extremes.

I’m taking him at his word; I’m believing him to make my cancer count—not for my sake, but for his. To get to the end of it all, regardless of where that “end” resides, and to have lived it selfishly and without regard to God’s greater understanding is to waste this precious time. I choose not to “live” there. I choose to live better. By doing so, I pray I learn more about my Father… about an intimacy, perhaps, that might have never been shared between us had I not been allowed this road.

I don’t want to waste my cancer. I want to embrace it, and in doing so, become more of the woman that God desires for me to be. If that can be said of me down the road—that in fact I’m further along in my faith journey because of my cancer—then it will have been worth it. If not—if I become a lesser woman of faith because of my cancer—then it will have been wasted.

Pray it’s not wasted. Pray, instead, that it will be my continuing perfection. I love you all and will be thinking of you in this next week as I will be off-line in order to take the next step in this journey.

After consulting with my oncologist yesterday regarding my MRI, we’ve decided to proceed with a mastectomy of both breasts. The surgery will be tomorrow at 1:00 PM. After a time of healing, a chemo/radiation plan will be put into place. Thankfully, those treatments will happen very close to home. I will have an overnight stay at the Surgery Center (can you believe that a mastectomy is considered out-patient surgery… I’m not kidding?!) before coming home. This was an unexpected “gift” to me and has gone a long way to relieve my initial concerns about learning how to care for myself before going home. Post-surgery, I am limited in the use of my arms, and my husband has vowed to make sure that I comply. Accordingly, I won’t be posting, but I’ll make sure that my husband updates you regarding my progress.

Through it all, I am humbled by the overwhelming support you’ve given to all of us, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve not been granted some extra favor from God because of your prayers. I don’t think God and his angels have ever heard my name more clearly than in the past week. I like to think of your prayers simmering there before God’s throne. You, good friends, make me want to be a better intercessor for others. You’re living a good faith on my behalf, and I am blessed by your generosity.

Take good care of your heart in this season. Tend to it; till it, and plant some good seed. The harvest will be good—God’s kind of good—and we will all share in the feasting together! As always…

Peace for the journey,

Caravan of love…

August 29, 2010

A caravan of love showed up for morning worship today… twenty-three of some of the most faithful saints of Pine Forest UMC.

Not all of them are pictured here, but most of the Tuesday “ancients” arrived just on time with lots of hugs and love to go around. There were even a few non-“ancients”.

Together, we rocked the lunch room at Sammio’s and many of them returned to the parsonage for a quick tour. It’s been a long time since I celebrated the Sabbath in such lavish measure. God is present in the hearts of these good friends, and they aren’t a bit shy about sharing his love with us. Truly, there are few words to adequately express my gratitude for the generosity they’ve given to me today. Thank you sweet Jesus for the comfort of your “church.” And thank you, friends, for coming.

In closing, I want to share with you my children’s “moment” from this morning. It’s time to get Jesus “out of the box” and hang him on the wall of your heart for all the world to see.

Peace for the journey,

Running my Peace…

August 28, 2010

“… You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body.” (1 Cor. 6:19b-20)

I just got in from my run. It felt good… almost sacred. The time is fast coming when I’ll have to put running away for a short season. I can’t imagine myself running then… after surgery. So I don’t… imagine. Instead, I run in my today, because today is all I have been given and because running is a discipline that has been part of my life for twenty-five years.

I’m a runner. Not a fast one, but what I lack in speed I make up for in obedience. I’m a deliberate runner. A runner who chooses to lace up her shoes even when her heart lags behind. Why? Because running is good for my body. In doing so, it also serves the well-being of my mind, heart, and soul. It’s a way of honoring this temporal flesh that, for reasons beyond my understanding, God has chosen to make for his dwelling.

My flesh doesn’t belong to me. Neither does yours. We think that it does; spend a great deal of time and money pretending that it does, but the truth is…God paid a high price for our flesh—the flesh of his One and only Son. Accordingly, it belongs to him… all of it. No body part is exempt. I understand this more fully now; I thought I had a pretty good understanding prior to my diagnosis, but now the focus has become clearer.

In my quiet time yesterday morning, I handed over my flesh to him again. Over the course of my forty-four years, I’ve come to the altar in the matter of my flesh on many occasions. Time and again, God has been faithful to gather up my remnants and cradle them as his own. Today he cradles them again; today he cradles more of me—my all. What remains of my flesh is all that I have left to offer him. Long ago, I settled the matter regarding my heart. It’s been God’s for as long as I can remember, but I imagine my flesh has been lagging behind.

No longer, my friends. No longer. And here’s what I’m thinking about tonight…

God’s kingdom is an everlasting kingdom. It’s an enduring kingdom. It’s going to go forward regardless of my fleshly surrender. Therefore, I have two choices standing before me in this season:

To be a participant in God’s kingdom or to remain as an outsider.

I’m in… all in with God and his kingdom plan. In this time of change for me and my family, I pray you won’t find me on the sidelines of faith; I pray that, instead, you will find me leading the charge… staying the course and shouting the victory every step of the way. I want to keep running, friends, especially on those days when my flesh cries out for complacency. I want to keep doing what I’ve been doing for as long as I can remember.

I want to keep living Jesus, out loud and on purpose. It’s all I know to do.

I want to close this post with some thoughts from one of my favorite authors, Alicia Chole. In her book Anonymous she shares an important, life-changing truth that embedded its witness into my heart upon my first reading it a few years ago. Almost immediately upon receiving my cancer diagnosis I thought upon it. It’s been my shadow over these last few days. With Alicia’s permission, I share it with you tonight:

Marie was a very private person, but when she opened up the door to her personal life you needed to take notes. I always called her with a journal open and a pen poised. This woman was profound. And like most truly profound people, she was intimately familiar with pain. One day, Marie told me about a friend who visited her in the hospital after her third miscarriage. Trying to console her, the well-meaning friend had said, “You know, Marie, God is going to make you even stronger through this.”

My mentor smiled, thanked her friend, and thought about her words for several days. Relaying the hospital conversation to me, Marie explained that though she appreciated her friend’s intention, she questioned her friend’s conclusion about the purpose of pain. Marie ended our time together that day with the thought: “I feel that trials do not prepare us for what’s to come as much as they reveal what we’ve done with our lives up to this point.”

As Marie considered the pain of her third miscarriage, she realized that her response to this trial was less of a window into her future than it was a window into her past. Her current choices reflected and revealed her past choices. How had she responded previously when her dearest dreams perished in her womb? Did she withdraw from God in bitterness or come near to him with her unanswered questions? Had she tried to outrun the pain, or had she given herself permission to grieve and let the tears wash her wounds? The choices of her yesterdays were revealed through the window of her responses to her current trial.

In other words, trials tell us less about our future than they do about our past. Why? Because the decisions we make in difficult places today are greatly the product of decisions we made in the unseen places of our yesterdays. (Alicia Chole, Anonymous, Integrity Publishers, 2006, pg. 14-15).

What decisions are you making in your today that will better prepare you for your tomorrow? Are you currently complacent regarding your faith? Are you tending to your soul? Are you taking time to study God’s Word and to be in fellowship with other Christian believers who are building your faith rather than tearing at your resolve? Are you working in your churches? Are you praying every day? Are you listening to the promptings of God’s Spirit within? Are you participating in God’s kingdom cause? Are you speaking your faith? Are you loving God, knowing God, celebrating God, believing God?

If you are, then you can be certain that when tough times role your way, you will be well-equipped to handle the struggle. If you’re not, then it is time to start making some better choices today. Time to start deliberately living your faith, friends. Time to step it up and keep pace with the King. It’s what I plan to do in my “next.”

Cancer may be my “next,” but so is Jesus. I’ll be doing them both—cancer and Jesus together. I’ll be living them both with a kingdom view in mind. I pray your willingness to join me on the road. As always…

Peace for the journey,

~elaine

PS: I cannot begin to express to you my heartfelt thanks for all the many kindnesses you’ve extended to me in the past few days. There simply isn’t any way to make it around to all of your blogs and weigh in with my paltry “two-cents” right now, but as I can, I will visit you, because I dearly love you each one. Every now and again, I’ll give you a health update. Here’s the short version for tonight:

I had an MRI this morning in Greenville. After much thought and prayer, we’ve made the decision to stick with the breast oncologist there. He’s incredibly kind, and the man knows breasts! He’s also a man with a plan who is ready to move on with surgery, etc. We’ll be traveling back there on Monday to discuss the results of the MRI and how we will proceed. I imagine that things will move quickly. I want to take a moment to thank Rev. Homer Morris of Jarvis Memorial UMC for graciously gifting us with a motel room in Greenville last evening so that we wouldn’t have to endure a lengthy travel time this morning prior to my 7:00 AM appointment. I also want to thank my good friend, Judith, for receiving my many cancer related questions like “What is an MRI?” and “What should I wear?” (The bedpants and warm socks were a life-saver friend!). And of course, I want to give a special shout-out to my parents and Billy’s parents for being willing to make the trip to help us with childcare. Truly, you know what it means to “circle the wagons,” and we are so blessed to have you with us to love us as only a momma and daddy can do.