Peace for the Journey | Elaine Olsen

light

October 22, 2009

For all of God’s missionaries, at home and abroad, who carry his candle to dispel the world’s darkness.

“If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,’ even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.” (Psalm 139:11-12).

We overslept this morning. The alarm didn’t ring because the alarm wasn’t set. 6:15 AM came and went with nary a nod of acknowledgement from my household. 7:30 fared better. By 7:30, we were all awake. And had it not been for one thing, I imagine we might still be sleeping.

Light.

The culprit behind our reprimand … our notice … our awareness that a new day has been gloriously granted to us, despite our willingness to forego the fanfare.

Try as we may, we cannot escape light’s grip. We can pull the blinds and draw the curtains so as to diminish its brilliance, but we cannot eliminate its arrival. Light simply and profoundly comes.

To awaken us from our slumber.
To rouse us from our laziness.
To raise us up from our lying down.
To stir our spirits toward action.
To heighten our awareness.
To warm us from the chill of a night’s embrace.
To free us from the confines of our covers.
To gift us with the beauty of a new day.
To remind us that not even the darkest shade of night is permanent.

Light comes to bear witness to the illumination of God’s presence in our lives. Darkness isn’t safe from the penetration of God’s candle—God’s flicker of hope. There is no darkness that comes to us that doesn’t carry its contrast in close proximity. Light always harbors in the shadows of a night’s pause, readying itself for a grand and sacred interruption into the darkness.

And lest we think there are days when “light” forgets to come—days when light decides to “take a pass” regarding its purpose—there hasn’t been a day since the beginning of time when “light” didn’t shine its witness. Not one. Light may seem hidden, removed and obscured from our visioning, but light is ever-present because light is the living characteristic of a living Creator who lives in our every day. He cannot be separated from his creation, and he never “takes a pass” on his days.

Light follows God wherever he goes. And today, he goes where you go. Where I go. Where my kids go and where his saints go. Even where the sinners go. Why? Because for light to be light, for light to shine its worth and harbor the full spectrum of its truthful meaning, it must be available in the darkest of nights to the darkest of souls.

I’m not one who believes that light is selective in its appearing, is choosy and is particular about where it shines. And while it is true that “God is light and in him there is no darkness at all,” (see 1 John 1:5) the greater truth is that God’s light has come to dispel that very darkness; to replace the night’s isolation with the witness of a day’s illumination.

Even the darkest of nights is as light to Jesus Christ. Only he is able to mediate his way through the lingering depth of a night’s pause to light a candle in honor of a new day … a new way … a new heart … a new forever.

Fourteen years ago, my light—Jesus Christ—traveled the depth of a night’s long lingering in order to interrupt my darkness with the flicker of his sustaining truth. That single candle of hope carried to me in the “dark night of my soul” now burns with the flaming intensity of a miracle. Had God not arrived in my life at that moment, had he allowed the sun a longer season of slumber, I’m pretty sure that the darkness would have been my continuing consumption.

But like my morning this morning, I could not escape light’s grip. For a long season I’d been pulling down the shades in hopes of hiding my sin and of keeping the Son’s brilliance from illuminating my darkness, but my darkness was as light to Jesus. My darkness was the navigational GPS he used to get to me. God found me in my slumber and invited me to the arrival and hope of a new day.

I’m so glad that I had the good sense to wipe away the sleep from my eyes in order to pay attention to the light in his. I’m so thankful that Light didn’t “take a pass” on my darkness but, instead, chose to walk the length and breadth of my sin in order to flame a candle in my honor.

Arise and shine, fellow pilgrims, for your Light has come. May the candle he lights in your honor this day be the fueling behind your future flames, the likes of which this world has never seen. Burn brightly with God’s truth and God’s witness this weekend. What a privilege to carry my candle alongside yours. As always…

peace for the journey,

~elaine

PS: Go visit my friend, Heidi (click here), to learn about an upcoming opportunity to spread the light of Jesus into the far corners of our world.

Now, go light your world…

sacred preservation…

October 19, 2009

I was fully prepared to write another post today, a post that God has graciously allowed me to tuck away for a season; maybe forever. Today he gave me a “pass” on something. Today his favor has come to me and my household in tangible measure, and I am humbled and grateful for his notice.

This is my man.

He is my strength and has been my able arms over the past week. We’ve created a beautiful home together. When God gave me Billy, he gave me a portion of heavenly grace—love as love was meant to be received. I’ve never known a better earthly love. Sure, my parents love me unconditionally. Parents do that, at least they should. But when another human being makes the choice to love unconditionally, well, that’s the stuff of earth’s movement, of hell’s frustration, and of heaven’s notice.

Our love has deepened over the past week; I look forward to more seasons with my man. To marking our grey hairs together and our ills and aches as well. I love you, Billy.

These are my children.

They are the reason behind my pressing on and pressing in to Jesus. The more I know him, the more I’m able to give him to them. They deserve my faithful pursuit of God. They are and will continue to be the recipients of my earnest chase and capture of the Divine. I love you, Nick, Colton, Jadon, and Amelia.

And you, blog readers, you are my friends. I have no doubts that the peace I’ve known over the past week has come to me in large part through the prayers of the saints. You are those saints. You know who you are. I called upon you for prayer, and your prayers have been felt … been heard and been answered.

Today I got a “pass” from God, and that is enough for me. Day to day living with Jesus is all that is required of us. Not tomorrow; not next week, but this very moment we hold in our hands. God reserves the right to all of those moments, no matter their length of earthly time.

When I awoke in the early morning hours, God impressed upon me a few words that I would like to share with you as I close. I thought them profound, even before I got my “pass.” I still think that to be the case…

“It doesn’t matter how long God chooses to preserve my earthly life. What matters is how I choose to preserve him in the earthly life I’ve been given.”

Preserve him well this week, and I will do the same. Nothing in this life, and I mean nothing, is worth losing the flavor of Jesus in us, on us, through us, all around us. Nothing. Tend to his divine preservation within your heart this day, knowing that the aroma you spread has the capacity to shake the foundations of hell. In doing so, the heavens sing their refrain, as our Father bends low for a listen. As always…

peace for the journey~

~elaine

how might I pray?

October 12, 2009

People sometimes ask me how they can pray for me. Not often, but every now and again. I’m very appreciative when they do because I know there is deep sincerity attached to the asking. There’s something about having my name lifted before the throne of heaven that reassures me, connects me, attaches me to the Sacred in stronger measure.

Personally, I think we should ask the question more … be more available with our willingness and our petitions on behalf of one another. We’re good at “saying so”, but are we deliberate with our “doing so”?

Not always. Guilty as charged. My well-meaning isn’t always followed up by my well-doing; I’ve tried to be mindful of that before speaking my allegiance regarding my prayers. I know my human limitations and my frailty where prayer is concerned and, therefore, I try and not make prayer an “offering” of my heart to others unless I’m willing to back it up with my words.

That’s just what works for me. How does it work for you? Is your faithfulness to pray in keeping with your promises to pray? When we say that we will pray, but we don’t, what’s gained? Who wins? What’s the point?

Good intentions?

Our good intentions never land anyone’s needs before the throne of God, at least not from our lips. Saying we’ll pray has become a casual word-toss in our Christian circles. It fits with the rhetoric of a faith journey. But prayer is more than rhetoric. Prayer is the intimate connection between our hearts and our Father’s. Our prayers are the words that pave the road from our spirit to his. What we say to him matters; what we don’t matters as well. It’s all entwined together … our words and our silence. The truest truth of our heart weaves intricately in between the two.

I don’t write these words to lecture you. If anyone needs a good lecturing, it’s me. I simply want to do better in my prayer life; I want to operate my heart from a place of sincere understanding and willingness to stand in your stead in your time of need. I want the same in return.

We give one another a great gift when we move ourselves away from the computer screen, get down on our knees, and spend some time in intentional prayer for each other. Not only are our hearts refreshed, but there is movement that occurs in the heavenlies that might not otherwise happen when our words intersect with the heart of the Father.

And I, for one, could use some heavenly “movement” today. How about you? Are there some things in your life that need a special mention before the throne? I’m asking because I’m committing my heart to prayer in your behalf this week. If you’d like to do the same for me, here are my thoughts in keeping in line with the Apostle Paul’s…

Pray also for me, that whenever I open my mouth, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should. (Ephesians 6:19-20).

Do you realize that we’re all chained to something? If I’m going to be chained to anything, I want my chains to link directly back to the gospel of Jesus Christ. I want my words, my actions, my thoughts, my “going out” and my “coming in”, my lying down and my getting up to be fully entrenched with the ministry of the kingdom.

Sure, there are other needs that are ever-present in my life, but if I could request but one thing for the road ahead, this is it.

A mouth filled with the words of Jesus, fearlessly spoken on behalf of his good name and his good grace. This is how you can pray for me this week. How might I pray for you?

As always,

~elaine

PS: I’ll be MIA for the week, but I will be faithful in my prayers for you. Please leave your requests in the comment section. Shalom.

a noble hero

October 10, 2009

I want to tell you about a real hero tonight; not the one getting all the press in the media for his efforts at the peace-making process.

My hero sits alone this evening, on the front porch of her home in a rocking chair, reeling from the extreme after-effects of having been brutally attacked by a neighboring dog on Monday morning. After returning home from taking her two young children to school, she noticed the dog on her front porch. Normally, he was chained two doors down, but today he enjoyed open range in the neighborhood.

Wanting to help out her neighbors, my friend went inside to retrieve her rain coat with the idea of walking the dog back home. When she returned to the porch, the dog was gone. She continued down the sidewalk to knock on the owners’ door in order to inform them of their dog’s “loosened” estate.

She never made it. Instead, the dog leaped out from his hiddenness and began a ten-minute assault on her fragile frame. She was no match for his 130 pounds. He tossed her like a rag doll, mutilating her flesh while she screamed out her resistance. The owners of the dog emerged to their front porch, shouting out the dog’s name but never stepping a foot in her direction to help. Another neighboring man ran to her aid with shovel in hand and began to beat back the vicious animal.

When the police arrived, the dog aimed his attack in their direction. Fortunately, they were well armed and rectified the situation in swift order. His attacking days are over, but the wounds he inflicted remain. Long after her flesh has healed, long after the process of reconstructive surgery is over, the wounding my friend has received will write as scars into her history. I imagine the pain from Monday’s attack will live in her memory for a long season.

As I sat with her on the porch this evening, I saw her strength displayed through her words, despite the flowered memorial erected to the dog just feet away from her front lawn. It sickened me to see it and reminded me of how shaded the lenses have become in our society. How we prize self-preservation over another’s pain and suffering. How callous we sometimes are in our blatant disregard for our brothers and sisters who live next door, and who, occasionally need our shovels instead of our shouts.

Where are the hands that are willing to get dirty on behalf of someone in need? Where are the hearts that are willing to bleed so that a neighbor can go free from the vicious clenches of the enemy? How far are we willing to go to save the life of a human being? Is our shouting enough? Is our wishing it wouldn’t happen enough? When evil comes knocking at a neighbor’s door, do we retreat to the shadows of our dens and our morning talk shows, or do we launch an attack of our own despite the risks involved?

I don’t have to tell you what my friend would do. Time and again, she’s proven to these neighbors and others her kindness and her desire to live in community with them. As a single mom, life has sometimes been an uphill struggle. We share some common ground, and I know how hard these years can be. How challenging life can live while going it alone and being expected to do it all … to be it all, for everyone.

It’s a confusing mess, most days. A tireless reach into the deep storehouses of emotional, physical, and spiritual reserves in order to keep the wheels turning, the bills paid, and the lunches packed. There are countless hours of fretting over children, worrying over plumbing, and hoping beyond hope that the tires will last another thousand miles before needing replacements. The days start early and end late, and the doors stay locked … carefully guarded for fear of an unseen enemy who lurks just beyond the safety of a latch.

As single moms (and speaking as one who used to be one) we rarely score brownie points with society, church included. In fact, we mostly score their pity, or worse yet, their rejection. After all, we’re half of what we used to be. We blew it. We screwed it up and didn’t stay where we were supposed to stay. Never mind the other half who did his part in breaking the commitment. No, as single moms we carry it all, and it’s not fair; most days it hurts like crazy and calls for a strength beyond our capabilities.

Some days, like today, it calls for even more. A strength beyond that strength, and I am telling you I witnessed that strength tonight in my friend; I was moved to a place of awe and worship in my own spirit for the gift of God’s abiding presence and comfort despite man’s neglect along those lines. Tonight, my friend rocked on her porch while nursing the pains of her wounds that stretched from head to toe and back again. She’s got a rough road ahead of her, but she’s got an awesome God to carry her.

I don’t think she fully knows just how strong he can be, but I do, and he is already ministering to her in ways she never expected. Her faith is growing; she can’t see it now, but she’ll see it soon. And when she does, she’ll be in awe of the way she was able to endure her suffering and to emerge on the other side of it with a measure of grace and dignity that leaves, even her calloused neighbors, stunned and shamed with regret.

No one else may be handing her a prize tonight, but I, for one, think she deserves more than she’s been given. Her story is worthy of a headline (not the one printed in the local paper this past Tuesday morning). No, her story is worthy of far greater … a living memorial written by the very hand of her loving Savior. He’s writing it now, and one day soon, she’ll be the recipient of his commendation, and all of this mess that now serves as her life will make sense and will read as a masterpiece worthy of the throne room of heaven.

I love you friend. I love you single moms. You hang in there, and most importantly, you hold tightly to our Jesus. He loves you and has an extraordinary plan for your tomorrows. And should you ever need more than a shout, I’ve got my shovel ready and sitting on go. Together, with our God, we’ll fight the enemy, and we will win. It’s his promise to us. It’s my promise to you.

You are my noble hero this night, and your strength has called my heart to worship and to praise. Sleep well, brave friend, knowing that tomorrow awaits your courage. God created the morning for warriors like you. Go forth in the power that is yours because of your rightful inheritance as a daughter of the Most High God. Stand strong; remain vigilant, and fix your eyes on the horizon up ahead. Your salvation is closer now than he has ever been. As always…

peace for the journey,

~elaine

the purest place…

October 7, 2009

The purest place.

The place from which I want to write my words. Greater still, the place from which I want to live my life. To write and live otherwise is hypocrisy.

Hypocrite. The word hupokrites meaning “one who acts pretentiously, a counterfeit, one who assumes and speaks or acts under a feigned character; a dissembler, pretender.”

I’m not a pretender; I live out loud before my God and before you. The me you find here isn’t the sanitized, polished version of me. Some are uncomfortable with that; some would rather see me otherwise. No, what you find here is a woman on the road toward perfection. Some days getting it right; most days living beneath that “right”. If there is any good living in me, it is solely based on the sanitization that has come to me through the blood and righteousness of Jesus Christ. He, alone, is my worthiness.

To write from a place of perfection is to never write at all. If “having it all figured out” were the prerequisite for blog entries, then none of us should ever pick up the pen again. I’m not kidding. What kingdom profit is there in our pretending? What can be gained from prettying up our “pictures” other than to stroke our egos via the compliments of others? I don’t want to write from a place of pretension. I don’t want to read it as well. I just want to live real and to be in a community of people who feel the same way.

This means, there will be days when I struggle…

with Sundays.
with worship.
with sin.
with disappointments.
with regrets.
with anger.
with love.
with parenting.
with selfishness.
with unkind words.
with unclean thoughts.
with unforgiveness.
with _____________.

This also means there will be days when I joyously overflow…

with Sundays.
with worship.
with freedom.
with hope.
with promise.
with kindness.
with love.
with parenting.
with selflessness.
with encouragement.
with purity of thought.
with grace.
with ______________.

You’ll find it all when you come here because my all is what I have to give you, not some sanitized version therein. This is my life; my walk of grace; my journey toward peace. No one thing, one experience, one difficulty gets a pass. It’s all open ground for God’s kingdom purposes.

Our days and nights, nights and days, are filled with the stuff of our becoming. Our moving closer into the image of Christ. Our being shaped and fitted for a bridal gown worthy of the aisle of heaven. We don’t get that dressing overnight, friends. In fact, until we shed this flesh, we live each day exposed, half-dressed for the entire world to see. I think God has created our flesh for public disclosure. In doing so, you and I become a living witness and testimony to the power of God’s transforming work in our lives.

But we’ve perfected our cover-ups, and they are easily detected by God and others. It’s painful to watch, painful to read, painful because there is no healing, no moving onto perfection, as long as the hiding of our “stuff” takes precedence over the exposure therein.

I’m not suggesting that your “putting it all out there” in a public forum is the best way for you to work through your problems; some issues are better dealt with in the privacy of your own sacred space with God. Some things are too raw for public viewing. What I am suggesting, though, is that when you and I do take the steps to “work out” our salvation with our words and our honest approach to the process, grace and kindness should be the portion we afford one another; not judgment or condemnation.

The purest place. The inner chamber where the living God resides and where faith’s illumination and grace’s redeeming work is accomplished.

If we cannot write our words from that place because we fear the words of others in this place, then we live as hypocrites. Counterfeits. Characters on a stage that, when the curtain is drawn and the applause has subsided, go home to live in isolation and emptiness. And I, for one, refuse to resign my life to isolation.

I choose exposure. To God and to you. For some of you, that’s not an easy swallow. Your palate prefers a smoother, more digestible menu. I understand, and I graciously excuse you from the table. But for the few of you who’ve made it this far, who’ve hung with me and who think there just might be something to this “being real” with one another, then stick around. There’s more to come because, God willing, I have a few more seasons to walk. And whether I want them to or not, words find me on the path. Fill me, and then force me to pen them for public disclosure.

The sustaining prayer of my heart is that when I do dip the pen into the inkwell of my thoughts—when I choose public disclosure over private rumination—my words will write from the purest place within. The place where my heart intersects with the heart of God and where the resulting conclusion births kingdom seed.

You are my friends. I value your presence in my life. I value your life. This isn’t a game for me, and certainly isn’t about painting you a perfect picture. It’s solely about living God’s truth out loud and on purpose with the hope of encouraging your heart to do the same.

May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of my heart, always be found acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer. Amen. So be it. As always…

peace for the journey,

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“hupokrites” from… Spiros Zodhiates, The Complete Word Study Dictionary Old Testament (Chattanooga: AMG Publishers, 1992), 1423-1424.