“Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates.” (Deuteronomy 6:4-9).


Forty-two years ago, I took my first breath. It was Easter Sunday, 1966.

My father stood behind a pulpit, voicing the good news of an empty tomb, while my mother cradled her pain, voicing the good news of an empty womb. I christened that day with my cries of arrival. Easter, in turn, christened my life with its cries of resurrection. We have companioned together for over four decades now…Easter and me. Every step I have taken…every moment I can recall…has been walked in the shadowing constant of the cross. I have had my moments of clarity along the way…of fully understanding and accepting the gift of the cross as my own. But from my beginning, an Easter walk has been my portion.

My parent’s named me accordingly. Faith Elaine. And while everyone calls me by my middle name, my first name is the one that scripts the truth hidden within my heart.

Faith.

My mom and dad had a big task ahead of them…this raising of “Faith.” It would not be easy, but it was always done with the understanding that parenting was a sacred privilege, rather than a necessary obligation. Over the years, they shaped me for kingdom living—a journey that was rooted in the truth of God’s Word and always in the fellowship of God’s people. And now, four decades later, I have been given the privilege of doing the same.

Beside my bed sits a gift from a ten year old son—a plaque that reads, “Mother, I am what I am because you are who you are.” I keep it close by as a reminder of the sacred privilege that I have been given to be his parent. He is nineteen now. There are three others who follow him. I have been a mom for nearly half of my life. Of all the titles that I have worn or could ever wear, this is the one that sticks.

It has not always been a comfortable cloaking. I didn’t take to motherhood with a natural tendency, as so many mothers do. It was a hard fit for me, and on many days…it still is. I am not an expert on parenting strategies, nor do I wear my motherhood mantle with ease. And while I might, on occasion, have a few tidbits of advice I would like to offer someone regarding the issue, I have learned to find my silence. Recently, however, God has challenged me to find my voice. To pen my thoughts on some lessons that I have learned and am continuing to learn about raising my children to become three men and one woman whose hearts will be forever written with the Easter story.


When I read the words of my son’s gift, I wonder as to the sacred shaping that has come to each of them through my hands and through my heart. Will it be enough to lead them to Jesus, or have my imperfections within the process scripted them for another road? What part do I play in their journey of faith? Am I raising a generation of children who will one day raise the name of their Creator before all men as the witness of their hearts?

That is my constant and abiding hope, and one reason why I have decided to tenderly explore this topic of…

Raising faith.

God thought the topic important. His Word is filled with the mandate. Over and over again, he charges parents and the community of faith with the responsibility of teaching and of raising up children to revere his name. In Biblical times, some did it right. Some did it very wrong, but all were charged with the task. Not a lot has changed since then. We are still teaching and raising. Sometimes right and sometimes wrong, but always with the sacred mandate to do it.

The “right” is always scripted with the story of a faith lived—a faith embraced and meted out within the hearts of those who find their rhythm with the heart of God. The “wrong” is usually scripted with the story of a faith forgotten, perhaps professed, but never fully embraced nor embedded within the hearts of those who almost always walk to the rhythm of a selfish drum.

I am the keeper of both hearts. I have done many things right. And there has been some wrong. But this one truth is truer than most.

If faith is to be raised, then faith must be lived.

Real, authentic living. In season, throughout all seasons. In pleasant and in heat. In plenty and in want. In laughter and in tears. In pasture and in famine. In triumph and in testing. In comings and in goings. In Sunday and in all days. Everyday. Faith…

simply lived.

Children, and those who have been given to us for influence, are not after our perfection and our fake. They are after our real. What they see is what they tend to believe. Indeed, what we are can be a precursor of what they become, and that, my friends, is a heavy cloaking to wear. We are not fully responsible for the outcome, but we would be remiss if we did not own our part in the process. A bent toward kingdom living is best birthed when kingdom faith is boldly lived. And so I ask you this day,

How is your faith living itself out upon the stage of your influence? Does your heart beat with the genuine pulse of our Father? Is your faith believable? Do others around you see the truth of God’s story lived out in yours?

Being uncomfortable with the question is OK. It is right and good to search our hearts in the matter. Staying uncomfortable with the question, however, is a tragedy, for in this one moment, your story of faith can alter its course. You can begin the steps of another direction—a truer path that fleshes out the matter in the light of God’s illuminating presence.

It is never too late to walk the road of faith. Let me write that again. It is never too late to alter your forever, and in turn, to alter the forever of those within your realm of influence.

For forty-two years, I’ve been making adjustments. And while my earthly pilgrimage began on an Easter Sunday, my missteps have sometimes landed me back at Friday’s tomb. I do not always live as authentic as my speak, but God’s grace has always lived authentic. It breathes genuine, and it is a grace that I love and accept because, as a parent, it offers me a plenty to draw upon when my children are in need of its comfort.

Raising faith. I have been doing it nearly half of my life. My parents have been doing it for over half of theirs, and my God has been doing it for always…for all of us. I wonder if he wearies with the doing. I know I do some days, and so I pray…

Raise me up, Father, to a better faith. Grow me so that I can grow others. You have marked my life with the story of your resurrection. Let me walk in the truth and grace of Easter’s embrace so that my faith becomes real in the shadow of Calvary’s cross. Let my life breathe as authentic to those you have placed within my keep. And when my children are grown and gone, may the sacred portions of my influence continue to live on in them as they shepherd young hearts toward an Easter’s end. Amen.

Copyright © May 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

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Thank you for joining me today as I begin a mini-series on a few things that I am learning about “raising faith”…especially as it pertains to parenting. We are all called to the task of faith building, even if our children are grown. Even if our wombs have remained silent. Please feel free to leave your comments along the way. I cherish your participation in my life at this time. Your thoughts and your dreams are welcome here. May God bless your day with his rich anointing and with an awareness of his love for you. Shalom.

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