Category Archives: calling

A Fine Child

“Now a man of the house of Levi married a Levite woman, and she became pregnant and gave birth to a son. When she saw that he was a fine child, she hid him for three months. But when she could hide him no longer, she got a papyrus basket for him and coated it with tar and pitch. Then she placed the child in it and put it among the reeds along the bank of the Nile. His sister stood at a distance to see what would happen to him.” (Exodus 2:1-4).

The Nile is a difficult “letting go.” A hard release. A gut-wrenching surrender.

It was for Moses’ parents. It is for me.

Tonight I stand on the riverbank of the Nile and watch my son from a distance as he boards a plane at Raleigh-Durham International Airport, heading toward the mountainous regions of Bolivia. He will spend ten days at an orphanage, tilling the land, repairing the chicken coops, working on latrines, and playing a pick-up game of soccer on every occasion.

He will bathe little; sleep even less. Stomach Bolivian delicacies and try his best to speak the language he’s been intensely studying as his college minor. He’ll make me proud, of that I am sure. Others will love him, of that I am more certain.

And while all of this makes my heart smile with gratitude for the man he is becoming, there is a pang of sadness for me. Not because I desire to keep Nick to myself, but rather because I won’t be alongside to watch the unfolding of this “fine child” before the eyes of others. Moments and memories that I’d like to scrapbook for myself will be given as a remembrance to those who stand further down the river’s bank, eagerly awaiting his arrival and anticipating his participation in their lives.

I see the bigger picture; it’s been growing in me for a long season. God has amply supplied me with a series of “letting go’s” that continue to shape my heart for sacred surrender. They always make me cry, and I’ve never shied away from their wet. I simply allow the tears a spacious place to land in order to water the growth of my tender soil … my fragile soul. I pray them not to be too much, but rather just enough to seed my pain with some purpose.

It’s a good prayer to pray, especially because our “letting go’s” are going to arrive. It is the way of a forward journey, regardless of our willingness to stand still and not move one moment beyond this one. How much better would it be to allow our moments of “needful release” to birth in us a sacred shaping that will serve a better end—both ours and God’s.

Moses’ parents understood this better than most. They were commended for their faithful release and duly memorialized for it in the Hebrews “hall of faith”:

“By faith Moses’ parents hid him for three months after he was born, because they saw that he was not an ordinary child, and they were not afraid of the king’s edict.” (Hebrews 11:23).

By faith, they hid their son. By faith, they released their son. By faith, they watched their son from a distance. By faith, they understood that their son was no ordinary child, but rather a “fine child” destined for a better end than that of most of his contemporaries.

By faith, we should equally trust our Father with the release of our children to the River Nile.

They’re all “fine.” Special and beautiful and worthy of the nod of heaven. Like Moses’ parents, from the moment they’re born, we hide them. Shelter them beneath our wings because we understand that while heaven has marked them with eternity, hell has marked them otherwise. For destruction—as ordinary, expendable, unremarkable, and worthy of the nothing more than a swift slaughter simply because they carry the bloodlines of a King.

But three months passes quickly. Eighteen years for most of us. For a few of us, a painful and difficult less. For a few of us, a painful and struggling more. Still and yet, there comes for all of us a moment at the river’s edge. A time of release when we must find our peace at a distance and trust that Father God has something bigger and something beyond us that awaits our children on the other side of our hard surrender.

We may not see his wisdom in it all; rarely do we catch a full glimpse of our children’s forever. But occasionally we have an inkling—a heavenly whisper reminding us that, indeed, there is a wisdom that exceeds understanding. A “more” that is coming because of our willingness to “let go” and “let God.”

Tonight, I “let go” again of the son I dearly love. It won’t be the last time my heart is called upon to make such a surrender. But I do so in the spirit and strength of my spiritual ancestors who better understood the painful trust of a difficult release. Thus, I speak these words of release to my Nick as he flies the night sky and as I try to find him there, amidst the stars and dark that separates our flesh…

Go with God this night, my son. Sail the Nile with all the trust of heaven to guide you, shape you, strengthen you, and mold you into the man that God has intended for you to be. I will be keeping watch, but my arms aren’t long enough to catch you this time. God has orchestrated events accordingly. He means for me to stand on the riverbank while you engage with the wild and wet of a river that calls for your participation. You are a fine child, and you were meant for more than my arms. You were meant for the world. Embrace it, and it will embrace you. It’s time that others discover the wealth of who you are.

And just in case they don’t, if for some reason they reach any other conclusion, you can be certain that I’ll be waiting at the river’s edge to welcome you home and to remind you of just how extraordinary you truly are. I love you, Nick. I’ll see you on the other side of your river’s ride.

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Noticing Love

“Early in the morning, Jesus stood on the shore, but the disciples did not realize that is was Jesus.” (John 21:4).

He saw her across the dimly lit restaurant. He hadn’t seen her in over a year. Last year, they shared a first grade classroom. Today, they shared only vague remembrances of one another. He’s stayed put. She’s moved on to another school.

After brief words of conversation with her family, we made our way back to the table. My eight year old son gave his best efforts at coloring the sombrero on his children’s menu and then hand delivered his gift to his friend. Moments later, she responded by doing the same. Back and forth, waves and glances, until the hour was complete, and we said our good-byes.

On the way out to our car, my son shared his thoughts with me.

“Mom, you know I kind of like that girl.”

“Son, you haven’t seen that girl in over a year, and you didn’t even remember her name. I think you’re confused.”

“No, mom, I really do like that girl.”

“How can that be, son? You’ve never even talked about her before.”

“Mom, I know when I like somebody. I’ve had love before.”

“Really? When?”

“In K4.”

And with that proclamation, the conversation ended and the contemplation began.

I’ve had love before … in K4.

What my son was saying was that this “inkling” that he felt … this notion of emotion … wasn’t the usual everyday kind of love that he carried for his friends. This was a different kind of love. A love that tugs deeper, breathes bolder, and speaks its insistence over top of the others. An unfolding type of love that, when “presented” to a heart, calls for its notice.

Jadon noticed, and tonight he has me wondering if I do the same—

Notice love when love comes knocking.

The disciples didn’t notice Love’s knocking … not at first. The confusion resulting from competing stories about his death and their hopes deferred in keeping with that death, kept their hearts at a distance; the sea was deep enough to hold their uncertainty and wide enough to harbor Love’s recognition at bay.

But then Love called, offering an invitation of familiarity—a common conversation that collided with past remembrances. Something about catching fish and casting nets and the “right” side of a boat. And with that summons and subsequent obedience, Love struck a chord deep within their hearts, calling forth a recognizable “inkling” that beckoned them shoreward to share in a meal and to bask in a few moments of tender reunion.

The gathering would be brief, but it would be more than enough time to amply seed them with the truth of Love’s embrace—a three-fold asking, a three-fold response, and a three-fold commissioning to go and to feed the Father’ sheep out of the overflow of Love’s consumption. That was the heart of the matter on a day set aside for God’s presenting Love.

When the disciples walked away from the shore’s table, they knew they had tasted Love. Why? Because like my son, they’d known Love before. They shared a classroom with him in an earlier season. He had been their teacher; they had been his willing pupils, and in the end, the kingdom of God was best served by the sacred collision of their hearts with his.

Thus, a question a two for your heart this night.

Do you notice Love when Love comes knocking? When was the last time that Love stopped your heart in its tracks and forced your perception? If Love were sitting across from you in a dimly lit restaurant, would you feel his pull and look up from your table to search out Love’s glance? Would you color Love a picture? Would you then deliver it in hopes of receiving Love back?

Or has your love for Love grown cold, distant and harboring within the waters of an uncertain tomorrow? Have you given up on Love’s embrace? Have you forgotten the sound of Love’s beckoning call? Has life hammered its cruelty so loudly that you are deafened and blinded by the truth of Love’s approach?

It’s easy to miss Love, especially when our hearts are prone to a constant wandering. If we choose the world’s classroom over God’s classroom, then we choose our handicap. Love is always presenting himself … always passing our way … always sending his notes of affection to our tables. But if we haven’t logged in some hours under his tutelage, rarely will he garner our notice. Instead, we offer him our neglect, leaving the table with but a whisper of a vague recognition that was always meant to last longer.

We could leave better, friends. God intends for us to leave with a heart full of Love’s recollection. With a pulse that shouts,

“I’ve been with Love today because I’ve known Love before.”

That is the heart of the matter for our everyday … noticing Love when Love comes knocking because Love has been our companion all along.

My prayer for your life and mine is for a blatant and sacred intersection between Love’s heart and ours. I pray for eyes to see him when he walks in a room. I pray for hearts to receive him when he knocks at the door. I pray for ears to hear him when he calls from the shore. And I pray for the “yes” to answer him when he asks for our more.

May the holy and gracious presenting Love of a Father’s heart be your portion as you walk this week. It is his joy to give you the abiding truth and fellowship of heaven’s native Son. As always,

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Copyright © May 2009 – Elaine Olsen

PS: If you want to spend some more time in God’s classroom via a long ago breakfast on the shores of Galilee, then hop over to John 21 and let the truth of that moment be the truth of your moment with Jesus today. The winner of Kennisha Hill’s “Simply Wisdom” is Joye at The Joyeful Journey. Congrats, Joye. Please send me your snail mail via my email, and I will send you Kennisha’s book. Shalom.

Introducing Kennisha Hill’s "Simply Wisdom"

Today, it is my privilege to introduce you to my friend, Kennisha Hill. Kennisha is a Christian Author, Speaker, and Entrepreneur. God has equipped her with words of exhortation that stem from biblical wisdom- as well as her personal experiences. After going through rejection in various forms, Kennisha decided to use her testimony to deliver a message of hope and inspiration to those who are seeking to fulfill God’s purposes. She does this in her new release, Simply Wisdom: Tidbits of Inspiration for Your Journey. Kennisha is happily married and a stay-at-home mom to her one year old son and soon coming daughter. They reside in Dallas, Texas.

Simply Wisdom is a great read, designed to stimulate you to press forward in what God has for you to do. If you suffer with the fear of failure, overcoming rejection or objections, and are unsure about your God-given purpose, this book is for you. Simply Wisdom is a book of encouragement that is sure to help you walk in your divine purpose!

Over the past year, I’ve enjoyed getting to know Kennisha via blogland. She is a passionate pursuer of God, filled with a kindness and grace that buoys the weary of heart. On many days, it’s been my heart in need of uplifting. I know that with a visit to Kennisha’s blog, The Ready Writer, I can find some peace and comfort.

Read now a bit more about Kennisha and “Simply Wisdom” via this blog tour inteview:

1. Tell us a little bit about yourself.

I am originally from New Orleans, Louisiana. I moved to Atlanta, Georgia when I was 19 years old but then relocated back to New Orleans a few years later. Shortly after, I relocated to Dallas- evacuating from Hurricane Katrina. There, my husband and I got married and we have been growing well together as husband and wife ever since.

2. When did you come to know that writing was your calling?

I have been creative writing since I was a young girl. I wrote for my high school and college paper. I majored in Journalism, so I always knew I’d do some sort of writing. Since then, I’ve been blessed to be able to bless others with words of inspiration for their daily journey.

3. Tell us about Simply Wisdom: Tidbits of Inspiration for Your Journey.

This is my very first release! I am ecstatic to finally deliver the message that God has given me to deliver. The chapters in Simply Wisdom all have one thing in common: exhortation for those who seek to walk in their purpose.

4. What’s next for your writing career?

I’m currently working on the 2nd book in the Simply Wisdom series titled, “Simply Wisdom: Tidbits of Inspiration for Newlyweds.” Besides that, I am also anticipating my first novel “Awakened” to be published and released soon.

5. If you could share one word to readers who are seeking their purpose, what would you say?

Trust God! It doesn’t matter if you’ve faced rejection in the past or if you are just terrified to move forward because of your fear of failure. God does have amazing things in-store for you. Faithfully seek His will and purpose and watch how God moves mightily in your life!

I hope you’ve enjoyed meeting Kennisha. Please take time to visit her at her website and order your copy of Simply Wisdom. Ordering through the PayPal link secures your “free shipping.” Also, please leave a comment on today’s post, and one name will be drawn to receive a free copy of Kennisha’s book.

Have a blessed weekend friends. I hope to be back with you next week. I love you all. As always,

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Leaving Seasons

“‘ … Come now; let us leave.’” (John 14:31).

 

Leaving seasons.

Have you had one lately? A moment when you’ve distinctly heard the voice of your Savior calling out his command for you “to come and to leave”?

They go together … coming and leaving. Moving on to a “next” requires the relinquishment of the “prior.” Obedience is the bridge that stands between the two. Otherwise, we remain stuck—trapped in the comfortable, wrapped in the familiar. Little does it matter if that familiar is draped in difficulty; often we reason it better than the risk of the unknown. Accordingly, we’re stuck.

Staying stuck is a deliberate choice; we may think differently. We may conclude our options as limited; it’s a rational response when our walls begin to shrink and our resources know depletion. Rather than move beyond our safety zone, we choose the confinement of its comfort, hoping for a better outcome; believing that in our hiding and through our tearful pleas we will be able to manifest a change in the situation.

The problem with this thinking is that change almost always initiates from another location. Another direction and another understanding. Change comes with a knock on the other side of the door and offers its voice of invitation and hope.

Come now; let us leave.

Not, come, it’s time for you to leave, but come now; let us leave.

There is a difference between the two; so often we miss the mark in the matter. We forget that when God issues his command for us to the leave the cloaking of our current, he does so with an “us” in mind. Never does he vacate the process; rather, he initiates it and asks us for faith enough to open up the door and to walk through to the other side.

For the disciples it meant leaving the confinement of a holy moment—a night’s long dialogue and final meal with the man they called friend … Jesus … Christ—the Son of the living God. It would be a difficult leaving; the uncertainty about what awaited them on the other side of the door was enough to warrant their concern, at least some confusion.

As far as their minds could reason, the situation wasn’t matching up with their imagination … with how they envisioned this journey with their Jesus to end. The painful resignation to the truth of what they were hearing was a difficult swallow. Talk of death and sorrow and returning to a Father’s glory sounded heavy and weighed fully upon their hearts.

Jesus understood; it weighed fully and in heavier measure upon his. Like the disciples, Jesus wrestled with the conclusion. Still and yet, he came to earth to do what his Father asked him to do; everything else—every feeling, desire, fleshly want and temporal satisfaction—fell prey to this overriding mission.

Accordingly, Jesus opened that door, and in doing so, made a way for us to mirror the same. Jesus walked his faith; he intends for us to follow his lead.

Come now; let us leave.
Come now; let us get on with the “getting on.”
Come now; let us be about the business of our Father.
Come now; let us take to the road of faith, believing that as we go and while we trust, we will behold the truth of a better moment.
Come now; let us not be afraid of an unseen obedience.
Come now; let us move forward, leaving the past where it remains.
Come now; let us believe in the One who made us, who loves us, who shapes us, and who keeps us.
Come now; let us take hold of all of that for which I have taken hold of you.
Come now; let us hope. Let us live the truth of our salvation. Let us move beyond the comfort of our today to embrace the wide and the wild of a trusting grace that was always meant to walk; not hide.

I don’t how if you needed to hear this today. I did. I’m experiencing my own sort of “leaving season” right now. I thank God for the courage that he has given me to walk through a pretty heavy door. My comfortable “difficult” was no longer a cup I could abide; it was keeping me stuck, friends, and I don’t like being stuck inside when there’s so much life to live beyond its confinement.

Can I clearly see the road ahead? No. In fact, very little. But there is someone who visions quite clearly. My Jesus. My companion. My faithful friend whose gentle knocking was recently replaced by his firm command.

Come now, elaine; let us leave. It’s time for the “getting on” and the moving forward.

Maybe today, you’re hearing his voice more clearly than before. Maybe today marks the beginning of your leaving season. If so, I walk it with you. I understand the amount of faith that’s been required to get you to this point of trusting our God; I applaud your confidence in his holiness. So does he. Nothing pleases God more than watching your faith blossom into an intentional obedience. This is what the “ancients” were commended for—believing when they couldn’t see, but always certain that, one day, they would see.

They have seen, friends, and so shall we. Come now, and let us leave our “prior” and move on with our God to his next. His intention for our lives exceeds our own. May we all have the willing trust and the certain faith to take him at his word. Thus, I pray…

Give us courage to move beyond our shut doors, Father. May the unexplored and promised vistas of a forward faith be the anchor that moves us outward in obedience. Clearly sound your voice so that we might be able to discern your truth. Where we are comfortable, prod us. Where are complacent, poke us. Where we are fearful, calm us. Where we are weak, strengthen us, and where we are faithless, show us … teach us what it means to walk in sacred trust. Shape us, Lord, for we are a people longing for more. Amen.

Copyright © May 2009 – Elaine Olsen

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PS: In honor of all the women that we will be celebrating this upcoming weekend, I will be giving away a copy of Celia Whitler’s “One Wish for You”–a beautifully illustrated book paying tribute to the women in our lives, along with a CD that includes five songs written and performed by Celia. You can click here to listen to a sample of Celia’s music. She’s new to me, but I love her earthy, raw voice that beautifully weaves its tender chords into the accompanying music. Celia also has a book/CD combo for graduates and others. Please take time to visit her website and leave a comment here to enter the drawing. Have a blessed and “full of Jesus” kind of weekend. I love you, friends. Shalom.

A Building Matter…

“Go and tell my servant David, ‘This is what the LORD says: You are not the one to build me a house to dwell in. I have not dwelt in a house from the day I brought Israel up out of Egypt to this day. I have moved from one tent site to another, from one dwelling place to another.’” (1 Chronicle 17:4-5).

I have little time to be here today, friends. Still and yet, I’ve been stuck in 1 Chronicles 17 for the better part of an hour and feel like I want to say something. Nothing new on my end; “saying” something seems an easy fit with my personality. That being said, not all my “saying” is worthy of the “saying.” Are you following me?

Even if you’re not, there’s something I want to say to you. Something I think that God would like for us to remember as we go about the business of our day, desperately trying to “build” a life that matters. We’re all busy building something.

Careers.
Bank accounts.
Families.
Ministries.
Reputations.
Kingdoms.
Faith.
Followers.
Futures.
Agendas.
Selfishness.
___________________ (you fill in the blank).

Regardless of the “dressing” we’re wearing this morning, whether it be a hard hat, a whistle, and briefcase, some overalls, or, perhaps even our pj’s from the night before, you and I woke up to build something this morning. And while our intentions may operate from the purest of motives, nothing will build as lasting … nothing will frame as enduring… without the hands of God in the mix.

Here’s the deal. As Christians, we’re tempted to think that “If we build it, He will come.” Sometimes it seems to happen that way. But there’s a danger in thinking that the work of our hands and hearts can contain the holy presence of Almighty God. Our “building” may sound good on paper … might even match up with the truth of God’s Word and even receive the prayerful support of a well-intentioned committee or a home-team advantage.

But unless God builds it, we labor in vain … in our prideful attempts at trying to make God happen rather than simply letting God be. Where he will. When he will. Moving from one tent to another as he will.

You and I are that tent. As New Testament believers, we house the presence of the living God in this covering of our flesh—a temporary covering that will soon trade in for the eternal cloaking of a forever structure. Wherever we walk, he walks. God inhabits our flesh in order to build his kingdom through us, most days in spite of us. Most days we get it backwards. Most days we move ahead of God’s process.

We build and then we ask and then we wonder what went wrong. Why isn’t it working? Why isn’t the all-consuming fire from God descending upon our precious altar of hard work and sacrifice and causing it to burn with all the fervor and purpose of heaven? Why do the offerings of my brother or my sister’s heart seem more pleasing to God? Where is my payoff for doing something for kingdom?

Oh friends, we mean well. Really we do, and I believe that God honors our meaning well. We can’t always see on the front side of our laboring which way it’s going to go. Sometimes we just jump in with all the wild and wooly of a well-meaning trust, and rather than smacking us down immediately, God tenderly esteems the “want to” behind our building. He sees our hearts that are eager to do something … to be something … to work toward something that will matter in the end.

He doesn’t balk at our desire. Instead, he simply asks us for the shaping of that desire. For us to bring our desire before him … to sit with him in uninterrupted pause and consider the “building” together. As the “tent holders” of an extraordinary King and his kingdom therein, we carry the weighty responsibility of bringing Jesus into the mix of our everyday doings.

Wouldn’t it be better to consult him before dragging him into the work of our hands? In doing so, we might save ourselves a heap of heartache and disappointment on the front end of a long labor.

Regardless of your current building project, God is with you. Whether you started it in vain or whether you’ve sensed his fingerprints from the very beginning. God doesn’t abandon us mid-stream. He may not be a fan of our plan (and therefore calling us to change course), but God has and always will be a fan of our hearts. He understands that we won’t always get it right. That sometimes we let our dreams about “building something bigger” eclipse his dreams about “building something lasting.”

And I don’t know how you stand on the issue, but as for me, I’m after a “something” that is going to last. God determines the size of the building, and whether it is a big thing or a small fraction of that big, it will be a perfect fit into a perfect plan that constructs a perfect kingdom within a perfect forever.

I can live with that. Indeed, I can run with this one. Thus, I’d better get out of these pj’s and get on with my moving on. God’s got something to build through me; you too. And while we may not be able to see the fullness of the plan in this moment, we can be confident that there is one. May we all have the good sense and willing heart to sit before our Father this day and ask for it rather than assuming our wisdom and strength enough to build it. Thus, I pray…

Forgive us, Father, when we think ourselves worthy of building our lives in isolation. Your hands build everlasting. Mine build to dust. Keep me mindful and humble of the chasm between the two. Keep me thankful for the grace that covers my willful ignorance accordingly. Amen.

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PS: Whew… that’s a lot of saying for someone who doesn’t have much time today! That being said, I believe someone needed to hear it. I certainly did. If you want to take further time with this concept, please read 1 Chronicles 17 and see what God might be saying to you about your current “building” project. Mine looks a whole lot like a WIP (work in progress) near completion, but that’s another post for another day. Shalom.

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