christian perfection | Elaine Olsen

A Night’s Pause … A Morning’s Grace

December 6, 2008

*Note: update on winners below.

I am awake this morning. Earlier than I want to be. I could have used a few extra hours of sleep, but my dreams took a turn for the worse and forced my notice …

“You are better than this, Elaine. You don’t have to go there.”

“But I want to, Lord, just for a few moments.”

“You can make that choice, daughter. But in doing so, realize that you don’t travel this road unaccompanied. You travel it with me and with my knowing.”

And with that brief exchange, I am undone, as I remember my grace and just exactly what price was paid for its rightful place in history. No dream or action rendered accordingly is worth the blood that was shed on my behalf.

Dreams.

They are our occasional portion. We don’t ask for them. They simply find us. Dreams give us some limited permission to flesh out the unspoken seedings of our heart. For good or for ill, dreams allow us walks down roads we might not otherwise journey. Roads that are sometimes welcome; roads that are sometimes better left untraveled.

The latter has been my swallow this morning. In the moment and as it played itself out on the stage of my unconsciousness, it tasted sweet. But unconsciousness quickly turned to conscious awareness, and with that discovery, I had a choice to make—

To nurse the dream with thoughts of action or to surrender its hold to the cross of Jesus. And while others might voice their “let it go” and “it’s just a dream”…

I know better. What surfaces in the night can quickly become the sin that plagues the heart and the mind during the day. Better to surrender quickly. To confess and to allow grace its rightful place in my heart. Hardly seems fair; after all, I didn’t go to bed asking for a forgotten desire to rouse from its designated grave and to sing her song onto the stage of my thoughts. I went to bed with Jesus on my mind and with his song in my heart.

An odd coupling—Jesus and my sin. But then again, maybe not. Maybe just exactly as this life was meant to walk. My sin … his notice.

Why do I tell you this? Why do I cloak myself with a brilliantly bright computer screen in this dark hour to pen my confession?

In part, because confession is good for the soul. Bringing a night’s pause into the light diffuses the mystery of sin’s grip.

In greater part, because I want you to realize that for all of the ways that my life breathes with the witness and understanding of Jesus Christ, there remains a thorn of sorts. A portion of selfish flesh that continues to work itself out in me. Sometimes great. Sometimes small, but nevertheless still present. Still nagging. Still requiring my surrender and my increasing thankfulness for God’s grace that simply covereth.

I imagine that these fleshly thorns of mine will continue their prick. For as long as I tarry in this frame, there remains a tension between my earthly cloaking and my heavenly one. Remember God’s Plow and My Longing?

But in this moment, in this hour as the sun begins its approach to my soul, the thorn pricks less … bleeds less and reminds me that the battle hasn’t been lost in the night. It began there, but it finishes with the reminder of a sun’s illumination—a Son’s Light—and I am forever grateful for another day to be a better person.

To make better choices and to grow in my faith and understanding of all things sacred.

I don’t know how this strikes you today. I don’t know if anyone needs the witness of my penned confession. But if my feelings serve me correctly (for there are many occasions when they serve me incorrectly and to my contrary…), I imagine that there is some worth in bringing their voice to paper. Thus, I offer my heart and my pen and ask God to use them both as only he can.

For his glory. For his gain. For his grace that bled and shed its portion so that we could rise above our flesh and walk in victory over our sin.

It’s a good day to walk with Jesus, friends. I don’t know how your agenda reads, but I plan on squeezing in a lot of Christmas preparations around my thoughts of him.

An odd coupling—Christmas preparation and Jesus. But then again, maybe not. Maybe just exactly as this life was meant to walk. My preparation … his arrival. Thus I pray,

Come, Lord Jesus, and illuminate my heart with the truth of your grace. Thank you for a night’s pause and for the witness of your cross even there … in the midst of my dreaming and my thinking that sin cannot find me. It did, but so did you, and I am humbled by your willingness to meet me and challenge me with the higher road. In this moment, I choose better. When the next moment arrives, prick my heart with the same awareness of my “now” so that my path walks higher and greater and beyond where I am today. Thank you for Calvary. Thank you for Christmas. Grace and Expectation. An extraordinary gift to me in this morning. Amen.

~elaine

Congrats to Sassy Granny, Yolanda, and Debbie for winning a copy of Sara Grove’s O Holy Night Cd. Girls, please email me your snail mail so that I can get it to you in quick order. Shalom.

On Being Productive…

November 17, 2008

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:8-10).

“Yvonne is still working on being a productive member of society.”

Those were the words of closing benediction from last night’s Hallmark movie. A story chronicling the woes of a homeless woman and her rescue therein. A good watch, and why I would have liked some follow-up details, the post script told me all I really needed to know.

Yvonne still struggles with her demons and with her freedom accordingly. A painful pull between the lonely wanton of the streets and the welcome embrace of a sheltering purpose. Of belonging, of fitting and of making her mark in a world that has embedded its indelible marks across her weary and well-torn heart. She’s still working on being a productive member of society.

So am I. How about you? What benediction could be written over your now? Anybody feeling a little well-worn and less than significant as it pertains to kingdom business? Is the call of the streets drowning out God’s call upon your life for discipleship? How is the pull, pulling?

For the past couple of weeks, my pull has been pulling tight. I’ve felt the profound strain between my “nothingness” and my “mattering.” The world has screamed its resistance at my feeble attempts at faith, causing a dissonance that strikes at the root of my identity as God’s workmanship. And while I understand that my sacred significance is not based on man’s opinion, my heart is easily swayed by man’s judgment.

God has created me for good works. For his good plan and for his kingdom come. Long ago, I surrendered my limitations and my plans upon the altar of his will and invited his presence into my life. I continue to do so. Why?

Because my full perfection and his full purpose for me has not fully lived its finish in me. There is still work to be done—in me, with me, and, ultimately, through me. God continues to seed my heart with a yet to be realized harvest. I cannot tabulate the eventual return, but I am feeling the cost of its current sowing.

God allows me the struggle; not because he delights in my anguish, but rather because he desires for my faith to prove genuine (1 Peter 1:6-7). To be real and relentless in the midst of difficult times that call for a resolute faith. A faith that doesn’t waver according to the daily news but a faith that stands firm and with the confidence of an abiding Holy Spirit and a determined consecrated purpose.

Faith based on the shifting sands of our uneven times is a faith that will eventually fall prey to the lure of the streets.

*To the sifting through the garbage bins for leftovers that feed rotten rather than lasting.
*To pushing carts filled with the cast offs of a fleeting treasure.
*To begging for an unjustifiable wealth.
*To sleeping beneath the covers of a dangerous and unattended dark.
*To addictions that soothe temporary and last indefinitely.
*To an uncleanliness that breathes sour and offends accordingly.

How does this “homeless” and wandering faith play itself out in our lives? What does street living look like for a Christian?

Garbage bin feeding: gaining our nourishment from the television, the internet, and the radio, instead of from God’s Word (John 6:26-27, 35; 1 John 2:15-17).

Pushing carts: filling our lives with the religions and philosophies and “truths” that produce temporal answers instead of “leaning not unto our understanding” and, thus, receiving the mystery of an eternal Truth that fills lasting (2 Tim. 4:3, 1 Cor. 4:1-4, Proverbs 3:5-6).

Unjustifiable wealth: asking for the bounty of another’s blessing instead of receiving what is ours as children and, thus, benefactors of our Father’ rich inheritance (Romans 8:15-17).

Sleeping without protections: giving into the lures of a dangerous dance in the dark where we assume no one can see, much less hold us accountable for our sin (1 Cor. 4:5; 1 John 1:5-9; Matthew 6:19).

Addictions: lining our flesh and mind with all manner of prescriptive measures meant to mask instead of lining our hearts with the sacred perspective that is intended to free (Romans 12:1-2; 2 Cor. 3:17).

Uncleanliness: wearing our sin out loud and in charge so as to cause our brothers and sisters to follow suit (Romans 14:19-21; 1 Cor. 10:31-32; 1 John 2:9-10, 3:7-10).

God hasn’t designed us to be a street people, at least not here. He’s called us to be on the streets; not as dwellers but as pilgrims. A people on an intentional journey—on the highway of the King headed to an eternal street living that lines golden and ripe and laden with the treasure of heaven’s richest fare. And until we arrive there, we are given the consecrated privilege of contending with the boundaries of a lesser road.

Lesser because everything short of our going home to be with Jesus breathes with reduction. Privileged because the road boasts the feet of those who are homeless and are in desperate need of following God’s sacred lead. Consecrated because it is our high and holy calling to take that lead … to be God’s light and his ministers of reconciliation as though God was making his appeal through us (2 Cor. 6:20).

Consecrated street living is hard living. Rarely is it convenient or comfortable. Rather, it is costly and contrary to the fleshly pulse that beats in isolation for self-preservation. Thus, I am still working on being a productive member of society—God’s society, where self-preservation takes a back seat to kingdom preservation.

These have been difficult days for many of us. We are tired and weary from our well-worn worry. Accordingly, we are tempted to fill our carts with an aimless wandering devoid of sacred perspective. We are pulled in a thousand different ways, with a thousand different thoughts, and with little anchor to hold us as steady. We are taking to the streets, rather than taking to our knees and to our need for a helping hand to guide us in the right direction.

And while I want the pull between my “nothingness” and my “mattering” to be less, I want my faith to prove genuine even more so. Thus, I concede to the struggle, knowing that my perfection hangs in the balance. Perhaps, like me, God’s workmanship in you has been a difficult striving. I understand.

You are not alone, ever. God is with you. I am with you. We are walking this road together … to our eternal rest at our Father’s feet where our lingering “demons” will finally give way to our lasting freedom. Where the streets of our current dinge and dark will be buried beneath the blistering gold of a perfected glory. We need not fear its certain coming, for it is God’s promised ending to us as Christians. We simply and profoundly need to embrace its sacred worth on the front side of its arrival.

The backside will breathe with understanding, but if we can, even now, get our thoughts anchored in the truth of why our striving matters and what awaits us accordingly, then we are well on our way to being the productive members of a kingdom society that God intends for us to be. Thus, I pray…

Make us a productive people, Father, not for ourselves but your mighty end. Forgive us our self-focus. Encourage us with your purpose. Strengthen us with your promises. Enliven us with your Spirit and work in us your perfection, all the way home to our final rest. May our knees find the floor before our feet find the streets. You, alone, are our Anchor, our Sustainer, and the Perfecter of our faith. Encourage us with this certain truth as we walk each step of this day. Amen.

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The Forest for the Trees…

October 27, 2008

I dedicate this piece to my friend, Melinda at “Traveling the Road Home”, who graciously afforded me the use of this picture from one of her recent trips. It grabbed me the moment I saw it on her blog, and it has taken me a few days to put some words around it. I pray they speak its witness accordingly. Thanks, friend.

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for.” (Hebrews 11:1-2).

What do you see when you look at this picture?

I see beauty. I see between. I see beyond.

My eyes refuse the focus of the cluttered clustering trees and instead focus on the entirety of the painted landscape. Rather than get bogged down in the details, I breathe in the witness of a well-planned masterpiece …

the forest instead of the trees.

The full and lush of a long ago planting, seeded by the hands of nature and through the intent of a loving God who visions at a higher level than me. Who paints with a perfected end in mind rather than settling for a partial finish. Who gives careful attention to the details so that the finished product breathes with the life and vitality of exacting and necessary brushstrokes. Who gives us his creation to teach us something about eternal visioning and forever focus.

Faith.

Lived and walked in the details, all the way through to the end—to the other side of the forest where clutter gives way to spacious living. Where shadowed existences give way to God’s lighted embrace, and where the backward glance at the trees left behind fills in the gaps about seasons previously misunderstood.

The ancients of Hebrews 11 understood about faith and the potential cluttering therein. They were commended for their focus … for seeing the forest as their bridge to home rather than as an obstacle to prevent their arrival. Refusing to be overwhelmed by the maze of tangled brambles and knotted roots along the way, they set their eyes on the faint glimmers of a finish that sparkled its radiance light through the dim masking of branches and foliage.

Their vision leveled toward completion.

“All of these people were living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.” (Hebrews 11:13-16).

A city … just beyond the trees. A better country that houses the perfected end of the process that we now walk. A permanent dwelling where the din and lies of the forest are replaced with the splendor of God’s eternal peace and truthful witness.

Friends, if ever we needed the witness of eternity’s truth, it is now. We are walking through a tree-laden season of volatile living. The chaos and clutter of an electoral process is leaving most of us confused and pointedly focused on the trees that obstacle rather than on the forest that divinely shapes. Our minds landscape with the ugly and contrary nature of a temporary foliage that refuses to budge and that so easily trips.

We fight understanding as we soldier on. We refuse to bend and to bow to the trees’ cloistering for fear that in doing so, we will never make it beyond their branchy embrace. Rather than concede to the process of our perfection via difficult trees, we slash at their bark with our words, with our hateful intent, and with our neglect to love.

We fear the outcome, even though the outcome was never ours to fear. What happens in our country over the next few weeks does matter. It is important. But our perfected end, and God’s sovereignty in the matter, isn’t so fragile that it cannot abide an Obama or a McCain presidency.

God has never intended for our focus to stop mid-forest. To freeze frame on a single tree or on a single event in history that was only ever intended to be one miniscule part of the whole. The enemy would like nothing better than to stop us in our tracks and to have us think that the next president will be our savior. The truth is…

No man or woman will ever or could ever hold that title.

There is only One who is worthy of such an honor. His pilgrimage through the forest would require that his Father journey deep into its dark in order to cut the one tree that would house and hold his surrender. He did, so that our requirement would be less. So that we could walk it through to the other side with temporal wounds that bleed less and never lasting. Christ didn’t journey without forethought. He walked with one purpose in mind.

The forest for the trees.

The beauty, between, and beyond of a portrait that was painted long before he allowed us any voice or any vote in the matter.

Is God concerned about our now? Perhaps, but only as it pertains to his completed masterpiece. Is God involved in our now? Absolutely, because what he has in mind is a canvas that is brushstroked with the truth of his ample sacrifice—an end that is painted with the blood of Calvary’s grace. And that, precious readers, will always warrant his attention and his brush.

We are almost home, nearly finished and nearly perfect. God is after our beauty, both individually and collectively as a people. No thing or no one person will thwart his kingdom agenda. No matter the trappings and confinement of a few temporary trees … no matter the outcome of a presidential election … God’s light is still shining through the branches of our dim and our confusion. He is calling us through to the other side, and one day soon, our backward glance will afford us a beautiful understanding for the cluttered shaping that we now walk.

Fear not, our Father has allowed us our trees so that his forest will boast the punctuated splendor of a few faithful hearts—hearts that are trusting and fully content to leave the painting up to him. Thus I pray,

When I am fearful, Lord, with the confusion from the trees that surround my life, remind me of the forest that houses the completeness of your plan. Illuminate each step with the light of your forward focus that will keep me moving in the right direction and in the full assurance of what awaits me on the other side. This season is my season—one that you have ordained for my steps and for the steps of the country that I call home. Keep us, Father, in perfect rhythm with your will. And when I am tempted to consign such understanding to the fragile minds of men, forgive me for assigning them with too much. You, alone, are the King of my heart and my life. Only you can carry me on to my perfection and to your intended end. Humbly, I bow to the beauty of your trees this night. Amen.

The Mirrored "Truth"

October 15, 2008

“When Sanballet heard that we were rebuilding the wall, he became angry and was greatly incensed. He ridiculed the Jews, and in the presence of his associates and the army of Samaria, he said, ‘What are those feeble Jews doing? Will they restore their wall? Will they offer sacrifices? Will they finish in a day? Can they bring the stones back to life from those heaps of rubble—burned as they are?’” (Nehemiah 4:1-2).

I read her words this morning. They immediately paused my spirit and required my notice. I will be buying her book. I have no idea the format for the book, but I know a good writer when I read one. Words move me. Spin me. Challenge me and speak to the deepest need within me. And when a writer can do that with just a few sentences, it catches my breath and enlivens my spirit with a passion for the read.

This kind of pull creates an interesting mix of emotions for me. I celebrate her gift. I appreciate her gift. I have no doubts that I will enjoy her gift of words in the days to come. That being said, when I read the obvious giftings of another writer’s pen, I sometimes wonder why I bother with my own.

And while I am overjoyed with the thought of digging into another good read, I look in my own mirror this day with thoughts of confusion. Thoughts of pain. Thoughts that dig at the root of my own giftedness and the reality that there is still so much I want to say, while feeling so ill-qualified to do so.

When I look at my reflection, I don’t see possibility. Today, I see less. I see brokenness … rejection … failure. I see a 42 year old woman who allows herself the taunt of the enemy, even as it voiced over 2500 years ago to Nehemiah and God’s people.

What is your feeble flesh trying to do, Elaine?
Will you restore your wall?
Will you bring your limited giftings … your sacrifices … as an offering to God?
Will you finish in a day? After all, we’re at 42 years and still counting…
Can you bring your stones back to life … your heaps of rubble, burned as they are—fractured, splintered and unworthy of notice?

The moment paints grim. I know. I’m sorry if it bothers you, but I imagine that you have authored your own share of such moments.

It won’t last. God’s work and Word in my life are too powerful … too willing and too truthful to let the lies of the enemy own the stage. When God looks in my mirror, his perspective is different from mine. This is a very good thing, for I am prone to my confusion when it comes to reasoning the difference between God’s truth and the enemy’s version therein.

In my own strength, and in my own willful pursuits for healing, my feeble flesh will fail. My wall will never know restoration. My giftings will remain as they are—limited. I cannot finish in a day what has taken some four decades to build. And above all, I cannot breathe life into my stones of rubble that have known deep fracture and heated burn. I can try, but honestly, my efforts at restoration haven’t moved me beyond moments like today. I’m still looking in the mirror with regrets. I can do very little to change the condition of life.

But God can do it all. Everything. He is the one who holds the blueprints for my life. And for all of the times when I see the fracture and burn of a disobedient life, he visions better. He sees promise. Rather than casting my rubbled remnants aside, he lovingly picks them up, dusts them off, and breathes his healing into their broken. He uses the stones of my yesterday to rebuild the walls of my today.

I am a living stone being built into a spiritual household that will endure the test of time and survive the vicious taunts of the enemy.

Oh that my healing would walk its course in a day’s time. That would be lovely and seemingly picture perfect. But God never intended for my perfection to author in a day. Lasting beauty births with the brushstrokes of longevity. The colors in my Father’s palette paint living and vivid and real. He seeds my restoration according to his time table, not mine. I cannot understand his wisdom in the matter, but I humbly respect it and bow to accept it. Not out of resignation because I am unable to force his hand in the matter, but rather because his grace has been so willing to paint me into his eternal landscape.

I am the penchant of my Father’s heart. A true work in progress. Some would say, I’m not worthy of Louvre Museum. And I would say that I’m not after the Louvre.

I’m after Jesus.

And if my portrait never makes the front page here, it has already made the front page in heaven. In part, on the day when Calvary painted its cross on a hillside. In part, on the day I accepted the grace of that cross as my own. In full, on another day yet to come when God’s words, via his pen, will punctuate his well done on my behalf.

There is nothing else that matters, even though the world begs to differ. Even though I beg to differ in times like these, when I focus on my failing flesh rather than the masterpiece that God is after. I know the truth. I love God’s truth, but there are seasons in my journey when living truth’s depth and breadth is the hardest requirement of my feeble faith.
Such has been my week. Maybe yours too. Thus, I pray…

You alone, Father, make me worthy. You, living in me, allow my brokenness to know healing. My failures to find purpose. My sacrifices to breathe acceptable. My restoration to be complete. Forgive me when I can’t see your grace at work and enable me to receive it, even when the mirror breaks in temporal rebellion. You have died for my freedom, for my beauty and my renewal. Paint me complete, and grant me the patience for the process. Today, once again, I surrender the brush. Amen.

Raising Faith (part eleven): Embracing Your Nakedness

October 8, 2008

“Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.” (2 Corinthians 5:24).

November 2001

He didn’t deserve my stern rebuke. He deserved something, but not the severity of my harsh response. What I should have offered him was some grace amidst a teachable moment. What he received, instead, was a portion of judgment leveled at a heart too tender for the verdict … too innocent for the label.

Why?

Because my nakedness refused God’s dressing. Because my flesh is still so very much in tact.

I don’t recall the specifics of that occasion. I only remember a few words that quickly seared their way into my heart and forced me to my knees in humble apology. It is a message I carry with me, even some three years down the road. Not because I delight in the boast of my sin but rather because I want the lesson from it for always. A lesson intended for my growth; not only as a parent, but as a keeper of God’s truth.

Jadon, young in years and full with a “me first” mentality, was wearing on my already thinned nerves. Me, older in years and still so often filled with a “me first” mentality, responded to his continual fussing by sending him to his room. It must have been a hard send because his response to me was a soft and sorrowful obedience.

With tears rolling down his cheeks as he surrendered to the upstairs climb, he simply turned around for a final glance and spoke these precious words of conviction over my soul:

“Mommy, God sent you here to be our lover.”

I don’t know if it was the tears or his gentle way of his administering God’s truth to me, but regardless of the emotional mixing, his words cut deep and immediately shrouded my heart in heavy conviction.

Guilty as charged, son. Naked and exposed, yet again.

I’ve never forgotten that moment. I think my Father would have it remain firmly entrenched in memory. He used my sin and my son’s broken spirit to teach me a valuable and consecrated lesson about human life and about the responsibility that I bear in loving each one toward his kingdom end. An end that is best served…

through love rather than shame.
through grace rather than judgment.
through mercy rather than punishment.
through selfless rather than selfish.

Oh, the groanings of my flesh! I am naked in my want for the righteous clothing of my God. He’s been dressing me for over forty years now, and still there are moments of raw and real exposure that are mirrored in my body. I am housed within a tent that isn’t well pegged to the ground and that blows wide and open at the whim of a temporal wind.

My life of faith is a literal peep show for the world to observe, and quite honestly, I’m not sure if anyone is coming back for a second look. I’m not sure I want them too. When I can’t love with grace and mercy and selfless intent, I can’t expect a good review. From the world. From my own family. And most importantly, from the perfect Lover of my soul—the God who created my frame with an eternal cloaking in mind.

A dressing that does not include my fleshy imperfections, but rather a perfection that will swallow up the old with the life-giving breath of heaven’s new. Until then, I groan all the more because I know that what awaits me on the other side of this pilgrimage unto death, is a life fully clothed with the righteousness of my salvation.

Flesh living is painful living. There are no short cuts to perfection. God uses the lives of other pilgrims toward that end. The groans of our sacred shaping may come to us through a stranger, a friend, a co-worker, a parent, a spouse, and some days…through the tears and honest words of a child.

God did indeed put me on this earth to be a lover of my children. Period. No matter their wrongs. No matter their mess. No matter their pursuits toward self-interest. I am the one who has been given the sacred privilege of loving them to adulthood. I don’t always do it right, but I always do it real. As it comes, even when God turns the table and allows my young son the sacred privilege of loving me into my adulthood.

If faith is to be raised in this generation, then our nakedness must be embraced—even when it’s humbling and especially when it exposes the truth of a neglected imperfection.

Perhaps this day, you know the groanings of a “yet to be finished” cloaking. I understand, for I am woman who shares your exposure. All of us, every last one of us, are as naked before God and before one another. We might mask it well in the temporary, but as you and I stand before our Father, there is nothing hidden from his view. No portion of our flesh that he cannot see. This truth, alone, is worthy of a few painful utterings.

The greater truth? God sent his Son to be the Lover of our souls. And with Jesus, there is always grace. There is always mercy. And there is always a love rooted in the selfless sacrifice of Calvary’s cross. It is more than enough to lead us all home to our heavenly dwelling where the mortal will, once and for all, be swallowed up by the eternal life that is ours through Jesus Christ our Lord. Thus I pray,

Thank you for loving us perfectly, Father. For sending your Son to his own cloaking of flesh that has enabled us to one day drop this tent in trade for another—an eternal dressing worthy of the streets of gold. Thank you, also, for the sacred shaping that comes to us through our exposure. Give us the grace and the wisdom to receive our teaching, even when it comes to us through a child and forces us to our knees in humble confession. Today, we groan in holy expectation for what is promised to us in our tomorrow. Come quickly, Lord. Even so come. Amen.

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