Category Archives: faith

Ascending to my "overlook"…

“When the men of Judah came to the place that overlooks the desert and looked toward the vast army, they saw only dead bodies lying on the ground; no one had escaped.” (2 Chronicles 20:24).
My spirit is moved today in a strong direction—a navigational pull that leads me into the midst of a story belonging to my spiritual ancestors. They are your ancestors as well, for (as believers in Jesus Christ) we are the spiritual seed of Abraham. Those long ago and faraway events tucked into ancient history and laid out for us on the pages of Scripture belong to us. They are commended to us for our good care and careful consideration. Theirs are the ancient paths (Jer. 6:16) given to us as a road map for our current walkabouts in faith.
I find strength in their witness, and today my thoughts are anchored within a Judean soil, alongside a king named Jehoshaphat, and in the midst of a people named Israel. Collectively, they faced a real threat by a real enemy in a real place during a real point and time in history. Their response to that threat has me thinking… even more so, has me doing.
1. When the enemy came knocking, they immediately took their concern to the one place, the One God who had promised them consideration along these lines:
Spoken by the king… “If calamity comes upon us, whether the sword of judgment, or plague or famine, we will stand in your presence before this temple, that bears your Name and will cry out to you in our distress, and you will hear us and save us.” (2 Chronicles 20: 9)
2. The corporate gathering of Israelites waited in anticipation of God’s Spirit to move; when He did, He lighted upon one of them and spoke this message over them:
“Listen King Jehoshaphat and all who live in Judah and Jerusalem! This is what the LORD says to you: ‘Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God’s. Tomorrow march down against them…. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the LORD will give you, O Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Go out to face them tomorrow, and the LORD will be with you.’” (2 Chronicles 20:15, 17).
3. The Israelites received the message as their own, and when tomorrow came, they obeyed God’s directives, worshipping as they went:
“Early in the morning they left for the Desert. … As they began to sing and praise, the LORD set ambushes against the men of Ammon and Moab and Mount Seir who were invading Judah, and they were defeated. (2 Chronicles 20:20,22) 
Note that in the midst of their praise and worship and unbeknownst to them, God moved on their behalf.
4. God’s people took their position at the overlook and witnessed his faithfulness in manifold measure:
“When the men of Judah came to the place that overlooks the desert and looked toward the vast army, they saw only dead bodies lying on the ground; no one had escaped.” (2 Chronicles 20:24).
These are the makings of a good walkabout in faith, don’t you think? When the threat came…
They prayed;
They listened;
They worshipped;
They obeyed;
They took up their positions;
They witnessed the deliverance of their God.
And in the midst of all their “theys”, God was working to procure an ending in keeping with his God-ness. This is corporate, spiritual victory at its best; responses from both ends of the equation—ours’ and God’s—working together to solidify and set in concrete a heart truth. Not merely a head truth, but a truth that exponentially increases as we courageously allow it some feet and a voice so that it can make its way from the pages of a book onto the pavement of real understanding.
Theirs is a faith I want to live.

 

Accordingly, I have stood before the Lord in his temple (1 Cor. 6:16). I have listened to his directives, and I have worshipped. I am taking him at his word, and now begins my ascent to the overlook. I don’t imagine the climb will be easy. Mountain terrain always hosts its fair share of rocks, edges, misshapen branches, and pebbles that like to get wedged into the soles of our feet. Sometimes the air around us betrays us as we make that ascent, forcing the issue of our every breath. Sometimes our companions as well; not every mountain ascent is created for every mountain climber. Sometimes our journeys are meant to walk in isolation.
But of this one thing I am certain of today, for I have known it to be true in my yesterday…
When we arrive at the overlook of God’s intention, the view will be breathtaking. Why? Because our good and gracious Father has gone ahead of us to secure for us a victory that will far outweigh any difficulty required of us while making personal pilgrimage toward eternal Promise.
I am counting on the upcoming view from my overlook; in many ways, I’ve had an advance glance at it today. What a joy to know Jesus and to know that he can be trusted with my all! He just keeps multiplying his goodness and grace into my world. May you know and hold a similar understanding in your hearts this day. You are good pilgrims with which to share my journey. Thank you for spending some of your time with me. I count it a privilege. I love you each one. As always…
Peace for the journey,
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 PS: I will be MIA most of the week, but will try and check in with you as I can. Shalom.

an apology to suffering

I’ve thought a lot about her over the past few days. Thought about her courageous fight against cancer and all the many ways she chose to deal with her disease in that season. Thought about her choices, her responses… the days she chose isolation over population. The times when she seemed to push away from instead of pushing into those of us who loved her… those of us who wanted to do more than to simply sit by and watch her slip away home to Jesus.
It seemed reasonable to me that she’d want me around. After all, I was laughter and smiles and hope for tomorrow. All I wanted to do was to help—a seemingly reasonable and generous gift to give to someone in great need. All I wanted to be was to be “let in”—cloistered amongst that inner circle that gave me safe sanctuary and open access to her pain. Instead, I was given arm’s length access to her suffering.
That was enough for her; it should have been enough for me.
But it wasn’t. And I judged. And today I render my heavenward apology to her, and say “I’m sorry” for thinking that I needed more… for assuming I understood; for pretending that a few words of well-spoken faith were enough to ease your discomfort. For forcing your feelings when all that you really wanted to do was to hunker down, tunnel through, breathe your next breath until that next breath arrived… indicating that you had made it beyond the momentary horror that gripped your flesh.
Yes, I’ve thought about her these past few days as I’m pushing through my own pain, and I am humbled with understanding because, now, I hold some of my own.
Understanding.
I don’t wish it for any of you, not in this way. Oh, that understanding could come to us otherwise. For depth of insight to be birthed in peaceful trajectory rather than in haphazard flight. For suffering’s lessons to be learned amidst the fall of autumn’s embrace rather than the dank and brittle of winter’s confinement. That we could really grasp the length and breadth, height and depth of Job’s renderings without ever having to scrape and spoil and sit amongst ashes. That we could truly learn the value of our flesh in a single pause without ever having to walk it to the outer edges of surrender.
That we could hold holy truth without ever having to engage with its contrast.
Oh that we could.
Oh that I could.
Apparently, that which I cannot. This time around, I must learn holy truth the hard way… the stinking, rotting reality of just exactly what my flesh means to me and my allegiances therein. Of sorting through the layers to reach sacred perspective… kingdom perspective. A God perspective that assures me toward more than what meets the eye… than what slays the flesh. That births in me something far greater than words and ideals and a faith that stops at the front door of my heart.
An understanding that will, once and for all, usher in for me an unshakeable, unwavering certainty in and of the one God who can be trusted with it all.
Beginning. Middle. End.
I thought knew God before cancer. Apparently, I’ve only scratched at his surface. And I am not afraid of his personal disclosure along these lines… of his willingness to draw me in and to let me see more. To ask more. To dig more. To hurt more, for I am convinced that it is in this more that my journey toward Peace really begins. Everything prior?
An entrée and excellent feast to whet my appetite for his Excellency.
Everything next?
My crossroads. The stone on my path, marking where my walkabout with the King commences. Where I discover my story, my country, my dreams, and the truth that I have never, ever been alone.
Not for a single moment.
…
Yes, I’ve thought about her over the past few days. And in the midst of my anguish, I’ve smiled a time or two, because she now holds something I’ve yet to fully grasp.
She holds understanding.
She lives in holy truth.
She no longer grapples with the question of her flesh because she is clothed, instead, with God’s.
Blessed Peace for the journey. Blessed Peace for today.
May God be your portion, my good, kind friends.
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therMOMmeter… {for Jadon}

“But you, man of God, flee from all this, and pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness. Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses.” (1 Timothy 6:11-12).
My son got into a fight on the playground today.
Yep. That’s what I wrote. A fight. My almost ten-year-old, blonde haired, brown-eyed boy (who’s always been the tenderest in spirit of my four children) threw the first punch on the playground this afternoon, leaving his taunter, his teachers, and his parents in utter shock. Please understand… Jadon isn’t aggressive in nature; he is kind, gentle, and loves the life he’s been given, along with the people therein. He spent the entire last year at his former school being bullied by his classmates, refusing to tell anyone, let alone get physical with any of them (even after us giving him permission to do so).
So today’s news was a new twist in the story named Jadon. And while we are concerned with his aggressive behavior and in no way condone the physical harm of another individual, we cut him some slack. Why? Because of the reasoning behind his decision—
Me.
Apparently I was under attack during a game of “You’re momma is ____________.” You know the game—a series of taunts exchanged by young boys who are determined to get the upper hand where their genetics are concerned. I imagine we could all fill in the blank with some comedic responses, but to ten-year-old boys fighting for dominance on the playground, humor isn’t a priority. Control is. So, what did they say about me?
You’re momma is evil.
When Jadon heard that it was “game on.” I asked him to express to me his feelings in the moment that it happened. This was his response:
Momma, my therMOMmeter snapped. It was like all those memories of last year came back to me, and the cups were filling up, and when (culprit) found me on the playground and continued to talk about you, something in me snapped. I had to take him on. So I lunged at him.
His words; not mine. He didn’t mean to say therMOMmeter; again, it was a Jadon-ism at its best—him trying to find the right word but missing the mark by a slight margin. We all knew what he meant. Even more so, we all knew what was going on underneath the surface of his tussle.
Jadon is angry about my cancer. A month beyond my diagnosis, he hasn’t shown much emotion other than extreme love for and care over me. He guards me and takes great pains to care for my every need… sometimes even before I make my needs known. That boy would walk over hot coals for me if it meant I could skip this cancer and just feel better. So when a taunter takes on my character with a word like “evil,” Jadon’s all in… come what may.
And I am glad for the defense; not that I need it. Trust me when I tell you that there have been lesser things said about me. I can handle it. But a little boy confused and concerned about his mother’s condition? I think him less able to walk away from the assassination of my character. Jadon just wants to make it better for me, and today (in his mind) he did. He took up for his mom… the dearest love of his life… his “Faith Elaine.”
And I ponder the sacred parallel. About Paul’s charge to Timothy to fight the good fight of faith. To defend the Gospel and truth of Jesus Christ… come what may. To take up shield and sword for the King and his Kingdom and to rightly and justly divide truth from lies. To protect, guard, and preserve the name and character of Jesus Christ because of familial, sacred bloodlines—our connection as children to the Father because of the cross of Calvary.
God doesn’t need our defense when the world calls him out and equates his deity with evil. He can handle the taunts of the playground. Heck, he made the playground! But in our defending him—his name and his character—we take up for our Father, the dearest love of our lives. We stand for faith and fight its cause regardless of the consequences that will, undoubtedly, arrive for us on the other end. When God’s integrity is called into question, our “therMOMmeter” should rise. And while we should always lace our responses with grace and mercy, we should most assuredly respond. To do nothing is to live less… is to say it’s OK to make fun of our Father.
Christian… where have you compromised your life of faith? When have you said nothing in defense of your King? When have the playground taunts been too frightening for you, thereby relegating your response to walking away rather than to entering the fray? Does God mean enough to you to take them on? To go all in and to fight to the finish?
Our God is worthy of the tussle with the playground bullies; not that we should seek them out, but rather that when they come calling with their taunts in tow, we are solidly prepared to enter the fray because our God is too important to us to let the lies slip by as truth.
Today I’ve cried over my son’s pain. I wish it didn’t have to be. That being said, I cannot remove it from him. I can only allow it its shaping in him. In this season, his maturing may be different from the other boys his age. He’s been asked to handle something huge in addition to multiplication, Bakugan, and the latest episode of Swamp People. His mother’s cancer has been added to his equation, and he (along with the rest of us) will be forever marked because of it.
Today, Jadon turned a corner. Where it will lead, I’m not sure. But of this I am certain. When he is old and grey and his mother is long gone on to glory, he’ll remember the day when his therMOMmeter rose in her defense, and he will be proud of his response.
I am proud as well, my son… young man of God. Always live your life in defense of your family, your faith, and most importantly, your King. He is worth fighting for. He has traveled long and deep and far and wide in defense of you. His cross tarries as your reminder. Never fear the outcome of your valiancy. The battle has been won on your behalf, and we will all share in the spoils of victory together around his throne. I count it a joy to have you at my side in this battle. Fight hard. Fight on. Fight through. Finish strong.
I love you.
Your mom,
Faith Elaine
PS: Comments are closed on this post; not because I don’t value your thoughts, but mostly because I feel so guilty by not being able to respond to them as I would like. It’s been extremely hard for me to manage my life and my blog visiting in this season. That being said, I’ll be around to see you as I can. If you’d like to be in touch with me, send me an e-mail via the “contact” link in my blog header! Blessed Sabbath rest to you and yours this weekend. Shalom.
tomorrow…

tomorrow…

 

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,

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Running my Peace…

Running my Peace…

“… 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.

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