faith | Elaine Olsen

"… live on"

May 12, 2010

{For you, friend, you know who you are.}

“… and yet we live on.” (2 Corinthians 6:9)

My right hand is aching this morning. Truth be known, it ached all night… a sharp twinge located in the center of my hand, just below my middle knuckle. I’ve felt it before. It flares up from time to time when my fingers and keyboard collide at a rapid, unrelenting rate. This has been one of those times for me… one of those weeks that has authored an unusual amount of connection between my fingertips and my computer. I don’t mind it much; I really don’t think about it often, especially while in mid-typing mode. But when the computer screen grows dim and the lights go out and my hands find their rest at my side, the pain sets in reminding me of an important truth regarding the call of Jesus Christ upon my life.

Kingdom work is sometimes flanked by the painful ache of a sacred obedience.

If we are Christians, if we dare to name ourselves with the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, then we are to be heartily invested in his kingdom business. We don’t get a pass when it comes to doing God’s work. Vocationally speaking, we may hold a variety of titles behind our names, but spiritually speaking, the only holding of our hearts that matters is the One who titles us as his. And when we get this—when we finally arrive at the place of realizing that all of our earthly endeavors are meant to be the fertile soil upon which the King sows his seed—then we readily accept the fullness of that calling, ills and aches included.

The Apostle Paul understood the strain between a painful ache and a sacred obedience. He willingly chose his “ache,” chaining himself to the Gospel of Jesus Christ and believing that every temporal pain of his flesh was achieving for him an eternal glory that far outweighed them all. At any point along the way, Paul could have chosen otherwise… could have freed himself from the physical and emotional misery that invaded his flesh. Instead, he persevered in great travail and suffering so that the church might know the culminating truth of the cross. So that the church would grow. So that you and I, some 2000 years down the road, might know what it is to “live on” despite the carnage and chaos going on around us and in us. But don’t take my word on it; take his…

“Rather, as servants of God we commend ourselves in every way:
in great endurance;
in troubles, hardships and distresses;
in beatings, imprisonments and riots;
in hard work, sleepless nights and hunger;
in purity, understanding, patience and kindness;
in the Holy Spirit and in sincere love;
in truthful speech and in the power of God;
with weapons of righteousness in the right hand and in the left;
through glory and dishonor, bad report and good report;
genuine, yet regarded as impostors;
known, yet regarded as unknown;
dying, and yet we live on;
beaten, and yet not killed;
sorrowful, yet always rejoicing;
poor, yet making many rich;
having nothing, and yet possessing everything.” (2 Corinthians 4:4-10).

I’d never seen it before… Paul’s “live on.” When reading this familiar passage I’m tempted to stay mired in the pain of it all, in imagining how my own life fits into the litany of sufferings he vividly details in his letter to the church at Corinth. Yet it’s there… two simple words that admonished the readers back then and the readers right now to “live on.” To not stay entrenched in the ache of our sacred obedience to Jesus Christ, but to “live on” in spite of it. To press on to take hold of all of that for which Christ has taken hold of us. To keep putting one spiritual foot of faith in front of the other until we press through to victory and can realize, even as Paul realized, that we possess everything, even though the world labels our possession as nothing.

The painful ache of a sacred obedience.

Some of you are living your ache today. Some of you are all too familiar with Paul’s suffering because yours, at some level, mirrors his. You may not be locked in a prison cell or experiencing the physical trauma of a flogging, but I imagine there are many of you who feel the emotional and spiritual intensity of some chains and some wearing and tearing away of your flesh that feels comparable in their depth to Paul’s.

Some of you are expending a lot of your faith on behalf of God’s kingdom gain while seeing little results. Some of you are standing on the front lines of a tenacious, spiritual battle where the line is wearing thin and your reserves have run for cover leaving you alone to fight it through to victory. Some of you are tired; sleepless nights have claimed your good sense and the energy for a new day has long since been usurped by the previous night’s wandering of your mind. Some of you are hungry; a famine of soul is crying out for the bread of heaven, yet the manna seems to have missed your acreage during its morning dispensation. Some of you are working hard, enduring long, speaking truth, and loving lavishly; still and yet, the payoff seems minimal and our Father’s notice all the more. You feel “unknown” and as an “imposter” upon the soil beneath your feet.

I hear you. I feel you. I cannot fully understand what it’s like to be you, but like you, I, too, have known moments, days, and seasons of feeling the painful ache of a sacred obedience. I cannot perfectly aid your comprehension as it pertains to the questions and “whys” behind your struggle, but I can, like the Apostle Paul, give to you a couple of words that have carried me through a great many aches in my past.

Live on.

Don’t die mid-stream. Live on. Press through. Receive everything as if it were happening to our Lord Jesus Christ and then, live on. For of this I am certain… you are known by our Heavenly Father. He sees your sacred obedience and regards you and your faith as genuine in his eyes. If you remain faithful to live on in Jesus, despite the carnage going on around you, then there is nothing in your past, present, or future that will come to you that will be able to undercut the witness of God’s kingdom via your flesh. Nothing. You can live on because Christ lived on. So did Paul; so have countless, unnamed others who have gone before you, who will follow after you, and who, in this moment, stand beside you to cheer you on toward victory.

I am one of them, friends, and I need your encouragement today just as much as you need mine. We’re on the kingdom road together; it’s no mistake that we have found one another in this season of living. God intends for us to be here… to love one another in the strength and power of his Holy Spirit and to live on together until we move home to heaven. It is but a moment from now… a single breath that will transport us into our “next” where our living on will live on in living color and before the very face of God. Believing and fully trusting in that moment, friends, brings me rich perspective for every temporal ache I experience that is connected to God’s kingdom end. Even so I pray, Lord Jesus, keep me obedient.

Keep me obedient to live on. Keep my friends as well. Amen. So be it.

peace for the journey,

basement dreaming…

May 10, 2010

*Note: Just in case you’re the one reader of this blog who hasn’t heard, my book “peace for the journey: in the pleasure of his company” has released. Just in case you missed the book trailer, here it is again (truthfully, I need to keep this out in front for readers, but haven’t a clue as to how I might incorporate it into my header, etc. Help Tekeme friends!).

And just in case you’ve hopped over here to find out the first three winners of an autographed copy of my book… here they are, as drawn by my three kids that are currently home (please e-mail me your snail mail, and I’ll get these to you this week): Amelia drew Danielle @ Sojourner, Jadon drew Cindy @ Letters from Mid-life, and Nick drew Laura @ the Wellspring. Some of you have asked regarding getting an autographed copy from me. I’m willing to send you one, but I cannot offer you free shipping like some of these other venues. The cost of ordering from me is $15 per book and $5 shipping for up to 3 books. Please e-mail me your interest.

With my next post, I hope to address some of the questions/thoughts/kindnesses you’ve had for me over the past week. Truly, you are more than I deserve, and I am grateful for every grace you’ve extended in my direction. There will also be another occasion to win a copy of the book, but for now, I simply wanted to write my “heart” with this post and to “speak in the daylight” what God has “whispered to me in the dark.” Shalom.

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“‘What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs.'” {Matthew 10:27}

“Mommy, I don’t mind playing by myself in the basement anymore.”

“Why daughter, what led you to change your mind?”

“Because I’ve discovered that the basement is big enough to hold my dreams.”

***

This was the conversation I had with my daughter in the early morning hours, not on the stage of real life but on the stage of my subconscious—a place where dreams have a habit of displaying their truth in a way that sometimes seems so real, I have a hard time separating reality from fantasy. This time, however, there was no mistaking the dream for reality. Why?

For starters, when I awoke I noticed the above conversation scrawled out on the pad of paper that sits on the nightstand by my bed—a good indication that something took place in the night that I wanted to recall with clarity in the day. I’ve learned to keep the pen at the ready, even in sleep. Secondly, we don’t have a basement. Lastly, even if we did have a basement, I’m fairly certain that, at seven years old, my daughter wouldn’t be ready to make such a bold proclamation regarding her fear of the dark and of being alone. I certainly wasn’t ready at her age to tackle the haunt of the basement that accompanied most of my childhood dwellings. I’m not certain I’m ready to tackle it now, but at forty-four I’m walking ever closer to being able to say with all the confidence of a dream walker…

I don’t mind playing in the basement anymore, because I’ve discovered that the basement is big enough to hold my dreams.

The basement. When I was a child it represented a few different things for me:

Isolation.
Darkness.
Mystery.
Quietness.
Hiddenness.
Confinement.

While growing up, the basement really wasn’t the place where my family lived corporately. We did our living upstairs. We ate upstairs, slept upstairs, and talked upstairs, all the while relegating the basement as a place of individual exploration and retreat. As a child, descending the stairs into the basement seemed like more of a punishment to me rather than a place of escape. To their credit, my parents went to great lengths to make our “underneath” a pleasant getaway for my sister and me. We had a playroom filled with toys and an open invitation to come and to live out our imaginations within its borders. I was more inclined to RSVP my acceptance if my friends or sister would choose to join in the fun, but to go it alone? To freely choose my isolation over the corporate adventure that was taking place in the upper chambers of our home?

Not likely.

I was too scared. Too frightened of what I could not clearly see. Too unsure of what might happen while on individual safari in the basement. Too afraid that I might miss out on the excitement of upstairs living. Too uncertain of the silence that surrounded me. Too confident that the silence would soon be replaced with sounds I couldn’t handle… with suspicions I couldn’t manage.

No, back then basement living wasn’t for me. My fear kept me from it, and if I’m not careful in this season of living, my fear might keep me postured accordingly… confined within the safety of the upstairs without ever venturing downward to discover the foundational beauty that resides beneath a well-structured home. A well-fortified heart.

Basements aren’t all bad. As I think about them tonight, some forty years beyond my initial understanding regarding their worthiness, the basement represents a few old things for me with a new twist:

Isolation, moments away from the world in order to be alone with God.
Darkness, not to hide me but to grow me.
Mystery, the secrets of an unseen God that cultivate my trust and replace my fears with faith.
Quietness, permission enough to settle down and settle in on what God has to say.
Hiddenness, permission enough to move away from life’s stage in order to allow God a moment beneath the lights.
Confinement, closing off the world’s crowding so that my heart and thoughts and dreams have room enough to breathe… to formulate and to incubate in a safe place with a good God.

I’ve been to the basement in recent days, friends. Long before “peace for the journey” ever made its entrance onto the stage of Amazon or Barnes & Noble or Winepress, it made its entrance into my dreams. It was a seed that germinated in the “basement” with God—a season in my life when I faced my fears and risked the isolation, darkness, mystery, quietness, hiddenness, and confinement of the downstairs in order to hear the heart of God regarding my dreams… my pen.

What birthed there, births now in living color for you to witness. Nothing about the journey in between those two births has been routine or predictable. This has been the most unpredictable road of faith I’ve walked in forty-four years. I hope to flesh that out a bit more for you in days to come because I think, perhaps, we’re tempted to assume that basement dreaming and the faith building therein always have to work themselves out in predictable measure. That somehow, my journey with my dreams has to resemble yours and vice-versa.

Basement dreaming with God is never without individual color and imagination. In the midst of your isolation and quietness with God, a foundation of faith is built that will best be able to hold and to fortify the dreams of your heart. What is erected there between the two of you will serve as your solid footing for the season to come. Don’t let anyone tell you that your house has to be built according to a structured set of blueprints… that dreaming only comes in one shade of color. Dreams come in kingdom shades of color, and the last time I checked, our Father’s palette was limitless.

You will get there, friends. Perhaps a trip to the basement might be in accordance with your next step of faith. Don’t fear the descent; instead, embrace it knowing that with each step into the darkness, God’s light shines brighter. I don’t imagine it will be long before your time in the basement will take on new meaning for you even as it has for me. Life in the upper chambers will concede some of its worthiness to the lower level, understanding that without the basement’s underpinning, the floors up above could easily disassemble into piles of rubble.

The basement is big enough to hold all of our dreams… is safe enough to grow them… is isolated enough, dark enough, mysterious enough, quiet enough, hidden enough, and confined enough to allow us open access to our Father’s heart. His heart is where our dreaming meets with the reality of his goodness and where our fear is replaced by a simple faith—a settled confidence in the One who authors all faith journeys and who promises to perfect them along the way and as we go.

God is where I want to live. He is where I want to dream. Accordingly, I don’t much mind playing in the basement anymore. It’s a good place to breathe with God, to grow an imagination, and to exist within the sacred possibilities of what he’s imagined on my behalf long before I made my entrance into this world. This week, I invite you to join me in the downward descent to God’s playroom so that his up and coming plans for your life might have a moment or two beneath the spotlight. It’s going to be good, because HE IS GOOD. As always…

peace for the journey,

~elaine

importunate persuasion

April 25, 2010

Jesus replied, “A certain man was preparing a great banquet and invited many guests. At the time of the banquet he sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’ But they all alike began to make excuses.… Then the master told the servant, ‘Go out to the roads and country lanes and make them come in, so that my house will be full. I tell you not one of those men who were invited will get a taste of my banquet.’” (Luke 14:16-18, 23-24).

On the heels of my previous post, many caring friends have asked me regarding “how things went” this past Wednesday evening. For the record, “things” went fine … better than I had anticipated. The new clergy family will be a lovely addition to this church. Long before my family ever set foot in this community, God considered the length of our tenure here and planned accordingly. He’s got it covered and will continue in his faithfulness to minister to the needs, dreams, and desires of this congregation… of this, I am certain. But this post really isn’t about “how things went” Wednesday evening. Rather, it is about “how things went” in the moments prior to Wednesday evening.

Before we get there, let me set the stage by relaying to you a conversation I had with my daughter a few weeks ago. It went something like this…

“Mommy, when you last saw Gayle, did you tell her about Jesus?”

“Yes, honey, I told her.”

“Did she understand? Does she know Jesus?”

“To the best of her ability, I think that she does, Amelia.”

“Then, mommy, you have a crown in heaven.”

“Oh precious one, there’s nothing I’d like more than to cast that crown at the feet of Jesus one day.”

“Mommy, promise me that the next time you see Gayle, if I’m with you, promise me you’ll stop so that I can meet her.”

“I promise. I think she’d like to meet you.”

***

I had the opportunity to make good on that promise this past Wednesday evening. We were traveling home from a quick dinner out when, from the corner of my eye, I spied her familiar “gait.” She was headed into the tobacco store; we were headed in the opposite direction. I whispered to my husband regarding her presence and then asked him to turn the van around. Truth be known, we didn’t have much time. Perhaps I would see Gayle on another day when the schedule wasn’t so pressing and when I wouldn’t be so stressed regarding the “big event” of my evening. Truth be known, God didn’t much care for my excuses. A parsonage “showing” isn’t necessarily in keeping with kingdom living. Thus, we stopped in front of the store and waited for Gayle to emerge.

When she did, she immediately recognized me. We hugged, and I introduced her to my family. She was quick to show us the contents of her plastic bag—her blue, Gideon bible. She’s been carrying that one around since the first time I met her on a bench last summer. After exchanging a few pleasantries, Gayle asked us for a ride. My husband nodded his approval, and together, the five of us made our way to a “questionable” section of town. Wary of our surroundings, I prayed a silent prayer for the security of my family. Gayle directed us to a low-income duplex. My impulse was to get her out of the car as quickly as possible and to move on. Instead, I pulled the van over and asked Gayle if we could pray for her. She willingly surrendered the moment to my request, and the four of us laid our hands on Gayle, thanked the Lord for her presence in this world, and petitioned him for his watchful care over her in the days to come.

Gayle told us good-bye and made mention of the next time we would meet… that perhaps we might consider coming to be the new pastors at her church.

The car was silent for much of the drive home. There was something prophetic about the words she spoke—words so closely tied to the truth of what we’re currently living that I was rendered nearly breathless, certainly speechless. And then, as if on cue, God broke through that silence with a gentle rain that began to fall upon our windows. It was the kind of rain that is sometimes accompanied by sunshine—the kind of coupling that normally produces a rainbow. I asked the kids to be looking for it… that this was just the kind of moment when we could expect its reminder. Almost immediately, Jadon cried out, “There is it, mom. In the rear window. God’s rainbow.” Again, we pulled the van over so I could get a better look. Rainbows are fleeting. Better to take them in as they take the stage.

Tears pooled in my eyes, and my husband took my hand. No words were spoken between us, only knowing glances of the truth that was being revealed in our spirits—

We were not forgotten. Gayle was not forgotten. The “big event” of my day—the parsonage “showing”? Well, temporarily forgotten—less important as it pertained to the living out of the kingdom on the pavement of everyday, real life. The kingdom never lives more effectively and profoundly than when it walks the streets with the King in mind, with his invitation to the banquet in hand, and with our “making them come in so that his house will be full.”

Making. A word in the Greek language that means “importunate persuasion”—a troublesomely urgent persuasion that is persistent in its request (Zodhiates, “The Complete Word Study Dictionary NT,” AMG Pub., 1992, 145). Why persistent? Why urgent? Why the need to compel the invited to RSVP? Because the kingdom of God is near, closer now than it has ever been, and the Master isn’t selective regarding his guest list. The way that we flesh out our kingdom callings sometimes indicates that we think that God is selective and conditional regarding his eternal invitation. But God doesn’t put conditions on who does or doesn’t receive an invitation. He’s interested in a full table, a full house, a full forever. What he’s not interested in is our excuses regarding our refusal.

Excuses serve as the foundation for our being excused by the Master from the heavenly banqueting table. Excuses wear thin when eternity hangs in the balance. And in case you’ve grown complacent regarding eternity, both as it pertains to where you’ll be spending it and where your neighbors will be spending it, it’s time to wake up. Time to take a look inward and to realize that Jesus Christ paid a high price for your chair at the table. We don’t get to choose who sits beside us, friends. We do, however, get to choose what we will do with the invitation that God has placed into our hearts and hands and has asked us, through importunate persuasion, to deliver to others. Thus, I ask you today, even as I asked Gayle this past week, even as I have asked you countless times before in this place that you’ve come to know as my cyber address,

Do you know that you know that you know my God and his truth? Have you surrendered your heart to his, and have you accepted his calling upon your life to go and to make disciples of all his people? Is grace your portion? If so, is grace your offering to others? When did you last hand out an invitation to the banqueting table? When did you last use sacred, importunate persuasion on behalf of the kingdom?

There are some occasions that will come to us this week that will matter for all of eternity—moments that teeter on the edge between heaven and hell where you and I will be given the opportunity to push “things” forward in favor of God’s forever. Some of us will make excuses; a rare few of us will live it out as God intends for us to live it out. When those moments come, I pray for the eyes to see, the mind to conceive, and the heart to be amongst the latter group.

No excuses. Just more of Jesus for me and for the Gayles of the world who’ve yet to realize that a chair has been set in their honor at the King’s banqueting table. It’s a good day to live with the King. It’s a good life to be trusted with such a gracious grace. May you know the richness of God’s bounty this week, and may you have courage and faith enough to dispense it liberally to every single soul who crosses your path therein. As always…

peace for the journey,

PS: To read more about my journey with Gayle click on the links within the post or here:
Post One: A Worthy Pause… God’s Worthy Cause

Post Two: A Tender Ache

a view from the Jordan…

April 19, 2010

“… ‘When you see the ark of the covenant of the LORD your God, and the priests, who are Levites, carrying it, you are to move out from your positions and follow it. Then you will know which way to go, since you have never been this way before….’” (Joshua 3:3-4)

Never having “been this way before,” at least not exactly, it occurs to me this morning that I just might be standing in the middle of the Jordan River… awaiting the promise of Canaan, yet so completely overwhelmed and awestruck by the demonstration of God’s power in the moment that the view from the “middle” writes as promise just as much as the view from the other side does. The view from where I’m standing this morning feels right and good and in keeping with God’s plan for my life—our lives. You see, a walk to Canaan is never isolated from the presence of others. There will always be those who go ahead of us in order to point us in the right direction, those who look for our leading from behind, and those who take our hands mid-stream feeling every inch of understanding as we go and along the way.

Promise-land living is corporate living, where all pilgrims willingly take ownership of the responsibility of the priesthood—to carry the presence of the living Lord along for the journey and to interject his witness via the feet of faith. Faith feet aren’t afraid of getting wet and are strengthened in their resolve to stand firm so that others might walk through on dry ground. In many ways, those feet belong to me. In other ways, those feet belong to my husband. Together, we’ve made some deliberate choices in recent days to take those first steps of faith into the Jordan. But long before we ever imagined this “route” to Canaan, there were and still are a few people whose feet walked this route first. They have gone ahead of us and have been waiting for us to follow their lead and to join them on the march to Promise.

My dear blog readers, hear me and hear me well. As people of faith, each of us is currently standing in one of three places on the road to Promise:

Viewing Canaan from the opposite side of the Jordan;
Viewing Canaan while standing in the Jordan; or,
Viewing Canaan beneath our feet.

Not one of these vantage points holds precedence over the others. None. All are worthy points along the way in our faith journeys because all of them have Canaan within sight. Our walkabouts in faith are cyclical trails of trust. No one currently living in the flesh holds the treasure of his/her eternal Canaan in its fullness right now. That crossing over occurs when the last vestiges of the flesh surrender their pulse to the grave. Therefore, while moving toward God’s kingdom to come, there is room enough for us to move within-and-around this process of faith’s progression. In the past week, I’ve seen Canaan from all vantage points, and my faith isn’t “less” because of it. My faith is stronger because of it.

We are doing a great disservice to a great many Christians when we try to put parameters around what “Canaan” should look like for other believers. I’m a firm advocate of abundant living, but I can never live abundantly until I have first known poverty of soul. One of the greatest tragedies of a walkabout in faith is for complacency to root in our hearts while living in Canaan. God doesn’t intend for us to set up our tents on the banks of the Jordan as a permanent place of residency. Certainly, he intends for us to rest there, gain perspective there, but eventually, he’ll require us to move deeper into the heart of the Promised Land. And for that to happen, friends, we must be wiling to keep the tent pegs pliable regardless of how firmly they’ve become tethered to the soil beneath our feet.

I don’t know where you and your faith are standing this week; it’s likely that, before it comes to conclusion, you’ll experience Canaan from all vantage points. Regardless of where your feet are planted this morning, let me be a voice of encouragement to you that as long as Canaan is your goal, then your faith is well-placed and will keep you moving despite your willingness to stay where you are. God will tend to the issue of your faith’s progression; he won’t make you move, but he’ll be certain to allow you the opportunity to keep in step with his best plan for your life.

How I pray for God’s strength, wisdom, and endurance to be your portion and mine as we continue to live out the calling of the priesthood that he’s placed on each one of us! We are the living witnesses of faith whose names are being written into a history that will, one day, read like the stories of our spiritual ancestors from long ago. They didn’t know then what the fullness of their faith would mean to us now, but they lived it anyway. Not for us, but for the promise of the One who authored their lives.

Always for the promise of the One. He is why I’m here this morning, taking time out of a very busy day to remind you of your kingdom conferment and of the joy that comes to God’s children as we are faithful to keep our focus forward and our feet all the more.

Love you each one. Go in the strength you’ve been given, and until next time…

peace for the journey,

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a morning "word" from the shores of Galilee…

April 14, 2010

This morning my heart is heavy. I didn’t sleep much. Heaviness of heart seems to serve as fertile ground for sleeplessness. Such was the case for me last evening. Instead of awakening to the freshness of a new day, today I awoke to my tears and my husband’s arms around me assuring me of his love that will endure despite the chaos going on around us.

I also awoke to something else this morning.

The picture above. This morning’s sunrise over the Sea of Galilee. My friend, Stephanie, sent this picture via her phone to a few of us who have been praying for her during her missionary travels in Israel. Her words that accompanied this picture (as if any would be needed to add to its beauty)…

“I’m having fish for lunch today along the shores of Galilee after we take a boat ride there! I’ll be sure to get out of the boat when I see Jesus walking on the water! Tell Elaine this one’s for her! Shalom…Stephanie”

Shalom, indeed. A little piece of “peace” for the journey when peace is needed the most. And so, with Stephanie’s prompt ringing in my ears and the words of my “breakfast on the beach” series freshly racing through my mind, I once again turned to John 21 this morning and re-read the familiar story I’ve spent a great deal of time studying in recent days. This time, my focus fixed on verses 18 & 19:

“I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me.” (John 21:18-19)

When was the last time you heard a similar “truth” from Jesus? When did he last remind you that on your odyssey of faith there will be times when you will be called upon to travel to places of his expectation rather than yours? When did you last feel the weightiness of your kingdom conferment as it pertains to your place of service? When did what “God wanted you to do” serve as the catalyst to your wrestling out a few things before him on the floor mat of heaven?

I imagine we all have a moment of vivid recall along these lines. We don’t travel very far with God before coming to a crossroads where the path of our choosing contradicts with the one he’s chosen instead. When we arrive there, we have a choice to make…

Follow him; follow not.

I’m there, friends. Today is my “follow him” moment. God has opened up the kingdom closet this morning and is asking me to dress myself with a plan that I wasn’t prepared to wear. He’s stripped me of my previous expectations and has presented me with his instead. To be honest with you, it’s not a comfortable fit for me… not yet. You see, I’m not a big fan of trying on a new set of clothes. I much prefer the ones that are currently hanging in my closet and lining my dresser drawers. At least with them, I know what to expect. With this new set, I’m not sure I like what I see. Rather than experiencing the warmth and familiarity of my “comfortable,” God is asking me to trade it all in for a new set of clothes that initially feels foreign and stiff.

My mind tells me that with time, the “new” will soon wear like the “old,” but my heart momentarily tells me something else… that I can’t do this. That this is too much. That this is going to be an uphill battle from the get go and that no matter which way I (or anyone else) tries to “spin” this, it’s still going to be a difficult fit for me. What I imagined and expected would be my next best steps are now being detoured along a path that had, previously, never been on my radar.

Still and yet, the path is clear, and like Peter, my heart is concerned, heavy-laden, and full of a few questions… not just for the clothes that I’m being asked to wear, but also for the clothes that my brother and sister are being given to wear as well.

“Lord, what about them?” Are you asking them for a similar obedience? Why is it that their dressing doesn’t look like mine? Comparatively speaking, it doesn’t seem fair, Lord. Why am I being asked to navigate these strange waters when it seems they’ve been given smooth sailing? Why does “following after you” live differently for those of us who are called according to only one, high and holy purpose? Why does it seem that my expectations rarely measure out in accordance with yours? Am I not listening closely enough? Living faithfully enough? Praying fervently enough? I thought I knew how this was going to go, Lord; it’s apparent that I don’t… know as much as I thought that I did. Forgive me for asking, Father, but what about them?

And for all of the questions that I could ask of God this day, for all of the chaos that’s been interjected into my life in the past twenty-four hours, Christ’s response to me this morning is the same as the one he gave to Peter on the shores of Galilee nearly 2000 years ago:

“What is that to you, Elaine? You must follow me.”

Follow me. Don’t concern yourself with your brother’s portion. Concern yourself with me and all will “feel” right in due season. All is right in this season, but all will “feel” right very soon. The “new” will fit like the “old” and the path that wasn’t previously on your radar will write as perfect history—your history, Elaine. Our history—yours and mine. Follow hard after me, child, and see if I cannot be trusted with the outcome. I have called you. I am faithful. I will do it. Now, follow me.

Breakfast on the beach with Jesus, again. Thank you, Stephanie, for taking me there. Thank you, Jesus, for meeting me there. I hear the waters lapping against the shore; I smell the fire burning in the distance; I see Christ’s arms beckoning me forward to receive the food that he’s prepared for my consumption. It’s not been an easy swallow… this eating from the Lord’s fire this morning, but it’s been good for me and will be my strengthened understanding for the path that lies ahead. How grateful I am for a faith that sustains me through the night and that brings me into the glorious light of a new day! As always…

peace for the journey,

~elaine

Category Archives: faith