Category Archives: family fun

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.

"walking Mom"…

Who gets to walk mom?

 

It’s the newest “chore” added to the already growing list of chores divided up amongst the six of us who live beneath this roof. And since two of the six are rarely around, “mom-walking” usually falls to one of the other three. Last night, the task fell to Jadon, a duty in which he is more than willing to comply.

Jadon is a mover… literally. He’s not a sit-still kind of young man. Instead, his energy is constantly on display and in need of harnessing in a good and right direction. Before my surgery, Jadon would occasionally run with me, outpacing me on most occasions. As a mother who runs, it delights my heart to think that, perhaps, one of my children will share a similar affinity for the discipline. That maybe, he and I… down the road… might share in some mother-son jogs, thus allowing us the quality time together we both need and desire. But until I heal… we’ll walk.

It gives Jadon some responsibility in this new mess we’ve come to know as cancer. Cancer isn’t a single-person disease. It affects everyone within arm’s reach. Accordingly, Jadon needs a way to help me… to contribute, and since bathing is not at the top of his priority list (both for himself and for me), I gladly assign him the responsibility of “walking me.” I need not worry about a lag in conversation, because my son’s need for talking far exceeds his needing for moving. This boy can fill a pause with words. (For the record, we’re all talkers, but that’s another post for another day.) Last night proved to be no different.

From the moment our feet hit the pavement, he began with a lengthy discourse about guns. Donned in cowboy hat and gear, Jadon decorated our walk with talk about WWII machinery, his cowboy holsters, one of the latest “picks” from The American Pickers which included a training gun for soldiers. On and on he went for the first lap which morphed into a second conversation for the second lap. A conversation about sex.

I’ll spare you the details, but safe to say, any question is fair game at our house. It’s just how we roll, and in the course of another half mile, we covered genetics, dna, sex within the boundaries of marriage, ovaries and eggs, why he had “two” instead of “one,” his progression from baths to showers… on and on with barely a moment to breathe in between. As we finally rounded our last bend in the road, he looked at me with all the tenderness and kindness of a young boy in a rush for his manhood to arrive and uttered some words I won’t soon forget. He said them the Jadon way—using words that aren’t exactly what we’re used to hearing, but words that, nevertheless, give way to perfect understanding.

“I’m coming along pretty fast, Mom. Soon I’ll be as tall as you.”

Coming along pretty fast.

I don’t suppose I have to tell you what he meant. Jadon is growing up, and he knows it. He sees it… not just in his body, but in his thinking. And while his academics will always lag behind the work of his peers, even there I see growth. He’s not the boy he used to be; instead, he’s becoming the young man he was born to be. Ten years have come and gone like a flash, leaving me with a similar thought in my heart this day.

Life is coming along pretty fast.

Not just for Jadon, but for all of my children. Not just for my children, but for me as well. One day soon, we’ll all be grown up… will have reached full maturity and a season when we can look at the world from a “taller” perspective. From a place of deeper understanding and less confusion; a place of more answers and less questions.

We’re not there yet, but we can be certain that until we arrive at that “taller” moment, we’ve got a Father who is willing to entreat the burning questions of our souls. A Father who is willing to walk us around the block, to hold our hands while crossing the street, and to patiently listen as we search for the right words to connect the dots between our “here and now” and our “there and then.” And we’ll be glad for the discipline. For the walking beside him, talking to him, being with him, looking up at him, knowing that because of the time spent together, we’re closer now to resembling him then in the moments preceding our corporate time of togetherness.

That’s what happens on a walk with someone we love.

We’re shaped. We’re changed. We’re inched along in our maturing because we’ve allowed our feet and our hearts to connect along the foot path and heart of another person, and when that happens, our lives are forever altered. Perhaps not in a way that can be quickly quantified, but in less subtle ways that collect and gather over time to make a formative change in the way we view life… do life.

Life is coming along pretty fast. And if we’re not careful to notice its advent, we’ll miss some of the glorious moments that serve as our precursors to fullness. Like Jadon, we may long for our next big leap of maturity; like Jadon, however, most of us forget that that leap won’t happen until some personal steps of faith are taken beneath the watchful gaze and care of a parent’s love… a Father’s love.

It’s a walk I’m taking today. A walk around the block with my Daddy. And I don’t imagine there will be much pause in conversation. I’ve got a lot of words in me, a lot of questions as well. Mostly, I just want to be with him. I want a few moments with Jesus to call my own where other distractions are kept at bay and where I can have him all to myself. Really, I think it is what all children crave… a time of meaningful dialogue between them and their Father.

Life is coming along pretty fast, friends. Better catch a walk with Jesus while you still can so that he can better shape you for his eternity. And should you have a slot open on your schedule where you can come by and “walk me,” then all the more. I love doing life with you! As always…

Peace for the journey,

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a day worth celebrating

Quietly, we waited for her. Our hearts tethered to one another in a way we’ve never known… never tasted throughout our thirteen years of marriage. Few words were spoken between us. They seemed less necessary in those moments—almost intrusive. Instead, we just looked at one another, knowing that in a few moments, our lives would take another turn—a reality we knew was coming, yet one not adequately prepared for—
the look of my new body.
Tenderly, Nurse Beth unwrapped my dressings. Beneath the bandages was a week-long hidden mystery—a fright I refused to address in the days preceding its unveiling. It wasn’t as hideous as I had imagined. It was what it is—
a new me packaged a little differently in an old flesh.
Together we cried. I knew that we would. And when I looked into his eyes, I saw something I didn’t think was possible. I saw a deeper love, a renewed love, a love that courageously took my heart, yet again, as his own, and spoke a rich renewal into the deepest fiber of the deepest part of me.
My man loves me, and I love him. Today we celebrate the gift of life—both his and mine. Today he turns 43. Today I share that life with him, knowing that my cancer has not gotten the best of me and that, God willing, we’ll have several more birthday celebrations in the years to come. He tells me that it is enough of a gift—that he doesn’t need stuff. He just needs me—the new me, and that I am his birthday blessing.
Friends, the results of our Dr.’s visit yesterday confirms the preliminary conclusion from surgery. My breast cancer is staged at a IIA level (tumor is between 2-5 centimeters but hasn’t spread to the axillary lymph nodes). The three sentinel lymph nodes (the first lymph nodes closest to the tumor before it spreads to the rest of the body) that were removed and tested for cancer all came back clean with no signs of spreading. Accordingly, radiation will not be a part of my follow-up treatment plan. A chemotherapy regimen will be determined in the very near future and underway after I’ve had a few weeks of healing.
Just yesterday, I was asked by a friend as to the reasons behind my choice for a swift, aggressive approach to treating the cancer. My answer (although I’m not sure a question like that really warrants an answer) was firm, swift, and full of conviction.
I want to live.
Why?
The reasons are three-fold.
#1. I am committed to the spiritual growth of my family. I want to give my children some years… some more time to get grown and to get established in their faith. I want to be part of that shaping process. I don’t want my kids to receive their modeling from outside influences. I want to be that influence because I happen to believe that Godly parents do more to further a child’s heart toward a life with God than alternate persuasions.
#2. I am committed to the earthly tenure I’ve been given. Life is a precious gift and worthy of preserving. I am convinced that I was created with a good…a God-purpose in mind. For as long as I have breath, I am wholly devoted to that purpose—to preserving the temple that is on loan to me so that I can live out…
#3. My commitment to know God more with each passing day and then, out of that knowing, lead others to know the same. I want to do more for God’s kingdom, more toward advancing the cause of the Gospel. I know that his truth can march on without me, but it feels right and good and holy wonderful to be part of the story—the telling of it and living it therein.
That’s why I chose and will continue to choose to face my cancer with a fightin’ spirit. That’s why a double mastectomy was an easy choice for me. That’s why chemotherapy and any other therapy will be embraced without reservation in the days to come.
Not because I am attached to my flesh, but rather because I am attached to my life—a God-fearing, gettin’-down-to-Jesus-business, kind of life. If I’m living for any other reason—if I choose to aggressively fight my cancer so that I might extend my life in order to enjoy the fleeting, temporal/fleshly pleasures of this life—then I have chosen poorly, with wrong motives at the helm. This world has nothing for me; like the Apostle Paul, for me “to live is Christ; to die is gain.” Either way, I get God, and that, my friends, is the proper perspective from which to view each new day that is granted to our care and guardianship.
Today, my husband’s birthday is granted therein. And while I haven’t been able to do any shopping along these lines, I’m thinking many kind and good thoughts toward him. He’s been an unimaginable friend and lover to me in these last few weeks. Thirteen years ago, God saw better my need for him than I did. God pushed me to the altar to accept the gift of Billy. And just this morning, he took my hands in his again, helped me into the shower and cleaned my ailing flesh.
And I have never loved him more. And he loved me back. And I am grateful for this man who willingly chose me and allowed me to take his name as my own. As a way of honoring this special day, I want to share with you a poem my Uncle Bill wrote in honor of Billy’s birthday. I imagine your knowing my man more intimately would render greater appreciation for the tenderness of Uncle Bill’s words, but this isn’t just for you, friends. It’s mostly for my Billy. Would you join me in celebrating the gift of his life this day?
{the killian siblings from l to r, Uncle Bill, my daddy Chuck, Aunt Patty, Uncle George}
Billy at 43
Lord, it’s Sunday morning,
and Billy has to preach –
boy turns 43 on the 10th.
Wife and four children –
facing mighty tough times,
but, Lord, it’s Sunday morning,
and Billy has to preach.
Help him to carve out the truth –
the truth from his text
and his subtext. Prayin’ for him,
Lord; if he gets the Sunday off,
he’ll still be giving it up for others –
man of compassion like this
doesn’t shut down when hurtin’ –
so, Lord help this Billy man,
cause on Friday he turns 43.
Lord, when I was 43
I just done sobered up,
never coulda faced
what this preacher man handles –
a new parish, a family in pain,
and his own heart broken
but with a faith that sustains.
And here we have
his former parish
coming out in droves
to say We love ya,
and family and friends
from around the world
are holding this holy home
in a protective love that releases
the deepest cry,
and it is that cry, Lord,
that will see us through.
Yes, as I was sayin’ –
it’s Sunday morning, Lord,
and Billy has to preach.
{william killian
written for billy olsen
for his forty-third birthday
faithful husband
and sweetheart
to my precious niece
elaine
sunday september four
two thousand ten}
It’s Sunday morning, Lord, and we all have to preach! Help us to preach you well. As always,

Peace for the journey,

"a little bit of money…"

"a little bit of money…"

My daughter celebrated her 8th birthday this past week. At the top of her wish list?

A little bit of money (her words, not mine).

I read her list aloud to my precious group of “ancients” back in my former town (I had to return this week for a Dr.’s visit, scheduling it on a Tuesday to make sure I didn’t miss the weekly lunch gathering). When I finished reading her list, not only were there chuckles a plenty, but also there was money flying at me from every direction.

“Give this to Amelia… a little bit of money from me, one of the ancients.”

On and on it arrived into my lap, and in the end, Amelia had more than a little bit of money. She had forty-two dollars worth of money! Needless to say, her heart smiled big as she opened up her unexpected treasure. The moment reminded me, yet again, of an important truth regarding our God and his surprises.

He always surpasses our expectations. He can’t help himself. He’s God. Exceeding expectations is a quality built into his character.

We can’t always see it; further still, there are seasons when we refuse to believe it. I know. I’ve been there recently. My little bit of money has seemed paltry at times. Accordingly, I’ve kept my expectations pretty low. These are the steps I’ve lived. I’m not proud of them. I’m just keeping it real with you.

But so is God… keeping it real. And just this morning, he surprised me with a little bit of something…

Himself… right around 11:45 AM while sitting amongst the few saints gathered in corporate worship at Christ UMC.

I don’t know if it was the text that was being preached from John 4—the interchange between Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well. Or, perhaps the preacher—he has a way of making my heart skip a beat from time to time. Or, maybe the fact that my family was gathered all around me. Regardless of the externals, somewhere around 11:45 AM, my husband’s words admonished us to consider “true worship” and the “audience of One” who awaited our worship on Sunday mornings—the One who rends the heavens in order to get a closer look at the two or three gathered to entreat the Lover of their souls. As the words were falling from his lips, I felt the tremor of all creation radiating through my body. From head to toe, outward and in full measure, the Spirit of God resonated with his Spirit living in me, and I was surprised by the gift.

Not just a little bit of God. A whole big bunch of God. And for the first time since being in my new house of worship, I felt a pulse—the living, breathing pulse of heaven, convincing me that God is alive and active and on the move amongst our lampstand. I think others felt it as well, and I am glad for some corporate understanding at this level. I don’t think God’s pulse beats in isolation. There’s something about the gathering of two or three hearts in unified purpose that seems to manifest the presence of the Almighty—one of the primary reasons for our “doing church” as a family.

“I’m counting on the probability that when our Sunday gatherings commence, there will be at least two or three others who have gathered with a similar intention. I want my children [as well as myself] to be in the path of other believers, giving them the opportunity for the sacred intersection of their hearts with the heart of the living God, who knit them together in his likeness.” (pg. 135, “peace for the journey: in the pleasure of his company”).

God is not “dead” in this place. God’s pulse has never been absent from this new congregation. Rather, God’s just been waiting for his children to put his presence at the top of their wish list. To dare to ask for a little bit of himself in hopes and in expectation for eventual fulfillment. Today, I received an inclination of just what that might mean for all of us in the days to come—one sacred dollar at a time, collected and gathered over time, until our laps are overloaded with joy and merriment for the lavish outpouring from his heart into ours. He just can’t help himself. He’s God, and exceeding our expectations is built into his character.

Today, you and I stand on the threshold of a new week. Many are the plans we’ve made; many of them based on necessity, on survival, on making it through another 24/7. Some of us enter the week full of expectation; some with little more than limited hope to make it through. Some of us have God’s presence at the top of our wish list; some of us have asked for lesser things. Regardless of what we’ve asked for or how the level of our anticipation currently measures, God, too, stands at the threshold of our new week. He walks it with us; not apart from us, and if we could get an inclination of just how much he wants to bless us with the revelation of his presence, I’m certain that we’d ask for more. Not just a little bit of God, but rather a whole big bunch of him. That kind of asking is in keeping with our God and his “real.” That’s just how much he wants to be known by his children.


Oh for faith to ask him for more. For faith to trust him more. For faith to expect his more. For faith to unwrap his more. May God extend his heart of mercy into your faith this week and surprise you with a little bit of himself until his pulse multiplies and gathers to become the great expectation of your heart.

Let’s unwrap our awesome God together. I’d love to know how our Father reveals his presence to you this week. As always…

Peace for the journey,

~elaine

PS: The winners for Sandi Patty’s new book will be announced with my next post. There’s still time to enter. Just add a comment to that post, and you’re in! Shalom.

"Let the boy run…"

"Let the boy run…"


As I rounded the corner of mile two on my usual jogging route, I noticed them walking toward me—two middle-school boys getting off the bus… two brothers making their way to the home less than a quarter of a mile from the bus drop. I’ve seen them before; even chatted with them on occasion, but all I received from them in that moment was their cursory nod as they made their approach. It was obvious to me the debate going on between them. I noticed the increasing, accelerated paces that accompanied their “out of the corner of the eye” glances toward one another. A race was about to happen, but not before they passed my observation.

I must have served as their starting line, because as soon as they made it beyond my right shoulder, the competition was on. I don’t know who won the race; the older brother is bigger with a longer stride, but the younger is thinner and perhaps harbors just enough determination to claim victory over his older brother every now and again. I chuckled as they passed, having seen this kind of competitive spirit in my own sons over the years. It has both annoyed me and blessed me, always reminding me of the subtle differences that seem to exist between boys and girls.

I continued with my jog for another mile and with the “chewing” on these differences when a thought occurred to me. A voice really. A whisper that simply and profoundly declared…

Let the boy run, Elaine. Let the boy run.

If there is one thing this woman knows, it’s boys. I live with four of them—one manly boy, two semi-manly boys, and one wishing he were anywhere within shooting range of the older three! There’s just something in them that says “get to the finish line first.” Whether it’s a foot race to the front door, a sprint to claim the front seat of the van, a drive to the hoop, the front runner for the hot shower or for morning pancakes, boys have it in them to be first. When it comes to racing, all other considerations are pushed aside. My boys can’t seem to help themselves. They simply were made for the running.

Let the boy run, Elaine. Let the boy run.

I’ve thought a lot about this whisper over the past couple of days since it first entered into my heart. Thought a lot about all of the ways I’ve tried to squelch the “run” in my boys over the years. As a single mom of two young sons, it was easy for me to justify my taking the lead in all of our matters. When they wanted to run in those younger days, it bothered me. I didn’t understand boys back then; I just tried to control them for fear that I would lose them. Since Billy’s coming into my life, I better understand the nature of the manly “run”; he’s brought depth and insight into the equation. Still and yet, there’s a part of me that cannot fully appreciate the pace of a boy’s heart—the boy’s drive to be first, be strong, be in the lead, be in charge. So much of what they’re wired to be is how I’m wired as well. Thus, the rub. Thus the need for a whisper from time to time reminding me to…

Let the boy run.

I want my boys to run, all of them. I want them to be fully man and fully alive to the paces of their genetic and spiritual predisposition. I don’t want them to wait to run until they’ve passed my shoulder and I can no longer enjoy the display of their manly fortitude. I want them to run in front of me while I can yet witness their strength. I want to see them grow and become and develop into the strong leaders that God has called them to be. I don’t want them to be hindered by my need to be in control; rather, I want them to run past me, all the while because of me and my willingness to tie up their laces, to walk them to the starting line, and then to cheer them onto victory. At my age and in this season of life, I might be running alongside them; not to beat them this time around, but rather to enjoy them and to champion them into doing what they were always meant to do.

To run.

It’s not been an easy conclusion to arrive at; my parents raised me to be a strong, independent woman, unafraid of her shadow and not easily swayed by man’s opinion. I am thankful for the sturdy sense of identity that was embedded into me long before I knew what it was to share a home with a boy, much less four of them. But after years of living with their witness, they’re growing on me, and I am beginning to appreciate their innate need for speed and for the lead.

Let the boy run, Elaine. Let the boy run.

By God’s grace, I hope to follow through on this whisper of heaven. Something tells me I might need the strength of my four boys in the days to come… might need their courage and their pace to buoy me along in my journey toward home. I’m glad I have them. As I grow older, I become less tolerant of my need to be in charge and more willing to concede my front-runner status to those whose legs are better able to handle the pace of life. It’s taken me a long season to get there, and I imagine that I will always prefer my running shoes to high heels. But for now, I’m enjoying the sprint to manhood that is taking place under my roof. It makes me glad to be a woman… to know the differences that exist between me and my four boys and to be perfectly content with the distinction.

And so I say to you, my four boys—Billy, Nick, Colton, and Jadon—

Run boys. Run swiftly and let this wife and mother take it all in. I look forward to watching the race in the days to come and to cheering you on to victory. Home is just around the bend, less than a quarter of a mile from this moment, and the pace you now keep will be worth the company you will then keep for all of eternity.

Let the boy in you run strong. Let the man in you finish well.

This woman loves you and delights in living this life with you. May you now and forever always know…

Peace for the journey,

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Copyright © June 2010 – Elaine Olsen

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