family fun | Elaine Olsen

Why I Loved My Day…

January 31, 2009

“From the rising of the sun unto the going down of the same the Lord’s name is to be praised.” (Psalm 113:3).

It’s nearly a new day.

Nearly.

Before I say good-bye to January 30, 2009, I wanted you know that I loved it … this day given to me simply because God’s grace allowed it.

By his breath, he has sustained me and measured my steps accordingly. Not because he had to, but rather because he delights in giving good gifts to his children. And while every day should be chronicled with my glad tidings and thankful cheer, most of them slip by without notice and without applause.

I should do better with my gratitude. Not because I have to, but rather because it is my privilege to do so. Thus, allow me a moment to tell you what I loved most about this day.

- It wasn’t the trip to Raleigh to pick up the “Esther” books at the Lifeway store or the new Meredith Andrews CD that I managed to sneak into the pile at the check-out counter.
- It wasn’t the extra visit to Kohl’s where I was able to pick up a good bargain on a black jacket.

- It wasn’t the stop at Andy’s on the way back into town for the $4.99 cheeseburger special, complete with crispy fries and a diet coke.
- It wasn’t the trip to Wilson to watch my senior son play basketball, although he did make my heart skip a beat or two.

- It wasn’t the Parker’s barbeque or the accompanying hush puppies while on my way to Wilson.

It wasn’t even the return of my college-age son who’s been MIA for three weeks now, although he’s always a good punctuation to a weary week.

No, the best part of my day wasn’t measured by the doing and partaking of all these things. Indeed, they were good, and I loved them each one. But what made them even better, what made them cause me to sit back and find a moment or two or even ten of thankful pause, was the fact that I shared them all with the man I call husband. The man who took my hand a season back, along with the hands of my two young sons, and promised to take care of us all of the days of his life and ours.

It’s not our anniversary. Today is not a day of any calendared significance in the lives of Billy and Elaine. It was simply a day that we shared with one another, rather than living our separate identities as is so often the case.

We laughed together. We walked together. We ate together. We worshipped God together with our new CD’s. We cheered together. We even yelled at the game officials together. We rode home together. We close this day together.

Together is a good way to spend a day. It’s a good way to love a day. It’s not always been the way I walk my days, but today? Well, today I did better at loving and at being in love. Today I stepped in rhythm with the man who’s been keeping pace with me for nearly twelve years now.

Not because he has to, but rather because he delights in being God’s good and gracious gift to me.

I didn’t deserve his love. There are times when I’m most confident that he doesn’t deserve mine. Still and yet, we choose to do love … to live love … to fight for our love because we love the life that God has given us together.

Indeed, I am a blessed woman who loved her day. I hope you loved yours. If not, there’s still time. Another day rests within your reach. Find someone you love and do some doing together. Let not today slip by without your notice or without the applause of your gratitude. This is the day that our God has made for you. He’s entrusted you with its unfolding.

Live it well. Love it better. And do it all in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. It is your sacred privilege to do so.

As always,

~elaine

Snow Days, Hot Chocolate, and a Sacred Trust

January 20, 2009

For Nick … you were the missing piece of our snow day. We love you!

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the LORD and shun evil. This will bring health to your body and nourishment to your bones.” (Proverbs 3:5-8).

Either we trust God or we don’t.

Today I’m stuck. Somewhere between my trust and my don’t. And since there is no middle ground, I suppose, that I don’t …

trust Him. At least not enough.

On a day intended for snow angels and hot chocolate and lots of lazy—a day designed for the simplicity of childhood understandings—I’m bogged down in the complexities of what I thought was a well-matured faith—a faith content and at peace with the unanswerables.

Instead, where peace usually reigns, there is a wrestling. Where contentedness usually flourishes, there is a mixture of emotions that scream their resistance. Where a well-matured faith usually roots, there seems but a few seedlings fighting for their anchor to the soil.

When my kids woke up this morning, they woke up to a snow day—a day off from school and from their usual routine of mandated learning. When I woke up this morning, I woke up to a day that requires my attendance in God’s classroom, where a mandated learning becomes my necessary if I want to bring health to this body and nourishment to this soul.

If my faith is to grow in its understanding of all things sacred—an understanding that issues from the wisdom and plans of Almighty God rather than my fragile attempts at the same—then I must be willing to lean into a deeper posture of trust.

What does that look like? Better still, how do I … how do we … get there?

King Solomon, rich in wisdom and with the pen to scribe accordingly, offers his voice in the matter.

“Acknowledge him.”

Acknowledge. The Hebrew verb Yada meaning “to know, to learn, to perceive, to discern, to experience, to confess, to consider, to know people relationally, to know how, to be skillful, to be made known, to make oneself known, to make to know.”[i]

To acknowledge the Lord is to simply and to profoundly know him. We lean into a better understanding and trust whenever we take the time to learn of our God, to consider his ways, and to discern his heart and mind in the many matters that fill ours with certain doubt and wavering belief.

To get there … to come to a knowing of our God … we must trust in the one resource that he has so amply provided for us. I’m currently looking at eight of them. Some opened up upon my bed; some waiting on the bookshelf for their turn.

Our Bibles—the living, breathing, and active Holy Word of God (Hebrews 4:12).

It matters not to Him what translation we read. We all host our own preferences. What matters to God is that we, in fact, read them. Ponder them. Find ourselves somewhere within the story which, in turn, always finds us in close proximity to the heart and mind of Father God.

Charles Spurgeon writes (in reference to Jesus Christ),

“He knew by His omniscience what was the most instructive way of teaching, and by turning at once to Moses and the prophets, He showed us that the surest road to wisdom isn’t speculation, reasoning, or reading human books, but meditation upon the Word of God. The quickest way to be spiritually rich in heavenly knowledge is to dig this mine of diamonds, to gather pearls from this heavenly sea. When Jesus Himself sought to enrich others, He worked in the quarry of Holy Scripture.”[ii]

Knowing God will never happen through accidental measure. Rather, it comes with the purposeful pursuit and with the intentional posture that is willing to enter into God’s classroom, where the only required textbook is the one that was written from his heart via the pen of man’s deliberate obedience.

If our paths are to be straight, if our trust is to be certain, if our bodies are to know the health and the nourishment of solid footing and sound theology, then we must be willing to walk contrary to our human nature. We must set aside our momentary need for instant understanding and, instead, rest upon the truth of God’s understanding.

Our wisdom will never exceed his. Our wisdom should be based on his, but even when wisdom seems a far reach—when answers remain at a distance and our doubts arise as to their certain arrival—we can know that our Father thinks with a greater understanding. An eternal knowledge that is timeless and void of the parameters that we so often seek.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to limit God’s work in my life. I don’t want the doubt that I currently hold in my hand to be the final word in the matter. I don’t want the answers just for the sake of having answers. Rather, I want to trust him for more. I want to know him more and to believe that with the knowing will come a wisdom that exceeds my current and very temporal way of looking at things.

An understanding that can, every once in a while, take a day off to enjoy the simple faith of child who isn’t worried about tomorrow, but instead, is frolicking in the embrace of winter’s gift. In the trust and belief, that snow angels and hot chocolate are the order of the day and that everything else will takes care of itself, in God’s time and in God’s way. Thus, I pray…

Give me the trust of a snow day, Father, when I can rest and enjoy the moment rather than worrying about the moments to come. Thank you for the gift of your Word that allows me to know you, thus finding my peace for the journey. I freely admit that I cannot understand the road ahead. I am frustrated by the unanswerables that have found their way into my hands. Give me the courage to place them into yours. Teach me the trust and certainty of a sacred leaning, and keep me at your feet until I pass the exam. May the treasures of your Holy Word be the rocks that build my solid and sure foundation for the season to come. Amen.

[i] Baker and Carpenter, entry for “Yada,” The Complete Word Study Dictionary Old Testament (Chattanooga: AMG Publishers, 2003), 3038.
[ii] Charles Spurgeon, entry for “January 18,” Morning and Evening (Hendrickson Publishers, Inc., 1995), 37.

On the Arm of My Son…

January 11, 2009

It occurred to me today that there will be few occasions, if any, when I will take the arm of my son and walk the aisle as his date.

Tonight may have been my swan song.

When he was a child, many were the times when he would take my arm. His hands belonged to me then. They needed me, even cried out for me on a regular basis.But time has walked its own story, and it seems they need me less. I know better, but for a few moments this evening, I felt a familiar ache. It first surfaced on a similar occasion two years ago with his older brother.

Tonight, I was reminded, yet again, about the fragile nature of time’s existence and the incredible responsibility that God has given me to handle its truth. To be OK with the fact that seventeen years have breathed their witness and soon will require my letting them settle into a son’s memoir. A season that seems to have quickly passed without my notice.

One day soon, Colton’s arms will belong to another. That’s the way of a growing heart. But tonight was my night. Tonight was a moment to take hold and to hang on and to more fully understand that my mothering, coupled with a whole lot of God’s immeasurable grace, has grown him into a young man filled with strength and laughter and the tenderness of heaven.

Not all mothers will have such an occasion; thus, my grateful heart and my joy-filled thanks to my Father for allowing me the privilege of such a gift–

A walk down the aisle on the arm of my son.

A very good night, friends.

A stone of remembrance to carry in my pocket … my heart … for the rest of my days.

As always,

For fun…

An Accidental Treasure

January 3, 2009

“For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account.” (Hebrews 4:12-14).

My heart is filled with many stories tonight…things I want to tell someone. Anyone. You.

That’s the writer in me. Words find me. Fill me to overflow until I can no longer keep them penned up within. Instead, they call for the obedience and the outflow of my pen. Whether you find them worthy or not, well, that’s your call. On this side of a blank page, I cannot imagine their impact. I can only feel their weight. Unloading them becomes my necessary.

Thus, a Friday night tied to requirement. An evening that begins with a last evening—a Thursday night tied to a New Year’s Day.

With the younger kids safely tucked in bed and for want of anything else pressing in on our time, my husband and I left the “youngers” in the care of the “olders” and ventured to Wal-Mart in search of a movie and some snacks. Rather than driving ten miles to our local Blockbuster, we opted for the five dollar bargain bin just a mile down the road. We walked away with two movies, The Manchurian Candidate and a DVD combo that included two of our favorite movies, Glory and The Patriot. Or so we thought.

After donning our pj’s and firing up the candles for S’mores (apparently Wal-Mart also shelves the ingredients for said snacks…), my husband began to unwrap our selected movie for the night.

“This looks interesting, Elaine. What’s “Nightjohn” about?”

Nightjohn? What? Where’s Denzel in all of his Glory?

Apparently, Denzel was still sitting back in the bargain bin at Wal-Mart. My harried perusal of back and forth landed me with a copy of an unidentified movie. Nightjohn. A story set in the deep South about two slaves—a young girl named Sarny and a middle-aged man named John.

Rather than making the trip back to Wal-Mart, we settled on our accidental purchase, and for the better part of two hours, immersed our hearts and emotions into a story that breathed the witness of an eternal truth.

The power of the word.

Nightjohn can read, an offense often punishable by death for a slave. John enters into young Sarny’s world as a recent acquisition of her owner. When he asks her for a plug of tobacco, she insists upon a trade. He insists that he can give her something in return that man can never take away from her.

Words.

Sarny is captured by the promise of such a holding and begins to earnestly acquire her new found wealth. One letter at a time. Collected and treasured and pondered with a depth rarely exhibited in any classroom across America. Her learning is sporadic, a slow prod toward having her letters make sense. Sarny’s frustration for the finished product—for being able to read—culminates with a question to Nightjohn:

“How do you know if you be reading?”

John reassures Sarny that the day is soon to come.

That day comes for Sarny as she accompanies her owner’s family to church one Sunday. The pastor instructs the congregants to sing #152, a melodious rendition of the 23rd Psalm. As they sing, Sarny adds her own voice to the mix. The tears begin to flow as she realizes the profundity of the moment—that she, in fact, “be reading.” Nightjohn watches her awakening from the balcony above with his own mix of tears. An observant pastor also takes notice.

He leaves the pulpit, approaches Sarny, and with tenderness in his voice asks her a life-changing question:

“Child, are you saved?”

Without hesitation, she replies:

“Yes, I am. I am saved.”

And I am undone with the moment. It approached my soul with the magnitude of the kingdom—God’s kingdom. Indeed, Sarny was saved. In more ways than one. The reading of man’s words led Sarney to God’s Word and to her salvation accordingly.

The power of the Word…both in print and in the flesh, came to life and to a living heart who was hungry for the find. And while Sarny’s physical chains still bound her in the flesh, her spiritual chains had been broken, and she took to her baptism with the truth of God’s Word searing within her soul.

Indeed, something that man could never take away from her. Something that can never be taken away from you and from me if we’ve known the power of such a moment. And so I ask you tonight, with a tender urgency in my heart…

Child, are you saved?

Do you remember the day when God’s Word became real to you? When all of his kingdom letters collided with your flesh and you knew, for a fact, that you be reading the Word? Did it make you cry then? Does it still…make you cry? Not because you’re sad, but rather because the magnitude of such truth overwhelms your soul to point of release?

For all of the ways I could turn this, take this and make it into something else, nothing of greater consequence exists. Your salvation is everything. Having God’s word…his Word…collide with your chains is the stuff of everlasting significance. He shatters our shackles and deems us free. He leaves us, not as slaves, but as kings and queens of a royal throne established on our behalf because his Word has the final say in the matter.

I know that most of you reading this have experienced the power of such an awakening. Thank God tonight for your salvation. But there are others—strangers and friends, those you love and those you don’t—who need the magnitude of such a moment. Perhaps, like Nightjohn, God has allowed you a measure of influence in their lives.

Would you, on the front side and at the beginning of a New Year, be willing to bring them the brilliance and illumination of God’s living Word … one letter at a time until their collected abundance yields the eternal wealth of a Psalm 23 kind of moment? So that they, too, can be reading what you’re reading?

It is a worthy story. One of the many that fills my heart tonight. Apparently, the one that God deemed most appropriate for the pen. I’m always amazed at the finished canvas. Not because it exceeds the beauty of another’s words, but simply and profoundly because God has allowed me the privilege of its painting.

One brushstroke at a time. One letter after another, until words fill the page, and I am reminded through my tears of my own soul’s awakening. The moment that rushed upon me with the magnitude and force of God’s kingdom grace and with the brilliant illumination of his lavish and unmerited love. The moment when I knew for a fact, that I be reading the Truth.

May such remembrance find its way into your heart this day until you “know that you know” and until that knowing becomes the deepest and most cherished treasure of your heart.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of his living, eternal witness—the Holy Spirit—I shout my gratitude and sound my salvation. I am saved. I am free. Ain’t nothing that man can do to take that away from me. Amen.

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PS: Heading back to Wal-Mart tomorrow. If I can find another copy, I’ll get one for a give away. Here’s hoping for another accidental treasure. Shalom!

Bethlehem’s Light

December 25, 2008

“Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD rises upon you. See, darkness covers the earth and thick darkness is over the peoples, but the LORD rises upon you and his glory appears over you. Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” (Isaiah 60:1-3).

We’re here. We’ve arrived. At Bethlehem, and if you’re reading this, you’ve arrived intact and, undoubtedly, with some relief.

Me too.

And of all the greetings I could send your way in the earliest hours of this occasioned day … of all the clever and enchanting ways I could paint this moment with my words, none would suffice to adequately capture the truth of what this pilgrimage has meant and continues to mean to me.

None, except, perhaps this picture.

They say a picture is worth 1000 words. I say this one is worthy of a few more. Not because of its superior quality. It comes close to failure in that department. But rather because of the eternal truth it scripts.

Our Light has come … has entered into our darkness. Not to shatter us into a pile of irretrievable pieces, but to illuminate us with the single truth…

of Bethlehem’s pause.
of creation’s purpose.
of our reason for being given this season of influence in our lives.

Never will our God shine brighter, loom larger, or beam bigger then when he is given the permission to illuminate his heart and love through the likes of you and me. At least not on this side of eternity.

There is coming a day when our faith will be made sight, and our fleshly attempts at being his light will fall prey and bow down to the weight of his inapproachable light. But until then, we are given the inconceivable privilege of housing his grace and his eternal flicker of hope.

We are the keepers of God’s Light. The tenders of a sacred wick that is meant to flame with the heat of a Father’s holy passion. Our failure to understand the depth of such a holy privilege not only leaves us as we are, but also succeeds in leaving others as they are.

In the dark and without hope. Confused and groping for the way home.

When we fail to reason God’s unreasonable as our assigned portion and to allow his living pulse to become our living breath, we live less. We walk smaller and not as God intended. He intends for us to live within and beneath the shadow of his accompanying presence each day and in full and unsuspecting ways. He means for others to see him through us. Thus, our membership in his household called faith and in his kingdom called Christendom.

We live selfish when we shine God’s Light in isolation. We mock Bethlehem and its mangered pause when we neglect to walk the fulfillment of its illumination … when we turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to the Matthew 5:14’s and 26:18’s of God’s Holy writ.

Nations have been assigned to God’s Light via our vessels. There are those who will walk home to Jesus because our candles have been the faithful radiance to shine the way. When we bow in holy submission to such Light, we pay high and holy honor to our created purpose. When we walk proud and with little regard to such privilege, we damper God’s illumination.

Does he really need us in order to shine big?

Not really, but his grace allows us the consecrated participation. And when it happens, when our exposure allows Christ his, we experience a fullness that exceeds the solitary whispers of a single flame. We land our lives squarely in the middle of a roaring, Holy Spirit, Jesus-breathing, burning bush kind of revelation. Not the kind that burns to ashes, but rather the type that burns to pure.

To perfection and to a knowing that rests easy with the flaming wick and that concedes the heart to the tending therein.

I don’t know about you, but I want to be the luminary that shines forth our Father’s light. I want to be pure, and I want the joy of seeing others see him because of my privileged participation in the matter. The one God who shines brighter, looms larger, and beams bigger because I’ve allowed him a home in my heart.

Today I will watch young and old come to the manger to receive the gift of Christmas. Together, we will unwrap another year’s worth of spending and doing in short order. But when evening comes, when the bows and paper and plates have been cleared away and my head finds its rest, I pray that my loved ones will have unwrapped more than my meager attempts at love. I pray that they will have seen God in our midst, casting his high and holy shadow through the single flame of my willing heart.

If I can show them Jesus this Christmas, then holy intention has walked its course, and my life has served good purpose.

I pray the same for you, my friends. Holy intention and good purpose lived through you with every package opened, with every smile given, with every difficult relative loved, and with every kindness offered. May God’s Light within you be the flame that lights up your home this Christmas with the warmth and the truth of Bethlehem’s sacred pause.

Arise and shine, for your Light has come.

Merry Christmas, precious friends. From my home to yours. It is my joy and privilege to break bread with you in this season of my life.

As always,

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