friendship | Elaine Olsen

Good Soil

March 12, 2009

For Joy… may you find some good soil with our good God this day.

“Then he told them many things in parables, saying: ‘A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants. Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop—a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown. He who has ears, let him hear.’” (Matthew 13:3-9).

He who has ears, let him hear.

I’ve been listening to this passage of scripture for several months now. An intentional haunt of sorts, both on my end and on God’s. A hearing so intense that I cannot shake its echo. Let me tell you what my heart has been hearing as I read.

“Good soil.”

Not the well-trampled soil, nor the rocky or the thorny soil, but rather, the good soil.

What qualifies one more than the other? What makes the earth beneath the sower’s seed more viable for the growth over the others? How do we define our lives accordingly … within the sacred ground of the good rather than in the contemptibleness of the others?

Why not the less desired? After all, our lives are mired in the well-trampled and the rocky. Why not some growth in the common place of our common walk rather than in the pasture lands of a lush and green that often seem too far out of reach and too far beyond reason? Why not in the thorny and in the loosened earth that cradles our weary feet?

Good questions. Ones that I have thought a great deal about in recent days. And here’s what I think as it pertains to the seeding of God’s Word into the good soil of our hearts over the seeding of it elsewhere.

Good soil is the preferred breeding ground for God’s best because good soil is the most receptive to its growth.

Good. Kalos in the Greek meaning “good, honorable, beautiful, sound. Good as to quality and character.”[i]

If God’s Word, which is the seed, is to stick and to know the bounty of a fruitful harvest, then it is worthy of an honorable and beautiful soil. A soil of sound and quality character that willingly and carefully guards the sacred planting with all intentions of seeing it come to full bloom.

Good soil is meant for Godly living, but good soil is not always an easy find.

Why?

Because to get to the good one has got to be willing to walk through the others. Good is hidden. Good is deep. Good is buried and is contrary to human nature. But make no mistake, good is there. It just takes getting through a few layers to unearth the soil that was meant to seed the good of God’s intention.

The heart.

A difficult find most days because on most days, the well-trampled and rocky and thorny is the common pounding beneath our feet. Even today, many of you are walking the ills of such a path. Perhaps, you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed by the trampling over and upon your lives through the feet of others who claim territorial rights that were never theirs to claim. Perhaps the rocks are the pebbled annoyance that is, not only impeding your progress but is, also, wounding your feet with the jagged rough and cut of sharp intention. Maybe the thorn’s prick against the tender of your moment bleeds too deeply … too suffocating … too fully so as to cut the life out of your faith.

And while our God is more than willing to sow his Word into those moments of our lives, he understands that in those times of difficult pilgrimage, his seed is likely to fall prey to the demands of the immediate, rather than taking root toward the eternal.

Thus, he waits for our rest in the good soil. He commits his time and his energy to the lush and the fertile green and asks for us to pilgrim through the less in order to arrive at his best—the ideal location for a beautiful and honorable planting.

In these moments of uninterrupted pasture, our Father opens up the treasures and secrets of the kingdom and generously pours their seeds into the furrows and gullies of our freshly tilled hearts. Without the well-trampled—the rocks and the thorns—to impede their roots, God’s secrets grow a beautiful crop.

A hundred fold. A sixty fold. A thirty fold. A good output based on a good input by a good God who makes our hearts into a good soil for a good Word. This is the way of a good and gracious life that lives to the full and that pours to the overflow.

I don’t know about you, but I am more than ready and willing to pilgrim the well-trampled, through the rocky and between the thorns, to get to the lush and green of a sacred planting.

Good soil, friends. God’s best. He who has ears, let him hear. Thus, I pray…

Keep me listening to the truth of your Word, God. Plug my ears to the insistent pleas of my temporary and unplug them accordingly to receive the seeds of your truth. Let me not forsake the journey to the verdant for the choking of the urgent. I long to rest in the pasture of your deep and hidden because I long to know the sacred seeding of a divine kingdom. Thank you for the privilege of knowing you, Father. You are good. You are God. Amen.

[i] Entry for “kalos,” The NIV Hebrew-Greek Key Word Study Bible (Chattanooga: AMG Publishing, 1996), 1637.

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Bench Time

February 22, 2009

We’re not going to win a single game this season. I don’t have to imagine otherwise. It’s just one of those years. The forecast came about mid-way through our first game. After fifteen years of doing this “thing” called rec sports, youth sports, middle school and high school sports, I can tell early on how things are going to pan out. I’ve logged enough time on the bleachers and driven enough miles to warrant my badge of expertise.

Thus, very little enthusiasm accompanied me yesterday morning as I traveled to my youngest son’s basketball game. Per usual, I had very low expectations going in, but by the time the game was finished, I exited with something quite different. Something more than my usual thankfulness for the final buzzer.

I left with some perspective.

Watching my older two sons play basketball over the years has been a delight for me. Partly because my younger years provided me with more energy for the “doing,” but mostly because of their strong determination and agility for playing the game. I never had to wonder if I was going to get a “show” from my boys. They’ve excelled at life, both on and off the court. They understand the game and have the tenacious drive to ramp up the scoreboard. Whenever they lace up their shoes, you can be sure that they are playing to win.

I don’t see that drive in my younger son. And while he loves playing the game, he’s less concerned about his stats and more interested in simply playing his position on the court … in cheering for his teammates and in his “thumbs up” accordingly. Jadon’s instincts for the game are different than his bigger brothers, and just yesterday, while watching my son as he stood fastened to his spot, I had a thought.

A question or two for myself, especially as it pertains to my personality and my instincts for playing this game called life.

Am I more interested in my stats—in my taking the charge toward raising the score? Or, am I content in my role as a team player … a thumb’s upper … an attaboy and attagirl cheerer? Do I see myself as a lone ranger in the game or as an integral part of a process that calls for my participation rather than my sole determination? Where is my comfortable fit?

For those of you who know me, you don’t have to linger very long with that question. My instincts for the game fall in line with those of my older sons. I have a tenacious and persistent resolve for driving up the scoreboard. I feel the tremendous need to walk a victory at every turn, and quite honestly, am often disappointed if I’m not part of the reason behind the win. If it’s going to be, I’ve got this idea that it’s always going to be up to me.

And while I am confident that God appreciates my willingness to dig in and drive hard to the basket for a score, yesterday He gave me the gift of a contrasting option. An option that allows for “passing the ball” on occasion rather than feeling the need to carry the load of the victory in selfish isolation.

Some days are meant for my full throttle run up and down the length of the court. Some days are meant for my obligatory thumbs up to my teammates as I park it on the bench and watch them raise the score. All days lend themselves to my participation, but not all of them need my frontline stats to bring a victory home for the team.

True in theory; more difficult to live in the everyday. But I need to … live it, even as I preach it.

Not all occasions call for my leadership and my perfection therein. I’ve spent a lifetime pursuing that option, and quite frankly, it’s exhausting some days. And while I always want to put my best foot forward, both in life and in spirit, I think, perhaps, that God is deepening my outlook in the matter.

Today, He’s asking of me a hard question, the answer of which speaks the truth about how I am choosing to “play” this life that I’ve been given. Simply put…

Do you trust me with your bench time, elaine?

Deeper still…

Are you willing to go there, elaine, … to step aside and offer up your support while your teammates have their go at running up the scoreboard?

Further still…

Is it enough, elaine, to simply be on the team or do you prefer to single handedly be the team?

Good questions; a painful wrestling and just exactly the pondering that I was left with as I watched my son leave the court at the conclusion of his game, no worse for the wear and completely at peace about his level of participation in the matter.

Could it be that after 42 years of doing life, the time has finally come for a shift in my thinking about my participation in the matter? Could it be that after over fifteen years of watching my children play sports, I’ve finally come across a child who more fully understands the art of team play and who is willing to log bench time as well as court time because he knows that all of his time belongs to a plan intended to bring about a good and final conclusion?

Yesterday’s conclusion may not have been the conclusion that I wanted. After all, I’m after a win. But as I enveloped my son in my arms after the buzzer blew, and as I listened to him describe the game in as much vivid detail as his eight-year-old mind could articulate, I’m not so sure that we didn’t get a win.

For Jadon, all of life is pretty much a win, whether on the bench or whether staying glued to his position on the court. Either way, he enjoys the gift of participation. And that, my friends, is a contrasting option that I need to receive as my own.

Thus, I am going to spend a few days on the bench this week watching you run up the scoreboard, all the while offering up my thumbs and my hearty cheers on your behalf.

I am not running this race alone; if “it’s” going to be, then “it’s” going to be up to all of us to see it through to conclusion. Sometimes from the bench. Sometimes sweating it out on the court, but all of the time, loving the game because I’ve been allowed to play it with you by my side.

I can’t think of a finer group of teammates with whom to pass the ball. Consider it passed, sweet friends. Play well. Play hard, and do it all for the love and glory of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I’ll see you on the other side of my bench time. As always,

Sought After

February 17, 2009

“You will be a crown of splendor in the LORD’s hand, a royal diadem in the hand of your God. No longer will they call you Deserted, or name your land Desolate. But you will be called Hephzibah, and your land Beulah; for the LORD will take delight in you, and your land will be married. (Isaiah 62:3-4).

High school and I were an awkward fit. In fact, I hated most every minute of the three years that I spent walking its hallways and trying my best to make sense of the nonsense. I wasn’t popular. I wasn’t stunning. I wasn’t a cheerleader. I wasn’t asked out on dates. In fact, to me it seemed as if I wasn’t much of anything, except…

forgotten … deserted.

The friends of my younger days had long since traded me in for a newer model, and my teachers? Well, there were a few who noticed my worth, but a majority of them never even knew my name. Thus, it was no surprise to me that when I graduated a year early, it came and went with little fanfare.

For me, my high school years were a detrimental season of living—shaping years that, unfortunately, left my already fragile self-esteem in further ruin. Accordingly, I couldn’t wait to break free.

Starting college at seventeen was a good decision. I chose to attend a school in my hometown, and from the moment that my feet hit the campus of Asbury College, I knew that my heart had finally found its home.

College was the fertile soil of my becoming—of my beginning to break free from the chains that had followed me down those painful hallways of high school. I fit, and for the first time in my life, I began to see myself as someone more than the scared little girl who had always felt deserted.

I had friends and dates and professors who, not only called me by name, but who also came to expect my leadership in the classroom. After a first semester of academic adjustment, my grades soared toward excellence and landed me with honors by the time graduation rolled around. In addition to my cherished diploma, I had an engagement ring on my finger.

I was on my way to becoming a preacher’s wife and an elementary school teacher in short order. No more painful high school hallways for me. Being deserted was no longer my issue … at least not for a season. But as all issues go, unless dealt with by the illuminating and healing presence of God’s love, they tend to resurface at unsuspecting times.

Mine would reappear on occasion and became more frequent as my marriage began to unravel. After seven years of being a wife and a mother to two young sons, my feelings of worthlessness barked their insistence over my soul, and I found myself, once again, returning to the familiar hallways of my adolescence.

It would take a long season of painful recollection and deliberate intention to free me from my feelings of being forgotten. Thankfully at age forty-two, I’m finally getting close.

(ages 17, 21, 42)

God in his mercy and through his far-reaching love has kept me on the path of recovery and rediscovery. My identity is no longer shaped by the hallways of my youth or by the divorce that forced me to grapple with my worthiness as it pertains to God and his kingdom agenda. Today I walk in the grace that was mandated for me long before my sin required its covering.

Accordingly, I know longer feel deserted; my Father and the cross of his Son made sure of that.

“The LORD has made a proclamation to the ends of the earth; ‘Say to the Daughter of Zion, “See, his reward is with him, and his recompense accompanies him.”’ They will be called the Holy People, the Redeemed of the LORD; and you will be called Sought After, the City No Longer Deserted.” (Isaiah 62:11-12).

Today, I walk in the freedom of a new name. Many still know me as elaine. But my Father? Well, he knows me by a few others.

*Sought After.
*City No Longer Deserted.
*Hephzibah meaning “my delight.”
*Beulah meaning “married.”

Not a bad trade for the deserted and desolate of my youth?

I don’t know how this strikes you today. I’m not even quite sure as to the reason for the penning of my words. But I have a thought that, perhaps, there is someone out there who needs the truth of a new name this night. Maybe the hallways of your adolescence … maybe even those of your most recent … are plaguing your thoughts with feelings of being forgotten, unloved and unnecessary. I understand.

I’m not so far along in my faith journey that I don’t occasionally revisit those names. The enemy would like nothing more than to keep us trapped in the lie of such an identification. But the truth is…

Our Jesus didn’t go all the way to hell and back to leave us as we are. Instead, He made the journey in order to bring us home as his bride. We are the sought after delight of our God. Never forgotten. Never deserted. Never unloved and never unnecessary. And that, sweet friends, has always been and will continue to be the most sacred and deliberate intention of our Father’s heart—

to be the Lover of ours.

Won’t you allow him his turn to bathe you in the truth of what you’ve always meant to him? He is so worthy of your pause. Mine, too. Thus I pray…

Show me, Father, your love. Teach me what it means to be your bride … your delight … your sought after and prized possession. My youthful shapings and my adult rebellions have kept me from knowing the full depth of my identity in You. Replace the sting of feeling deserted with the truth of your deliberate pursuit of my heart. Thank you for holding onto my fragile estate all of these years and for continuing to remind me of my sacred worth in You. And when I am tempted to revisit those hallways of my long ago and faraway, turn my thoughts toward my “soon to be” and my “ever so close.” I love you, Father. Thank you for taking me as your bride. Amen.

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My God is my Oath

February 12, 2009

Update on Beth…

The doctors were able to remove a large portion of the tumor growing on one of Beth’s vertebra. Follow up radiation treatment will begin after she’s had a brief period of recovery. She is in a tremendous amount of pain and had a very restless night of sleep. Thank you, my blogging friends, for being the body of Christ to her and her family in the past 24 hours. They remain in need of our prayerful petitions. Let’s also remember our friend, Joy, as she has received word of her father’s similar diagnosis only yesterday. I know that she would appreciate a note of encouragement. Our God is our Oath. Shalom.

Beth & grandson

This is a day of need.

In my life, in yours, and in the lives of those we love.

We are a needy people, and without the cross of Christ to guide us through our wanton estate, all hope is lost. Period.

I just received one of the most sacred pleas for help I’ve ever read. My friend has emailed me from the confines of her hospital room, and she is afraid. She’s facing an immediate and necessary surgery this afternoon because of a cancerous tumor that has wrapped itself around the top of her spine. She’s been battling cancer for six years now; I’ve not known her beyond her cancer years. She landed in my lap when we landed here as her parsonage family.

The first Sunday we met, she had on her pink, and I remember her telling me to “sit down” on the couch outside the fellowship hall so that she could get to know me better. I immediately resonated with her “take charge, no nonsense” kind of personality. We’re a bit like-minded in that way.

Since that time, Beth has walked with me through ten Bible studies and been my friend despite my many foibles along the way. She is genuine, raw and real, and as authentic as they come. You never have to guess where you stand with Beth, and I like that. She lives out loud, and she lavishly loves the life that she lives.

And friends, she wants some more of this life to live.

Hers has not been an easy road. Some of her journey mirrors mine. Still and yet, her faith continually roots her … returns and restores her to the only God who perfectly loves her. I have quietly watched her walk her cancer. We’ve buried two of our Bible study friends in the five years we’ve been doing life together for similar reasons. It’s not an easy walk and one that I am sure is more difficult for her to step than me.

She lives with her disease. I don’t, at least not physically. But she has graciously given me a window into the life of her suffering, and I consider it a privilege to be a carrier of her pain. Thank God for the embrace of another’s pain. Without it, we become removed … cold and distant and separated from the call of Jesus Christ to be his body to the broken.

Beth is broken today. I bet that there are some of you who feel the same; if not you, then someone you love. Thus, our Father asks of us—those of us who are able bodied and spirit-filled willing—

What will you do with the pain?

I tell you what I did and will continue to do throughout the day and in the weeks to come. I bring it before the throne room of heaven and pray believing that my God is able to supply all of my needs … all of Beth’s needs … according to his riches in glory.

Not his leftovers. Not his cast-offs. Second-rate doesn’t fit with our King. There’s nothing random or haphazard about his approach to our lives. Rather our Father longs for his riches to be our portion. Riches from his storeroom of goodness that are ready and willing to explode upon the scenes of our lives simply because we believe that our God is eager to do so and because we are wise enough to ask.

Why sit on our “hopes” today? Why not speak them to the One who is able to deliver?

This is the day of need. Not tomorrow. Not next week, or even next year. Today is the only day we’ve been given. All other days will take care of themselves accordingly.

And today, my friend needs my prayers. I imagine that she would be blessed to receive a few of yours too. You don’t know her, but I do and that is enough to warrant our pause before the King. I know that your list is already a mile long. But if you wouldn’t mind, could you simply speak her name to Jesus today?

Beth. She whose name means “my God is my oath.” May the faith of her name be the faith of her heart this day. May it be yours also. If our God is anything (and I happen to think that He IS everything), he is the God of promise … of covenant … of oath.

Let’s take him at his Word in this moment.

As always,

Running our Sacred Intersections

February 7, 2009

“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.” (Philippians 3:12-24).

A sacred intersection.

There’s been one this week.

Between your brokenness and mine.

And while I didn’t plan on it, I’m not surprised by it. Why? Because brokenness yields brokenness. Whatever we’re speaking about, teaching about, walking and talking about, we do so hoping that someone else will resonate with our words. Otherwise, that’s all they will ever be. Words … void of purpose and with the hopeless float of nothingness. But when our words are spoken from a pure place—a place that harbors and collects the truest truths of our journeys—then they breathe with a clarity that strikes a chord in others who are walking a similar path.

That’s what I was after when I shared with you the prompting that had been swirling around my heart for the past couple of weeks. As I approached my blogging anniversary, I had a thought that, perhaps, God was calling me to share the story of my “letting go” of my childhood home, my prodigal years, and my father’s reaching love therein.

There was very little planning that went into my re-telling of that event. I just grabbed Billy and the flip ultra and told him that we needed to do a little video message. No notes. No polish, just shootin’ from the hip and the heart. It’s the way that I do most things, especially when it comes to my many words.

How could I have known at the time that my words … my prayer … would come back upon me in full measure and in surprising and unexpected ways? I couldn’t have known; thus, I didn’t expect. Yet within a few hours of verbalizing my heart, my “inbox” was flooded, not only with your comments, but with more personal pleas for notice … for prayer.

It matters not the details of those requests nor the places, both far and wide, from which they came. God simply allowed them their landing in my lap, and I am undone with the prospect of what it all means. Let me unpack that a bit.

Pain is a powerful tool for reaching other people. When others know that you’ve walked pain through to the other side of healing, they become more willing to talk about their own journey of sorrow. Pain speaks a language all its own, and when you’ve become proficient with its “speak” because you’ve fully worn the consequences of its truth, you become a conduit for receiving the pain of others.

It’s a gift of sorts. Both to them and to you. When God allows the witness of your brokenness to intersect with the lives of others who are currently trying to fight their way out of the rubble, both parties receive the gift of God’s magnificent grace. You are allowed to use your pain for God’s greater purposes, and, subsequently, they are allowed the vision of a greater purpose for their pain.

I think this is what the Apostle Paul had in mind when he penned the following truth:

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.” (2 Corinthians 1:3-5).

Thus, a sacred intersection.

Thus, your brokenness and my healing co-mingling on the road of life this week, all the while hearing my Father’s voice ringing in my heart with a question that directly relates back to the prayer that I prayed with you on Tuesday. Hear now a portion of the unscripted request of my heart as recorded on the video…

“Father in heaven I thank you for this glorious day of celebration that brings my life into the lives of your daughters and your sons, Lord. I pray, Father, that the words of my mouth, not only this mouth but the words of my pen would reflect you all the days of my life … that something in my life could be found pleasing to you and that you would run with it God.”

He’s running with it, friends. Apparently, he’s found something pleasing—something purified solely through the atoning work of his cross—and he’s decided to run with it. His question back to me?

“Will you run with it, elaine? I’ve given you this intersection between your brokenness and the brokenness of others. Will you run with it? Will you be the evidence of things unseen? Will you stand as my witness with your words and your prayers and your follow-through while others choose their silence over involvement? Will you contain my witness within the comfortable parameters of the righteous or will you allow me a voice via yours to those who have yet to be clothed with my majesty from on high? Will you run with it, elaine, or will your words float hopeless and void of purpose? This is your sacred intersection, elaine. Will you run with me and see it through?”

How would you answer? What do you do when the brokenness of your past catches up with you in order to be the blessing for someone else’s pain in the present?

I tell you what I am doing and will continue to do. I receive it, all the while believing that our intersection is part of God’s great design for both of our lives. I take its gracious landing onto my lap and hold it with all the care of heaven. I run with it, all the way to my Father’s feet and place it before him as an offering. I intercede for your healing. Your wholeness. Your turning toward home and finding the truth of who you are meant to be in Jesus Christ.

Will you do the same, friends? Run with your Father and see things through to the end? Your brokenness doesn’t necessarily breathe like mine. God has tailor-made an avenue of ministry for you because of it. Thank God for it; don’t minimize its worth in your life. Find your healing through Jesus Christ and then allow him his further hand in the matter. He has taken hold of you for a specific and everlasting purpose—a purpose that directly links you with the lives of others who are walking in similar stride.

We need not fear the exposure of our bad, our shattered and our defiled. God doesn’t condemn us because of our brokenness. God heals us so that we can bring his healing to others through our restoration. There is no shame at the cross of Jesus Christ. There is only freedom in the truth of its witness.

{image removed on 7-18-2017 at 10:58 PM}

A sacred intersection for all mankind. Between God’s brokenness and ours. A powerful pain that continues to reach … to teach … to take hold and to transform all of that which is shattered into a conduit of lasting and final significance.

Run with it, friends. Run with Him … all the way home to receive the prize for which God has called you heavenward in Christ Jesus. Together, we can do this thing. I count it a joy to intersect my life with yours for our Father’s great and mighty purposes.

In the name of the Father who planned us, the Son who saved us, and the Holy Spirit who keeps us as such, Amen.

PS: The winners of Watermark’s “A Grateful People” are: #15 Laura and #79 Beth E.

Thanks to everyone for playing along this week and for your wonderful support of peace for the journey. I look forward to sharing another year’s worth of words with you; perhaps this will be the year in which many of us could gather together and have that cup of coffee, diet coke, or latte. Now that would be something, wouldn’t it?! I’m asking God for this specific happening. Shalom.

Category Archives: friendship