Category Archives: friendship

love stretches the soul…

Love stretches the soul.

When was the last time that love stretched your soul? Reached inside your heart and pulled it outside for exposure, for adventure, for remembrance, for renewal? How long has it been since you left the safety of your carefully constructed, four-walls in order to explore the world that’s been waiting for you just beyond the back stoop? When did love last remind you that your world is too small, too guarded, too inward, too stuck?

Love stretched my soul over this past week. Love carried me some 500 miles northwest through stormy weather to land me safely in the arms of a friend who’s been walking this journey with me for nearly twenty years. She’s a native to the small town where I spent a few of my yesterdays… five years’ worth of my yesterdays.

Our friendship began on a hot summer night in the sanctuary of my small church. Parents from the church and the community had gathered to hear about their children’s adventures during our annual Vacation Bible School. As part of a follow-up program designed to target un-churched families, we visited several homes in order to extend personal invitations to come and worship with our growing congregation. One of those homes belonged to my friend, Juanita. From that moment forward until today (nearly nineteen years later), I don’t suppose she and her family have missed many Sundays at that church. That’s a lot of Sundays, friends. And while I’ve not actively worshipped with her for most of those nineteen years, we’ve shared an active friendship throughout the course of that time.

Some told us that our friendship wouldn’t last… that miles and time would be enough to separate the deep bond that we share. They were wrong. Yes, miles and time have separated us in a way that neither of us wanted, but our friendship is just as real and certain as it has always been. Last week’s visit held the proof. It was as if (you could probably finish this sentence for me)… we’d never been apart.

 

 

We laughed, cried, ripped up the roads down through Amish country. We stopped for cheese bread, apple fritters, and chocolate-covered peanuts and raisins from Walnut Creek’s Coblentz Store. We dined on broasted chicken from Der Dutchman and roast beef from The Amish Door, as well as shared a table of tortillas with three of the Drake sisters (Juanita’s sisters). We even caught a viewing of Courageous. Yes, we crammed a lot of living into a few days, and then we hugged our good-byes at the airport.

It’s never easy saying good-bye to my friend, and this time around was particularly difficult for me. I’ve spent a couple of days mulling it over, and here’s what I’m thinking.

Love has stretched my soul. Love moved me beyond my borders and landed me smack dab in the middle of humanity. For the first time in a long time, I spent a few days living in the real world—a world separated from the safety zone I’ve carefully created for myself over the past year. Last week, I exposed my heart and made it vulnerable to outside influences. In doing so, I became painfully aware of how closed-off I’ve become. It’s not a good fit with my heart.

God didn’t save me to bury me. God saved me to release me. To release Him. To be a soul so stretched by the power of love that a kingdom bridge between heaven and earth might emerge as a footpath for those who fill up my days. For those who linger with me through the dark nights. I want to be that bridge… God’s active participant in the world. A heart anchored in heaven, yet a heart unafraid to linger a while longer in the setting I’ve been given.

Love is a game-changer, friends. God’s stretching love for us changed the world and forever planted a bridge between heaven and earth so that we might find the footpath that leads to home. If God had remained closed off to his world, kept his Son safe from the world, then you and I would know nothing of grace and heaven. God would be there, and we would remain here. As it is, Love came down, planted a cross, and secured a forever for each one of us. Loved stretched far and wide, long and deep, encompassing a world-view that best fits with God’s heart. Two thousand years ago God hit the roads with his Son and his story, and now he’s entrusted us with the same mission.

Love stretches the soul. Indeed, it has moved me to a better place this past week. Love put me in the path of humanity in a way that best fits with my heart. As I move forward from here, as I try to put traction to my thinking, I do so knowing and believing that love is a strong motivator for change. Love has the capacity to stretch my soul and to put it within arm’s reach of great, kingdom influence. It has the capacity to do the same for you.

Would you be willing to allow love to move you to a deeper place of surrender, a deeper place of influence this week? It’s time for some of you to come out of hiding, plant your feet and your heart along the footpath of humanity in order to stretch the influence of Jesus outward to those who still need to hear the greatest love story ever told. In doing so, you’ll be stretched… perhaps uncomfortably so. But all worthy love stories… lasting love stories… are stretching ones.

Reach deeper, friends, pull harder, stretch further… all for the love of Jesus this week. You are God’s game-charger in this world. Even so, keep to it. As always…

Peace for the journey,
~elaine

When Cancer Comes Calling…

She called me to tell me that her cancer had returned. Truthfully, neither one of us thought it had gone anywhere, but we didn’t mention it. Instead, we just held the moment together. Paused long enough to breathe in and out a time or two and then continued in our conversation. Inwardly, I was gasping for air … careful not to fill the moment with my fret. It wouldn’t have been fair to her, to her news, her disappointment, the painful reality that was about to unfold for her … again.

More chemo. More testing. More spreading of the disease she’s fought against so valiantly in the eight months I’ve known her. I don’t really have the words to give to her. She doesn’t need empty promises or half-truths based on sentimental notions. She certainly doesn’t need false hope or a casual toss of faith-speak in her direction. No, she needs more. Something solid, real, tender, and truthful. A safe place to place her trust. A refuge in which to plant her seeds of pain. A retreat from the cruelty of blood draws, intravenous drips, and the stale taste of poison in her mouth.

She needs a friend, and she chose me. Silently, I struggle for the right words, questioning my qualifications. How can I mend this one, love this one, help this one through the struggle this go around? There are so many of us, Lord. So many cancer friends.

  • One who’s just finished her chemo.
  • Another one just getting started.
  • A mentor beautifully gracing the stage of her Stage IV.
  • Another fourth grade mom swollen with lymphedema.
  • A farmer who buried his daughter—my friend—and who now wages the cancer battle himself.
  • One of my “ancients” struggling in isolation from the rest of them, from me.
  • Several of us in a holding pattern—caught between our last year and the year to come. All of us quietly wondering if maybe the cancer’s just napping beneath our scars.

Yes, so many of us walking the ribboned road. Trying to be brave. Trying to hold the banner of hope high so that others won’t worry. Trying to be friends, be comforters, be supporters, and be the hands and feet of Jesus to those who need to be touched by truth. It’s a weighty responsibility, yet one gladly accepted by most of us. One I willingly accepted just over a year ago.

Entrusted. Remember?

Every time I want to quit, want to pull away and pretend that I am someone without a story, I look down at my wrist and think on that word. That charge. That privilege given to me—to be trusted with so much. When I go there with my thoughts, I almost always go to my knees, and I say “yes” all over again to the story that is mine, come what may.

Cancer will always be coming for someone. Fifty percent of all men and one-third of all women will personally experience the disease at some point in their journeys. Cancer doesn’t seem in a hurry to retreat, so neither must I. It’s as simple and as difficult as that.

To stay. To stand closely to cancer. To straddle the fence with one foot in the path of healing and one foot in the path of pain, with faith as the sturdy post in between. I will not leave the wounded behind. I will wait with them; walk with them; wonder with them; weep with them. It’s what I choose to do, because I believe it’s what my Father chooses to do every time his children come crawling to the threshold of heaven extending their personal pain in the direction of his heart.

God never fills those moments with his fret. Instead, he offers something solid, real, tender, and truthful in return. He offers his presence. A staying, standing-close-by promise of personal involvement. Why? Because he was the first one ever entrusted with a story. A cross. A red ribbon embedded into his brow, tied to his hands, threaded through to his side, cascading downward to his feet. A ribbon that threads through to our hearts and that pulls tightly on his every time our tears shed their witness.

When we need a safe place, a refuge, a retreat, a friend … we have one in Jesus. Every time he thinks about us … looks down at his wrists and reads the truth written behind the scars imprinted there … he goes to his knees on our behalf and says “yes” again to the story that is his. A weighty responsibility to be sure, a worthy gain for all eternity.

Oh to be like Jesus … even a little bit!

There will be no quitting today, not for me. Just more of the road in front of me and more of the ribbon behind me. If you need to, grab on friends. I’m heading in the right and good direction. I’m heading home. As always…

Peace for the journey,
~elaine

a steward of inconvenience…

My neighbor taught me a lesson a few days ago. A lesson about what it means to be a steward of inconvenience.
I call him neighbor, but the truth is I don’t even know his name. He lives down the road and around the corner from my home. I only see him in passing while I’m out walking; he’s a lawn person. You know the kind… those folks who live for the lush and green and blossom of summertime. Those who aren’t afraid to get on their knees and tend to the parcel of land beneath their feet. Those whose water bills double during summertime because of their love for landscaping. Those who potentially get annoyed when any one thing creeps in to wreak havoc upon their hard work.
Yep, he seems to be one of them; accordingly, I felt that he might be irritated by the presence of city water trucks last weekend. Several workers showed up on his front lawn to dig up, tear up, and fix up a broken water line that ran from the middle of the street onto his property. I made a few laps in their direction, noting the consternation on the face of my neighbor and his wife. They kept close watch on those workers, even more so on the lawn that was being dismantled; not a large parcel of land but just enough to inconvenience them both. I quietly regarded the scene, packed it away and didn’t give it much thought until I passed by again a few days later.
The scene was much different this go around. No more workers; no more holes in the ground; no more digging and no more corporate mess. Just a man, his hose, a loosely tilled piece of earth, and a patched, gravel spot where the asphalt had previously known fracture. I paused from my walking and commented to this unnamed neighbor about the condition of his lawn.
“Looks like they really messed up your lawn; I know how much work you put into it. Sure hope they found what they were looking for; sure hope it didn’t cost you much.”
His response?
“Just a little water line break and, no, it didn’t cost me a dime. Just a little patch of ground.”
A smile broke across his face, and then one broke across my heart. As I pushed on past his little patch of ground, I thought long and hard about what he had said; his gracious response wasn’t what I had expected. I anticipated his annoyance. Instead, he spoke his peace. In a few simple moments, he taught me something about what it is to be good steward of earthly inconveniences.
I get the feeling he understands something about the earth… about ultimate ownership and his temporary rights therein. About what it is to tend to earth’s parameters—the ones marked out for him by life’s trajectory; the ones that have become his responsibility for the earthly tenure granted him. And while his great love for his lawn is obvious to all passer-byers, what is greater is his perspective regarding the inconveniences that sometimes mediate their witness into the soil beneath his feet.
Rather than complaining, throwing a fit, and being annoyed by the freshly dug-up “brown” amidst the lush and green of a season’s hard work, my neighbor took it all in stride; took a hose in hand, and hovered over that little patch of ground. He bent to his inconvenience, bowed low and served the soil by watering it with his careful and willing stewardship.
I wonder how many of us could say the same… could live the same. Could see life and all its inconveniences with a similar posture of heart. A perspective that continually looks on the bright side of bothers—the right side—and that says…
This life is not my own; it was bought at a price, and it didn’t cost me a dime. Just a little patch of ground here and there. Just a little bit of soil that really doesn’t belong to me in the first place. Just a little bit of time; a little bit of water; a little bit of tending and bending to make sure that any temporary loss is replaced by eternal perspective, eternal growth. Eternal harvest that leaves our little patches of unearthed “brown” healthier, more vital, more vibrant, and more mature because of the tilling that’s taken place within.
What would it take for us to get there, friends? What if we looked at all of life and the little patch of ground entrusted to our care as the greatest, most precious holding of our hearts? What if, instead of collapsing with every uprooting that takes place in our lives, we just grabbed a hose, stooped low, and simply offered our hearts and hands to the re-growth therein? What if we could live there instead of staying mired in our annoyances? What if we simply consigned our gratefulness to the witness and grace of each new day we’re given, regardless of the intrusions that present themselves?
What if we could be a steward of inconvenience? A willing giver in the midst of taking. A joyful tender of disruption. A gracious gardener despite uprooting.
Indeed, a lesson given to me by an unnamed neighbor. I am thankful for its arrival—a small understanding applied to a great big life that just might make a huge impact for the kingdom of God.
Just a little patch of ground for Jesus. Beneath my feet; beneath yours.
Even so, my good, kind friends, keep to it. As always…
Peace for the journey,
~elaine

PS: My friend, Cindy, is a good steward of her camera. I’ve ordered and used several of her cards that contain some of her photographs. I’d like to gift two of you with a set; if you’d like to be included in the give-away, visit Cindy and tell me which photograph you’d like. Shalom.

faith gives a good offering to God…

I’ve been writing this morning, trying hard to edit and rewrite portions of my current work-in-progress. In particular, I’ve been focusing on Hebrews 11:4 and Abel’s great contribution to our walkabouts in faith. The title of the piece is “Faith Gives a Good Offering to God {Abel}.” All characters mentioned in Hebrews 11 make their own personal contribution to the definition of faith. My goal is to broaden our understanding of faith by giving each person and his/her story a tangible characteristic that can be applied to our daily living. Accordingly, with this particular piece I examine what a “good offering” is and how faith is connected to the process. I wanted to share with you a bit of what I wrote this morning, and then I want to connect it to something else. Here’s a portion…
“…Good offerings initiate from a pure heart. A heart that is willing to release the best to God’s altar—the fat portions, the first yearlings, the choicest lambs… even the diseased flesh— is a heart ready to see the exponential increase of the Father’s kingdom. Such lavish surrender reaches the portals of heaven and burns as sweet aroma before the throne. As it arrives and moves into the loving heart of the Father, it then becomes a sacrifice for all humanity, which begs a further question.
 
How is faith connected to a good offering?
 
Surrendering for surrendering’s sake—as a formality or as good, religious practice—isn’t an offering of faith. An offering of faith believes forward, beyond the act of surrender to take hold of God’s bigger picture. Good offerings made in faith understand that, in God’s hands, the law of multiplication is at work. When faith gives with God in mind, an enlargement takes place, not just in our own hearts but in the grander scheme of God’s greater purposes. When we release our best to God, he takes the gift, breaks the gift, and begins to share it with the world. Our small sacrifices seed largely into God’s soil of increase.
 
We may not be privy to the resulting grace around us; God’s work and ways are mysterious to most. But we can be certain that as we lean into our good surrenders, God willingly uses them for his good, his glory, and his gain. The kingdom increases when we give our good offerings to God. Not only are we changed, but the world around us reverberates with the witness of our sacred contributions.”(ElaineOlsen.4-26-11.allrightsreserved.)
With that being said (actually being typed), here’s the connection I want to make today as it pertains to good offerings and the law of multiplication.
Friends, you have blessed me in recent days with your good offerings. Many of you know that Sheri started a scholarship fund for me to attend P31’s She Speaks this year. Because of your generous contributions, I’ll be able to attend and to share my heart and work with other women and professionals in the publishing world. Given our family’s strained budget in recent days, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable attending this year’s conference. You have made the difference, and in doing so, have invested in God’s work through my life. Who can fathom the increase to come? I cannot, but I certainly believe that whether small or large, the gain is a direct result of your loving, good offering to God on my behalf. Thank you.
Secondly, I want to thank Kathie for sending me this beautiful table covering. I saw one that she had made over at her blog and commented about its loveliness. A few weeks later, this one was waiting on my doorstep. Thank you, friend, for the good offering of your hands. Your sewing love will grace my dining room for many seasons to come.
Lastly, I want to thank Deborah for writing this song for me. Several weeks ago she contacted me about writing such a gift. I heartily agreed; Deborah has been a reader of the blog for a long while, so she already had a good sense of my heart. She spent a lot of time reading and reflecting on my posts before writing the song. I’m so tickled to be able to share it with you today. Please make sure to visit this post for a listen. Thank you, friend, for the offering of your hands. Your musical love will rest in my mind, heart, and soul for many seasons to come.
Good offerings. I have been the recipient of many of yours. Offerings, first made to God and then trickling downward to me. I am blessed to be a part of your faithful “increase.” May God continue to multiply its witness in me and through me in the seasons ahead. Some day soon we shall all be privy to how our “good offerings made in faith” have genuinely and exponentially impacted the kingdom of God.
Keep to it, friends. I love you each one. As always…
Peace for the journey,
~elaine
mountain living…

mountain living…

It’s becoming increasingly difficult for me to visit this place. Why? Because with each visit I make, it’s becoming more difficult for me to leave. From the moment I arrive within its boundaries, a gnawing ache begins its witness within my heart for my impending departure. Whether a weekend visit or a lengthier vacation, regardless of the allotted days, my stay never seems to be enough.
I love the mountains; not just any mountains… the Smoky Mountains; in particular, I have a strong affection for the Gatlinburg area. My parents first took me there as a child. Since that time, I imagine I’ve visited there at least a dozen times more. Truth be told, I’d move there tomorrow if money and health weren’t an issue.
It’s a good fit for me, mountain living. I like the people who come there, the eclectic gathering of vacationing souls who make pilgrimage to these hills throughout the year. Even more so, I like the people native to Gatlinburg—those who call it home and generously share its beauty with the rest of the world. In the past week I’ve met people from England, Canada, Alabama, Michigan, Ohio, New York—travelers, transplants, and locals. Like me, they’ve come to love the area and are more than willing to fork out a few dollars to purchase a little piece of some mountain peace.
Mountains may not be your thing; your heart might be more inclined to beach-living, desert living, prairie living, farm living. To each his own; we all need a peaceful place to relinquish our weariness. But as for me and my stress, I choose the mountains; not the curvy roads, icy winters, or growing bear population that coincides with mountain living, but the other part of it. The best part of it. The part that affords me the one thing that living in eastern North Carolina can never provide me—
a visual backdrop that moves my eyes and my heart upward.
The mountains supply a pinnacle or two for sacred focus. An ascending witness that punctuates a higher perspective—one that views life from the top rather than from below. There’s little room for flat living and horizontal visioning in the mountains. Instead, the mountains provide a gracious invitation for its inhabitants to look up… breathe up… think up… live up! Indeed, a perspective in keeping with eternal understanding.
Faith is a forward, upward ascent; perhaps the reason so many of us remain stuck in the valleys, the muck and mire of daily routine. When our eyes (our hearts and wills as well) stay focused at a horizontal level, we miss the breadth, width, and depth of the mountain’s witness. When life gets stuck on the parallel pavement of temporal understanding, our hearts do as well. Pebbles can easily become our irritation, not to mention the potholes that are more than willing to dismantle our forward progression. Whether or not we have a literal mountain to serve as the backdrop for our everyday living, keeping an upward focus is difficult if our hearts are easily troubled by earth’s impediments.
My heart can be… easily troubled by earth’s impediments. I suppose that’s one of the main reasons I love visiting the Smoky Mountains. When I am there, I see better; breathe better; think better; live better. It’s a welcome retreat for me, none more so than now. This has been a long season of stumbling along, friends. I am grateful for the reprieve.
I may never be able to call the Smokies “home,” at least not in the temporal; however, there is coming a day when God’s mountain will be my forever portion; I’ll pitch my tent alongside his and see life from his perspective. There will be no more gnawing aches regarding departures. No more worrying about money and health; no more pebbles or potholes to nail me down to earth’s perimeter. No more having to travel seven hours to get there.
No, when I get home to God’s mountain, I’ll join the thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly and claim a visual backdrop that will keep me living upward for all eternity. The loveliness in my rearview mirror will not reflect a joy once shortly lived. Rather, it will serve as a witness to the beauty that surrounds me, envelops me, enlivens me, and keeps me in constant awareness of the eternal bounty I’ve been given because of the temporal ascent I have chosen.
Today I make that choice again. To look up; to breathe up; to think up; to live up. Up is where God is. Up is where God lives. Up is where I, too, live as God intends for me to live. Mountain living is a good fit with my soul, whether in the “here and now” or in the “there and then.”
Even so, Lord Jesus, lift my eyes, elevate my heart, and raise my faith so that I might claim some of your mountain peace for the journey that lies ahead. I’ve got a few more miles to travel before arriving home to you; I want to walk them with the mountain in mind. Keep me to sacred ascent. Amen.
 {this one’s for you, Sassy}
PS: Answers to previous post’s questions: Gatlinburg, TN, my birthday, with Beth & Bill Endean, and the one answer no one guessed correctly… Kevin who makes earrings! He also has antiques in his store at the Smoky Mountain Bead Bar on Glades Rd. I loved seeing Kevin the most; his first words to me were, “What did you do to your hair?” I told him the story… both of us were moved with the telling. He holds a special place in our  hearts! So, for those of you who answered correctly, names were thrown into a hat, and the winners are Sita, Karen B., and Skoots1Mom. You’ll be receiving a pair of earrings I made; if you don’t wear earrings, let me know, and I’ll stick in another Gatlinburg treasure. Please send me your addresses, girls.
error: Content is protected !!