Category Archives: God’s voice

gathering information

I watched the faint blip of light hop through the night sky. It was barely noticeable set against the clear, brilliant backdrop of the crisp January evening. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have noticed it during my walk; ordinarily I’m not looking up.

But two nights ago, I did – look up. Some nights require it.

Accordingly, I took to my back-porch stoop and quieted my heart before God.

Look up, child.

After an agonizing couple of days of looking around, I was more than willing to look up.

It was then that I saw it – a dim light passing through the heavenlies. I spoke my heart out loud with a chuckle:

“Probably not a plane; probably just another drone gathering information on me.”

No sooner had the words left my mouth when God let a few of his own words leak into my heart:

“Me too, Elaine. I’m out here gathering information … on you.”

Tears began to flow, and I was deeply comforted by that singular thought.

God is gathering information on me; my God is an evening-gathering God.

I don’t know what it is about the darkening of night that seems to reveal more clearly the whispers of the Father. Perhaps the slowing down of a hard day’s laboring better hosts his inclinations. Our days are mostly cluttered, overstuffed with noise. But when the sun steps off the daily stage, the hours open up a bit more. And in that widening space, our souls begin to breathe … begin to look up and behold the heart of the Father.

Two thousand years ago, Jesus took an afternoon walk with two strangers. As the sun began its descent, the strangers made a simple invitation to Jesus:

“… they urged him strongly, ‘Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.’ So he went in to stay with them.” (Luke 24:29)

And in those evening hours, Jesus did something that Jesus does willingly for all those who urge him to stay – 

He revealed himself to them while breaking bread with them.

He wrapped up their hard day’s laboring with a soul-breathing, life-giving revelation of just how far he was willing to walk on behalf of kingdom expansion.

Jesus was willing to walk to their table. And two nights ago, he was willing to walk to my back-porch stoop and break bread with me as well.

What a moment of tender grace … to look up and then to look in and sense the assurance of my Father. The lights above me were no match for the Light within me. God was there, gathering information on me. Checking on me. Surveying my heart and allowing me to survey his.

It is the same for you.

Jesus sees you; he loves you; he’s with you. Even now, he’s gathering information on you.

Jesus wants to know how you’re doing. He has some tender moments of grace and time reserved just for you. This is your privilege as children of the one true God.

No other god sees you; no other god loves you. No other god is gathering information on you because no other god is real.

Only Jesus. Simply and profoundly, holy Jesus.

So tonight … look up, child.

Give your soul some room to breathe in these coming hours.

For it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.

Let us strongly urge the Christ to linger around our tables for a few moments longer.

Revelations await our hungering souls.

Revelation comes to lead us home.

Peace for the journey,

from a distance…

“All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance.” (Hebrews 11:13)

 

Five months ago, I curled up in my bed barely able to breathe. Physically I was fine. My mental state, however, was taking a hit. The details surrounding my life were all-consuming. An impending move. A high school graduation. College applications. A wedding. A house and a classroom to pack up. A cancer scare. Aging parents.

The “to do” list was endless. I cried out to God in anguish:

How will I ever get to the other side of this?

His answer was as potent as my pain.

With me.

In that moment of clarity, I released my question to God’s capable hands and knew that, regardless of the minutiae in between, he would safely land me (and my family) in this place of relocation–Benson, NC.

I’ve lived here for a month now. Five months ago, I couldn’t have known how it would feel to be a resident of this community. Instead, I could only imagine it. And I did so on a regular basis … imagine it in my mind. Every now and again, I’d add some texture to my imagining by making an occasional detour off I-95 while en route to visit my folks who live a short distance away. But even then, in all the detours in my mind and with my car, I couldn’t fully appreciate the fullness of a life lived here. I could only welcome it from a distance.

Faith anticipates and welcomes life from a distance.

The ancients understood this … were commended for it. They lived expectantly, never seeing on this side of eternity, the fullness of God’s promises to them, only believing that, in fact, the fullness would arrive at the time of his choosing. And so, they sowed seeds of faith into the soil beneath their feet, watering it with both tears of sorrow and joy. God grew something on that sacred patch of land. It stands as a memorial for us today–a history of a well-worn, intricately woven faith.

And every time we choose to follow suit, every time we lend our hands to the plow that is before us so that the ground beneath us becomes the road that transports us, the voice that is within us echoes the beautiful refrain of faith. It’s a song that pleases our Father, a forward trust that resounds in the chambers of heaven, reminding those who have gone before us that we are not far behind.

Faith! Faith!
Hear our cry;
Here we stand
To testify.

The night’s been long
The journey severe;
The details endless
A call to persevere.

Through doubts.
Through fears.
Through questions.
Through tears.

In sickness.
In health.
In poverty.
In wealth.

Wherever we are
Wherever we’ve been;
Wherever you’re leading
Wherever it ends.

The soil is yours
This plow in our hand;
These seeds in our hearts
Our time in this land.

This faith from a distance
This faith we hold dear;
It keeps us together
It keeps us strong here.

Until we are finished
Until our time through;
Until our road ends
And we finally see you.

Our Author, our Perfector
Our Finisher of faith;
Our Father, our Redeemer
At last face to face.

With you, with the angels
with those gone before;
At home, at rest
In peace forevermore.

Yes, Faith! Faith!
Let the heavens resound;
This is life from a distance
This is life heaven bound.        (f.elaineolsen7/23/19allrightsreserved)

Faith anticipates and welcomes life from a distance. Wherever you are standing today, friend, cast your eyes to the horizon and cast all your imaginations into the capable hands of our Father. Soon and very soon, you’ll land safely into the place of his relocation. Soon, you’ll be home. Until then,

Peace for the journey,

on the edge of something

It’s 4:00 AM; I can’t sleep. A strained shoulder and a pack of prednisone are to blame. I’ve started and finished a 350-page historical novel that’s been sitting bedside for weeks. I’ve read the book of James. I’ve prayed over my family. I’ve shed a few tears. And now, out of a restless need, I dare to open this blank page wanting to say something, but not completely sure I know what it is.

I’m on the edge of something.

There have been a lot of those edges lately, a lot of tossing and turning, reflecting and remembering, wondering and wishing my way through my nights.

I’m standing in between … teetering precariously on the edge of yesterday, just before the dawn breaks on today, and God pierces my edge with a truth I’m often prone to forget:

I still have a plan for your life, Elaine.

I am undone by the hushed voice that penetrates the darkness, so certain in my spirit that I have heard from his. This is the edge we share, God and me … a moment of teetering between things unseen and things perceived. And it is a very good place to stand, here in this hour …

On the edge of something, even if I cannot see it.

God and I have been on these edges before, all of my life in fact. He’s been with me from the beginning. And while I cannot remember a day when I was unaware of his presence, it wasn’t until I was in my mid-30s that I began to really open up my heart and my mind to understand the deeper things of God.

With two young toddlers in tow and a barely used high-school graduation Bible tucked under my arm, I dragged my soul to my first ever, in-depth Bible study in Little Washington, NC. It was Beth Moore’s To Live is Christ, a study on the witness and ministry of the Apostle Paul. Two weeks into the study, I remember lying on my bed in the parsonage on Respess St., Bible and study book wide-open, tears streaming down my face, with the most honest confession I could utter …

I am sorry, God. I have wasted so much time.

That was an edge for us, an exhilarating jump onto the next page of my life with Christ. Fifteen years later, I’ve yet to recover. I have loved standing next to Jesus on that edge of discovery. Every single minute we’ve shared on the pages of his Word has fed me, shaped me, and enlivened me for the road ahead.

Along the way I’ve been so privileged to share that road with countless others through my speaking, leading Bible studies and Sunday Schools, writing books, teaching Bible for four years in a 4th grade classroom, and shaping my own children with the truths I have learned.

It’s been my great joy, and it’s been for God’s good. I know that deep down. Truly.

But just now, right now, before the birds begin their morning chorus, I need to know that there is more. My body is weak and my mind is cluttered. I’m having trouble standing on this particular edge because I so long to see that which remains hidden. And that kind of blind faith sometimes feels just out of reach for me. The edge of something isn’t always as certain as I would like it to be.

How about you?

Where are you standing right now? What edge hosts your in-between? Has the new day brought with it a new hope, a fresh dispensation of daily grace and forward steps? Is your agenda filled with God’s? Has he made it clear to your heart what is dear to his? Is your edge a place of release or has it become, instead, a place of refuge? Is the uncertainty you have about tomorrow shattering your confidence therein?

If so, then might I lend you an old truth on a new day almost arrived?

God still has a plan for your life.

Despite the darkness. Despite what’s happened. Despite your flesh. God still thinks thoughts about you and would like nothing more than to stand on the edge with you as you prepare your heart for your next steps.

Fresh grace. Forward steps. The edge of something … more.

A very good place to stand here in this hour.

Welcome to today! 

As always, I pray for you God’s companioning peace for the journey,

the sermon that was never heard…

I had a dream last night. So strong in its witness, I needed to “get it down” on paper this morning. Perhaps in doing so, it will get down to a deeper place inside of me so that I might more fully live it outside of me.

The sermon that was never heard.

Allow me to explain. In May of 2016 my father was scheduled to preach at the Garner UMC. There was nothing particularly unusual about this event. Dad was often called upon to “fill the pulpit” on occasions when the pastor wasn’t available. As a professor of preaching at Asbury Seminary for over thirty years, and as a pastor of several congregations in the last fifty years, my dad has always been a natural choice for such occasions. His spiritual journey, as well as his giftedness in and eloquence for telling a story, have allowed him notable stages from which to deliver God’s message. But no stage was more glorious and important to my father than one holding a wooden pulpit overlooking an audience of Sunday morning seekers. Accordingly, dad rarely refused an opportunity to fill a pulpit.

I had planned to make the two hour trip to Garner to hear my father speak that Sunday. My mother texted me early in the morning to tell me not to come, that dad wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to preach. Later that day, when pressed for more details, dad revealed that he was having trouble reading his sermon notes, that his thoughts were jumbled up inside of him. And while he didn’t have any manifestations of a physical illness, he knew something was wrong. So did we. Thus began the unraveling of the diagnosable mystery known as a stroke.

For the last nineteen months, we’ve walked with dad through this period of redirection. The adjustments have been numerous. And while dad’s aphasia has altered his daily routine, it hasn’t changed his heart or his passion for telling the story. Certainly, the “stage” has changed; they’re smaller now, more intimate. His words are fewer and, sometimes, aren’t delivered as eloquently as he would like. But the warmth is there, the smile, the laughter, the love … always the love from dad. And through it all, we’re all learning to make peace with…

The sermon that was never heard.

The words that were never spoken that Sunday morning. The “text” that (some would say) would be my father’s final declaration from the pulpit. And this morning, after tossing and tumbling all night long, after mulling over what my father’s final benediction might have been from the pulpit that morning in Garner, I have decided that God is still writing that sermon. That after nineteen months of altered steps and interrupted dialogue, the sermon that was never heard is still preaching its witness.

And therein, folks, lives and breathes the greatest story ever told. When the curtains are drawn, the script is lost, when the words won’t come, and the audience has departed, what remains is the sacred echo – the deafening whispers of the sermon that was never heard.  

Like my father, perhaps even like you, I have a few more stories I’d like to share, a few more moments of dialogue I’d like to give to the world. But I am no longer convinced that these are the “sermons” that God will most thoroughly use to live and give his witness. What I am growing convinced of, however, is that…

Not every sermon needs a stage.

Not every manuscript needs eloquence.

Not every word needs to be spoken.

Instead, our “sermons” just need to be lived in the shadow of Almighty God. With warmth. With smiles. With laughter. With love … always the love.

If we can get to that place of settled peace, friends, then the sermon that was never heard surely will be boldly proclaimed with a depth and with a clarity that may not come otherwise. So…

Thank you, Daddy, for teaching me how to live with an unwritten, unspoken, and unfinished script.

And thank you, God, for making it count eternally. As always, 

Peace for the journey,

on cleaning out your culvert…

“Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.” –Proverbs 4:23

It’s been four months since Hurricane Matthew swept through our little neck of the woods. Beyond losing our power for a few days, there has been no lasting, negative impact to my family. There has been, however, a niggling reminder of its existence each time I take a walk around my neighborhood.

There are several man-made ponds in our community, connected by culverts that keep the water freely flowing amongst them. Since the hurricane, one of the culverts has been muddied up and blocked by debris. The city maintenance crew shows up now and again to poke a stick at it, but the flow of water has mostly stopped between the ponds. Accordingly, the water has grown stagnant and murky.

Something tells me it’s going to take more than a poke to get the water flowing again. It’s going to take some getting down and some getting dirty, some hands on, digging in the mud to clean out and clear up the mess that Hurricane Matthew left behind.

As it goes with the culvert in my neighborhood, so it goes with my heart.

Every now and again, a hurricane blows in and around my spirit, muddying it up with debris. The water flowing in and out of my heart gets plugged up by the ravages of the storm. An occasional poke and prod of faith does precious little to release the debris clogging up my veins. A poke and prod may temporarily bring some relief, but eventually, I have to be willing to do more in order to remove the obstruction. I have to dig a little deeper, get my hands a little muddier, so that I might, once again, feel and know the free flow of water in and around my spirit.

What does that look like practically speaking?

Well, for me it begins with the wisdom of King Solomon. I must take better care of my heart, both in feeding it and guarding it. I’ve not been very good at my feeding and guarding in recent days. Instead, I’ve been stoking the fires of my faith with an occasional poke and prod of Jesus. Accordingly, my heart feels stagnant … muddy … full of the world and its rubble rather than full of something better, something cleaner, something freer. Someone finer.

The good news? I know how to unclog the drain to my heart.

I must eliminate the debris, even if it means my getting deep into the water to do so.

With God’s help to guide me…

• I will guard my heart most fiercely in the days to come.
• I will diligently feed my soul with truth (God’s Word), not lies.
• I will live in a posture of quietness before the Lord so that I might most clearly hear from his heart.
• I will yield to sacred road blocks, and I will merge when the lane is offered.
• I will “circle the wagons” as it pertains to those who are allowed to speak into my life.
• I will reserve the greater portion of my emotional and physical energy for my family, my friends, and my students.
• I will keep my eyes fixed on the finish line instead of the cheering (and sometimes jeering) of the mob on the sidelines.
• I will start and end my day with Jesus and offer up ten thousand prayers in between.
• And I will remember that all of my “wills” are weakened if not tethered tightly to the pull and prod of the Holy Spirit.

Perhaps today, like me, your heart’s been clogged up with the debris of a recent hurricane. I don’t know if anyone’s come around to take a look at your mess yet, but if you’re reading this, maybe you could consider this a prod toward cleaning up your culvert? You might get a little dirty in the process, but once you’re free from the junk, the flow of water between your heart and God’s will begin again.

Be well, friends. Live well. Guard your heart above all else. Truly, God means for it to be the wellspring of life eternal. As always…

Peace for the journey,

error: Content is protected !!