grace | Elaine Olsen

growing up honest

November 18, 2009

for a boy who grew up to be an honest man… I love you, son.

Out of ninety-eight people scheduled for traffic court this morning, only half showed up. Of the half who made the effort, only three pled an initial “guilty” during the roll call moment. Those three were moved to the front of the court docket to have their cases resolved first.

One of those three was my son. He was part of the three percent willing to take ownership of his mistake. In doing so, he saved himself some time and received a reduced sentence for his crime.

Traffic school (to which he presented his certificate of prior attendance) and $165 in court costs and…

No points on his license.

Honesty wins the day! Honesty doesn’t come without consequences, but honesty often tills the soil for favor in the eyes of the judge. Being able to “own” our issues, our mistakes and our sins, is a key to our continuing growth as a human being.

As it goes with our flesh, so it goes with our faith.

Honesty wins the day. Confessing our sin before the Judge always merits his kind favor, his grace, his forgiving love. Never once does our Judge turn aside an honest confession. Instead, he listens intently for our intent and pronounces judgment accordingly.

No traffic school. No court costs. No points on our license. None. Done. Dismissed from judgment with nothing more than the loving grip of grace to accompany our steps home.

Why?

Because long ago on a hillside, another stood in our stead and received the verdict for our crimes. A once and for all “guilty” so that we might find favor with the King. Instead of allowing us to linger with our punishment, Jesus Christ surrendered his body to our pain. He paid the cost. He absorbed the sharp prick of the “points” applied to his flesh and the lengthy stay required in the courtroom until the work had been accomplished, finished and completed for all eternity.

His admission of guilt freed us from having to continue in ours. His willingness to “serve the time” freed us from unnecessary seasons behind bars which, in the end, could never adequately proffer in fair exchange for the crimes against God that we’ve committed.

Jesus Christ became “sin” for us, so that through him, we might become the righteousness of God (2 Cor. 5:21). What does that mean?

It means that we are as clean before the King. That what Christ did 2000 years ago was enough to purify us so that we can stand before the Judge spotless, guiltless, free to speak our witness because of Christ’s witness on a cross.

A familiar truth to most of us; in fact, one so well-worn that when we hear it again, read it again, we’re tempted to move past it without re-absorbing the impact of its witness. Familiarity often breeds passivity—a complacent forgetfulness regarding the merit of the witness.

Would you be willing this day, perhaps even in this moment, to play that courtroom scene out again in your own heart? To relive that moment when you first tasted God’s grace in full measure? To picture yourself there, before the Judge, when the roll call commences?

You, awaiting the sound of your name from his lips, preparing your heart for your “guilty” confession when the time comes to answer his question “How do you plead?” You’re shaking, perhaps sweating, wanting desperately to state your case but understanding that any objection you can offer for your sin seems as foolishness in the light of his glorified presence. You’re wanting to get a pass, but fairly confident that none will be offered.

That is, until your name is called, and the question is asked, and rather than looking at you squarely in the eye, the Judge casts his glance in another direction—to the One who stands by your side in your defense—and looks him squarely in the eye and says…

“How do you plead, Son?”

“Guilty, Father, let the prisoner go. She is clean; he is clean. I am the One cloaked with the responsibility… the sin. See me; free them.”

And with those words, and because of that sacred surrender, your time in court is over. You leave the scene a free person. No blemish to your record; no shame attached to your name. It doesn’t make sense… this sacred exchange between your flesh and Christ’s, but you receive it nonetheless. Grateful for the reprieve; mindful of the cost.

And today, if you’ve made it this far with my words and with your remembering, then your heart, like mine, should be filled to overflow with gratitude for the One who stands beside us to plead our worthiness before the Judge.

Today, I walk my grace with continued thankfulness for the gift of Calvary. I am guilty of a great many crimes against God. I’m not sure what percentage of the world’s population is willing to admit personal guilt along these lines; perhaps, three percent is too generous an estimation, but if three out of a hundred are going to make the good confession, then I want to be part of the three. I want the honest admission of my heart to be the catalyst that moves me forward in my growth as a Christian, and I want the favor of the Judge on my behalf.

Honesty wins the day. Always. In the courtroom of life; in the courtroom of grace.

Bend the knee and bow your heart this day; your posture of reverent confession is the precursor to God’s pardon. As always…

peace for the journey,

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Making Sense of Mustard Seeds

September 14, 2009

“Again he said, ‘What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it? It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest seed you plant in the ground. Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds of the air can perch in its shade.’” (Mark 4:30-32).

I’m not sure how it all fits together; all the stuff of my Sunday.

Sick children;
Laundry rotation;
Clorox wipes;
Temperature taking;
Non-stop Sponge Bob.
A Wal-Mart run for meds.
Throw-up clean up;
Make-up homework;
Bible-study prep work…

Some prayers;
A Scripture;
A Kingdom;
A mustard seed;
Some birds.

A blog post.

But something tells me they fit; Someone compels me to make them fit … at least to ponder their collective wisdom and then to scrawl a few thoughts in between runs for cool washcloths and requests for more attention. And here’s what I’m thinking tonight…

They are God’s kingdom, these two young ones I’ve been given in my later years. I never imagined them on the front side of my motherhood. Their two older brothers were enough to fill my maternal longings. Then again, I never imagined starting over in a new marriage. But I did start over. And by God’s grace and only through a loving provision I cannot begin to merit or adequately explain, I was granted the privilege of having two additional children.

I’ve not always done it right; in fact, many times I’ve gotten it wrong. All of us have some battle scars to prove it. But even in the mistakes, I’ve always been mindful of the sacred responsibility to do it. To parent in the light and shadows of a greater cause … a kingdom cause. If I don’t, someone else will, and what God wants growing in my garden is a planting filled with the mustard seeds of a heavenly kingdom, not the weeds of a worldly domain.

The world grows weeds … useless, unimaginative, ugly to the eye, and difficult to erase.

All I have to do is look out my bedroom window to a neighboring lot and see the effects of a worldly neglect. But when I look inward to reflect on what’s growing inside these four walls, to the young ones who are within reach and are well-tended to this day, I see the effects of a Godly intention. A sowing that exceeds any amount of energy expended on the cultivation.

I see God’s kingdom—two children growing faster than my heart can handle. There is nothing useless, unimaginative, and ugly about them. Instead theirs is a beauty that, when beheld, no one wants to erase, for in their eyes … on their faces and beneath their skin, there radiates the glow of heaven. A golden hue reminiscent of a golden road that links them directly back to the inapproachable light of a glorious God.

God’s kingdom is like them; tiny mustard seeds growing alongside their brothers and sisters in Christ to develop into a garden without boundaries. A garden that multiplies over time to become the sought-after perch and shade for the birds of the air.

We are there too, being cultivated and grafted into a kingdom without end. A golden carpet of splendor rolled out for all of humanity as the pathway home to the King. As you consider your “plant”—your part in God’s kingdom this week—be reminded that your beauty is needed. The light you carry within added to the light I carry within becomes an illumination that beckons weary travelers to pause from frantic flight and to, instead, find rest within our branches.

God has fashioned us to be his perch and shade to a world in need of a safe place to land. In doing so, his kingdom advances. One seed at a time; one heart at a time; one prayer at a time; one cold compress and one temperature-taking at a time; one Scripture at time. One blog post at a time.

That is how my Sunday fits together … a day fast approaching its end. It’s been messy and cluttered and filled with ranging emotions, yet when all is cast at the feet of the King, all becomes material he can work with. He’s done it for me; he’ll do it for you as well.

Blessings this week as you fan into flame your candle and expand your branches to become God’s extension of rest to a people who need the truth behind their sacred worth. We are all the useful, imaginative, beautiful, and unerasable work of his hands.

Walk your inheritance well. As always…

peace for the journey,

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thankful

August 28, 2009

Sometimes there comes a moment that catches me off guard, an unexpected pause in my day that strikes a chord deep within, stirring the cobwebs off of the history of my heart.

I had a moment like that today while listening to this song on Kimberly’s blog. The sacred nature of the setting, coupled with the haunting echoes from the acoustical setting, set my spirit aflame and called to my remembrance that long ago and far away split-second clarification when I clearly understood the grace and truth of Calvary’s gift.

I’m still a sinner, friends, and God’s grace is still amazing.

Remember and be thankful.

Have a blessed weekend, friends. As always…

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a worthy pause … God’s worthy cause

July 22, 2009

“Pray that God restores a place in me…”

That was her request. It haunts me now, some seven hours down the road. She spoke it from a place of absolute brokenness and ample isolation. She also asked me to pray that the devil would stop doing bad things to her … that God would be stronger than the devil and make him sorry for all the evil things he’s been doing in the world.We didn’t talk theology and where she had it “wrong” as it pertained to the devil’s power in relation to God’s power. We simply held hands and ate some lunch and prayed for a better day, all the while sitting on the curb in front of the local Bed, Bath, & Beyond.

I found her there, slumped on a park bench, completely unaware of her surroundings. I’d just finished up my Tuesday lunch with the “ancients”. While making my way to the van, I spied her out of the corner of my eye. People were pointing, commenting, and stepping quickly past her obvious brokenness.

It’s not a sight we see very often in these parts. Our lives are fairly sanitized and void of the “in your face” kind of moments that call for involvement. Yes, we take our mission trips overseas, and we stock the local food pantry, but when it comes to “hands on” and “in the moment”, well, rarely are we presented with the occasion. Thus, when such profound “need” comes knocking, it always warrants my notice; not always my intervention, but certainly my notice.

I’ve been noticing “need” all of my life. I suppose it began as a young child while watching my father’s intervention on behalf of the needy within our community. He has a special place in his heart for them, an even more special knack for intervention. If hugeness of heart is learned, then any measure I possess began at home. I learned from the best. My daddy is a foot-washer, both with the tangibles and the intangibles.

Today, my heart was called upon to remember. And so, rather than leaving the parking lot with regret, I circled back around, rolled down my window and simply shouted,

“Ma’am, are you hungry?”

By this point, she was stumbling down the sidewalk, after having been rudely interrupted from her slumber by a honking horn (apparently someone less comfortable with her “park bench” status). Her bleary eyes and mumbling response assured me of her appetite. I told her I would be back and that she should wait for me.

After what seemed to be an extensive wait at the local Chick-Fil-A, I returned to find my new friend sitting on the curb where I’d left her, barefoot and with the few items she carried strewn around her. She quickly offered me her thanks for the food, confident of my needing to make a quick escape. But I didn’t need to … escape. She was where I needed to be.

I sat down on the curb beside her and shared a half-hour of my day with a woman whose fifty-seven years on this earth have left her with some scars and certain hopelessness. She talked about her three children, especially about the one she aborted long ago and how he/she would have been 38 years old this year. When she discovered that my husband was a pastor, she asked if we could come and be the pastors at a church unfamiliar to me. She assured me they needed a good pastor. I assured her I was married to one and that I would like her to meet him someday.

We talked about other things; some strange “others” and some that made more sense. And then, my new friend, Gail, was ready to leave. I asked her if I could pray for her, and without hesitation, she grabbed for my hands and uttered a small request for some restoration within her own heart. Her words; not mine.

For all of the things she could have asked for, for all of the ways her conversation seemed to wander and weave in confusion, when it came to prayer, she asked from a place of understanding. She knew she was in need of God’s restorative power in her life. And so for a few moments, I prayed. Others milled past our make-shift altar with quiet conversation and knowing glances.

And then, as quickly as our sacred intersection had arrived, it passed. I hugged Gail, returned to my van, and she returned to her wandering. Even now, I can’t type these words without some painful tears of remembrance and a few questions alongside.

Does compassion have a limit? If so, what’s mine? Where does it end? Is thirty minutes enough? Should I have done more, been more, given more, loved more? Where do my needs end so that hers can have ample time and room enough to know a deeper sustenance beyond a chicken sandwich and a few moments of conversation? Should I have said more about Jesus, been more declarative about the truth I hold in my heart?

I couldn’t look at her feet, Heidi, and not think about washing them … literally. Not just her feet, but her entire body that signaled it had been a long time since her last shower. But I didn’t offer her a basin. Instead, I came home and immediately washed my own hands and thought about taking a shower to further separate me from the unpleasant smell.

I’m conflicted about it all, and quite honestly, I don’t know what to do with these feelings that wrap themselves around such “open-ended” moments of ministry. Chicken sandwiches aren’t cutting it for me; most assuredly, they’re not cutting it for her. Not really. Seems a pitiful offering when the need is so great.

Still and yet, I suppose it’s something. A beginning, perhaps. The seeding of a further wrestling that seems to be growing in me now more than ever before.

There’s got to be more to my mission on this planet than my words and my feeble attempts at pacifying a temporary ache. I know I can’t be all things to all people; who needs that kind of guilt? But, maybe, I can offer a good thing to the few people who God so graciously scripts into my every day and my along the way. Wasn’t that the lifeblood of his ministry here on earth?

The everyday and along the way? The one over the many? Jesus never rushed his earthly encounters with his created. Instead, he offered people his time and his undivided attention. He even offered a basin and a towel and the humbled posture to cleanse the needs of a very dirty people in order to make them ready for very difficult walk to the cross.

He’s still doing it, and he’s using the likes of you and me as his conduits of reconciliation. He’s entrusted us with a great deal; seems a bit risky to me, for I am well-aware of all the times I could’ve, should’ve offered grace at a deeper level. I’m not there yet, but I’m growing closer in my need to do so. Christ’s love compels me along these lines.

I want to walk like Jesus and touch like Jesus and give the “Gail’s” of this world the peace and restoration that their hearts are hungering for so that, indeed, the devil will get his due and my God will get his glory. I don’t always believe God for the restoration of lives that seem so lost … so far gone and so deeply broken. Tonight I confess my unbelief and ask God for Gail’s complete restoration, for the tiny spark that was lit this afternoon to flame into a full-blown fire of holy cleansing within her heart.

I don’t know what that might look like for her in days to come, but I believe God knows the best way to get there. I only wish I might have done more.

Next time.

By the grace of God, next time, thus I pray…

Grow my heart to a Jesus-sized heart, Father. One that doesn’t put boundaries on love; one that is willing to bend and to wash and to pray until restoration finds its home within the brokenhearted. Forgive me for my complacency and move my will to action on behalf of the kingdom. Guard my friend, Gail, this night with your careful watch and tender care. For all of the demons that assail her flesh and invade her mind, speak your peace and freedom over them all. Let this be the day of her new birth and understanding in you, Lord, and remind her of your love and mine with every step she takes. Thank you for intersecting my life with hers, and should our paths never cross again on this side of eternity, I pray for her salvation that will land her in my path when I get home to you. Break my heart for your people, again and again and again until I no longer have an agenda of my own but only one that lives and breathes for you. Amen.

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Walking Our Assignment…

July 18, 2009

“See to it that no one misses the grace of God…” (Hebrews 12:15).

This morning, Spurgeon has me thinking about the Israelites’ tribal progression through the wilderness and how this relates to my own progression through mine.

I’m pretty sure I have some “Judahite” blood running through my veins. They were the leaders in the journey; in charge and in front … those given the privilege of a “first glimpse” of the road ahead without the worry of what’s been left behind. Visionary walking suits me. I like being the one trusted with the unfolding of a promise.

I think, perhaps, I have some “Levite” blood coursing through my veins. They found their place throughout the progression. Some in front, carrying the Ark of the Covenant, some in the middle of the pack, charged with the task of carrying the tabernacle and its furnishings. Regardless of their position, their responsibility was all things “worship-related”. “Set-apart” and consecrated walking is also a good fit for me. I like being the one trusted with the sacred things of God.

But the Danites? Those at the rear and trusted with the responsibility of clean up … a final look-over for the “left-behinds”? The last to set up camp and the last to see God’s “up ahead”? Well, I don’t think I’d choose it, but then again, I don’t imagine the choosing is up for grabs.

Some days we lead; some days we clean-up. There is merit and purpose in both positions. We don’t always see it this way. What we see is our position in relation to those around us. We are tempted to measure our “holy” worth by what our brothers and sisters are doing, forgetting all the while that the role we’ve been given is vital and necessary as it pertains to us corporately walking through to God’s land of promise.

God doesn’t intend for our journey of grace to walk in isolation. He means for us to step it in unison as his holy tribe, set apart for his consecration and en route to a completed end. To get there, we must be willing to walk our assigned positions with the understanding that God has ordered our steps and that he is faithful to make each one of them count for kingdom gain.

The trouble comes when we begin to think that we could “order” better … that somehow our wisdom exceeds God’s. Instead of seeing the worth in the place we’ve been assigned, we jockey ourselves for a front position, giving little credence and credibility to our seasons of “in the middle” or “at the back”.

Do you ever wonder if God grows weary with our assessment regarding his assignment for our lives? I’m certain I’ve nearly exasperated his patience along the way … times when I’ve frantically pushed my way “from the back” to try and make a place for myself “at the front”. Some days, I nearly exhaust myself from the spiritual gymnastics of trying to land myself in the place of my choosing.

What a waste of time.

I think we diminish God’s kingdom purpose when we allow ourselves the freedom to roam between camps, squandering time and expending energy on things that aren’t intended for our consideration. In doing so, we delay the process of our holy progression. How much better would it be to pitch our tents in the place of God’s intention and get busy with the assignments lying within our borders rather than reaching for a task never intended for our hands?

For the Danites, that assignment measured out differently than that of the Judahites and the Levites, yet all were equal in worth as it pertained to their moving on with God. All assignments were given with the end result in mind—getting to the Promised Land in tact and with the consecrated faith that comes from walking in corporate trust with God and his people rather than stepping in selfish isolation.

This is our wilderness pilgrimage, friends. Right here; right now. The life we live between two points—our birth and our burial—is the march of faith entrusted to our wandering hearts. This is our desert assignment. Life on earth is but our bridge to the life we will live in the full promise and truth of God’s forever.

Getting there isn’t an easy walk. It means pitching our tents in the place of God’s choosing and making it home until he loosens the pegs and pushes us onward. It means taking our rightful place within his ordered understanding and relinquishing our thoughts about how we could do it better. It means viewing our progression from different vantage points and being incredibly thankful with the fact we’ve been given the eyes to vision God’s promise in any measure, regardless of our positions.

It means keeping to the truth of kingdom perspective and making sure that no one, no single person placed within our allowable reach, misses the grace of God and, therefore, misses the march of freedom.

Perhaps this is the worth of walking with some Danite bloodlines, the beauty of standing “at the back” and with a fuller picture in view. They were the clean-up crew. When the Judahites and the other-“ites” missed a few stragglers—those who were forgotten and mistakenly looked-over in the chaos and confusion of moving ahead—the Danites were charged with their inclusion. With making sure that the “left-behinds” had the opportunity to walk the road of Promise.

I don’t know your position this day. Some of you are in the lead; some are muddled down in the middle, and some of you are hunkered down at the rear. Some of you don’t like your position. I understand. I’ve harbored similar feelings in seasons past; I imagine it won’t be the last time I find my discontent regarding my assigned position. Regardless of our place in the line-up of grace’s procession, we are all charged with its dispensation. With making sure that no one misses out on God’s journey of promise.

And when we take hold of that understanding, that we all are entrusted with a great grace from a great God to be a great influencer regarding a great kingdom, then any position we’ve been assigned becomes holy ground, consecrated and set apart for a great purpose.

It’s a great day to be a kingdom walker and to share this desert wandering with you, my friends. This week, I’m standing with the Danites as part of the clean-up crew … maybe even for the next season of my life. Where have you been called to stand this day? Don’t worry. If you feel left behind in the “push” forward, I’ve got you covered. So does God. You won’t be left behind. This is the beauty of our corporate walk together.

As always, my prayer and hope is for you to know your God more fully in this moment because of your spending some time with me at “peace for the journey”. We serve the only God who can be known. The more we press into his truth, the greater our understanding about who he IS.

Think on him this day, and be thankful for your position within the march to freedom … to Promise. I love you each one.

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PS: If you would like to study further regarding the Israelites’ march to Promise, Numbers 2 is a good place to start.

Category Archives: grace