grace | Elaine Olsen

When Cancer Comes Calling…

September 27, 2011

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

Get Up!

September 7, 2011

“Once again Jesus went out beside the lake. A large crowd came to him, and he began to teach them. As he walked along, he saw Levi son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax collector’s booth. ‘Follow me,’ Jesus told him, and Levi got up and followed him.” (Mark 2:13-14)

Sitting at the tax collector’s booth.

Is that where you’re located today? Parked alongside the road, watching the Lord and others pass you by, all the while waiting to collect on their good fortune?

You’ve heard his preaching from a distance. Maybe even witnessed a miracle or two in his comings and goings, all the while sitting by nursing your curiosity, maybe even nursing a grudge. Feeling overlooked and underpaid, you linger with your coppers in the shadows of his passing grace telling yourself that they will be enough. That they are why you’re here. To collect your due and to do so using the law as your compass, not grace.

Collecting money or receiving grace. Collecting the approval of man or receiving the love of God. Where are you today? Sitting by the road thinking you haven’t been called or walking the road with Jesus knowing you have been called?

You’ve been called. There’s no “thinking” that you have heard otherwise. You’ve been called.

Now it’s time to walk. Time to push your chair away from the table, from what you thought you were supposed to be doing with your life. To leave the security of the few coppers of borrowed grace that have been surrendered to you by others and to start receiving the free grace that rightfully belongs to you as a child of God.

It’s not enough to notice Jesus. To make acknowledgement of his passing. To mentally ascend to understanding and truth. Noticing, acknowledging, and ascending can all serve as precursors to following Christ, but the real work of discipleship begins when you get up and follow him.

Get up from your complacency.
Get up from your comfortableness.
Get up from your high opinions.
Get up from your selfishness.
Get up from your self-importance.
Get up from your self-pity.
Get up from your pride.
Get up from your woundings.
Get up from your sin.
Get up from your excuses.

Just get up from the table of whatever is keeping you tied to the side of the road, and start walking with Jesus. You’ve been called, and the day will soon be over. The night is fast approaching, and the nighttime is not the right time to reason out your calling. The night time is the best time to rest in your calling—to know that you know that you know—that leaving your coppers on the table was the best leaving of your life.

Quit collecting on the grace of others, friends. Start walking the grace that is yours. Get up, and walk forward with Jesus. Today is the day of salvation. I’ll meet you on the road. As always…

Peace for the journey,

~elaine

PS: The winner of Nancy’s study according to random.org is Rebecca (the original winner, Leah, already has the study and wanted another of you to receive it). For another chance to win a copy, please visit Nancy at her blog and enter into the give-away. Leah, the study will be coming to you directly from Nancy!

nighttime desperations…

April 22, 2011

Nighttime desperations…

Inclinations of the mind, heart, and soul that bend in the opposite direction of God’s peace as darkness begins its descent upon a day’s worth of doing. Hidden agendas that bury beneath the brilliancy of the sun’s witness but that overtly and willingly take the stage to blanket the landscape of the moon’s illumination.

Fretfulness. Tearfulness. Anxiousness. Tensions. Confusions. Consumptions. Considerations. Manipulations.

When was the last time your “tucking in time” gave way to nighttime desperations? Why do they seem to wait until the cover of darkness to speak their witness? What is it about a night’s pause that offers up fertile soil for our desperations to take root and breathe and flourish into a stress far grander than the daytime will allow?

Why did mother always say, “Things will look better in the morning.”?

I’m not sure she knew the reasons behind her proclamation. I think, perhaps, she spoke from experience. I think we all could… speak from experience. Many of us could testify to the difference between a night’s wrestling and a morning’s peace. Some of us closed our yesterdays with full-grown and on display desperations. Most of us probably woke up to our todays with a lesser portion of struggle, less angst, less confusion, and more tempered understanding. The dawning of a new day has brought better perspective, not always perfect answers and certain peace, but better perspective.

A perspective not so cluttered by the night’s quiet and cover of darkness, but instead, a perception bathed in the radiancy of the morning’s crescendo.

There’s a holiness that surrounds the birthing of new day… a sacred mention of the Creator that cannot be overlooked or shrouded by our desperations. The light is too bright to miss; too big to hide; too loud to silence. It will not be trumped by the dark deliberations of a night’s pause. Certainly, we can pull the covers over our heads, keep the lights off, and close the blinds to the announcing of a new day, but doing so won’t change the fact that the light has come to lay hold of the night.

And with the light, comes life… another day to flesh out sacred understanding beneath the watchful gaze and warmth of a sun’s embrace.

A Son’s embrace.

Not long ago, there were a few disciples who understood the length and breadth, width and depth of a nighttime desperation. The silence and cover of darkness held their hope captive and threatened to claim previously held truth. Their “tucking in time” gave way to fretfulness; tearfulness; anxiousness; tensions; confusions; consumptions; considerations; manipulations. Their night perspective was too shallow to contain the possibility of the morning’s promised light. Instead, they gathered their fears, collected their tears, and hovered beneath darkened perspective, certain that the night was too long in its witness. Long forgotten were a Father’s words about things looking better in the morning. Their night stood in stark contrast to his previously spoken truth.

But as with all nights, regardless of their desperations, morning broke through. Light came, and the Son rose to take his rightful place above their cluttered considerations and painful conclusions. Christ shattered the darkness with the witness of his illuminated presence, and heaven’s morning crescendo has never birthed more brilliantly.

An Easter morning to replace all nighttime desperations. A once-and-for-all reasoning to bridge understanding regarding the difference between a night’s wrestling and a morning’s peace.

How thankful I am for that morning. How thankful I am for this one… these early, beginning hours that breathe easier than the closing ones I experienced last evening. With the sunrise, the Son has risen to his rightful place in my mind, heart, and soul, and things are, indeed, looking better. How I pray to live in that better throughout my day and into the night hours. Resurrection living is intended for them both. Thus, I pray…

May the light and witness of Calvary’s crescendo illuminate our days and penetrate our nights with the truth of your Son’s embrace, Father. Fill our desperations with the promise of morning’s arrival. You are the candle that keeps company with our days and nights. You are the flame that blazes the path before us, marking our way home to you. Even so, come Lord Jesus and light your fire in our hearts this day as we pilgrim to the Easter cross and fall beneath the weightiness of your truth and grace. And grant us your peace… always Peace for the journey ahead. Amen.

~elaine

a toast to daily grace…

August 3, 2010

Fantastic life stories.

Do you have one? I don’t… at least not when measured by the world’s standards. Let me explain.

By fantastic, I don’t necessarily mean grand, glorious, excellent, superb or a dozen or so other synonyms meaning the same. What I mean is more along the lines of a “brought-back-from-the-ashes” kind of fantastic. You know what I’m talking about. A life-story that includes an extreme, seemingly debilitating circumstance that is eventually overcome by the kindness and grace of God to go on to become a shining witness for all those who happen by for a look, maybe even a best-seller.

I’ve come across a lot of those stories as of late; in particular, this afternoon while perusing the shelves at a local Christian bookstore. Rows and rows of books filled with the latest “triumph over tragedy” life-stories that ask for my attention… my wallet as well. And while I am grateful for God’s extension of grace and healing into the lives of those directly affected by painful, life situations, I’m wondering why the rest of our stories don’t “shelve” alongside these best-sellers. Why doesn’t a “less-fantastic” life get as much press as a “brought-back-from-the-ashes” kind of one?

As a writer, I’ve heard a lot of talk regarding “story”—about needing to have one… about what mine is and why others would want to read it. That kind of talk always leaves me feeling a bit hollow and inferior. Why? Because my life hasn’t lived, necessarily, in accordance with “fantastic.” Don’t misunderstand me. Grace is always fantastic regardless of how it arrives in the lives of God’s children. Every last one of us has experienced a “brought-back-from-the-ashes” kind of fantastic when it comes to God’s grace and all its amazing. What I mean is that not all of us have had to endure the trauma of something horrible prior to grace’s rescue. And just in case you’re wondering, I don’t wish for a Christian witness that’s in keeping with some of the horrors that my brothers and sisters have had to endure in order to receive their “fantastic” witness. I imagine many of them would trade their previous dread for a life lived less dramatically, less needful of an edge-of-the-seat, last minute kind of intervention. Still and yet, that kind of story seems to be what sells, what readers want, what lines the shelves of my local Christian bookstore.

If that’s the case, then I don’t have much of a story, at least not one that would sell. Certainly, I could talk about being the mother of four kids, but that’s not very original. I could talk about being a pastor’s wife, but that’s been done before. I’ve walked through a divorce, but these days that’s nothing new, certainly not headline worthy. I suppose if you’re the one walking through a divorce, it is. Sixteen years ago, it was a big, huge deal for me, but I’m mostly past that now. I don’t want to write about it, anymore than you’d want to read about it. It’s just not that fantastic. Today I live and walk in the grace that’s been afforded to me via the cross and in the spirit and freedom of Romans 8:1-2:

“Therefore, there is now no commendation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death.”

So I’m wondering; perhaps you are as well…

What makes a life a worthy read? Why does one merit more press than another? Why do some stories garner the attention of readers while others get passed over? What if you had to “sell” your story to a publisher? Why would anyone choose to read your “life” over another one that has lived, perhaps, a bit more “fantastically?”

It’s not a fair question, for I happen to believe that all stories of grace are worthy of print. Funny how we get hung up on ranking the witness of God’s grace. Maybe you aren’t that shallow. Maybe you see the bigger picture. Maybe I’m just on a bit of a soap box tonight, but truthfully, I’ve grown a bit weary with it all.

I don’t need a story of “fantastic” grace to buoy me along in my faith journey. Rather, a story of daily grace will do me just fine. A day-in, day-out, walking it through kind of story that has lived a lifetime worth of days within the boundaries of holy living. An everyday life lived in an everyday way because a long time ago the lead character in the story made a decision to live an everyday Jesus in every kind of way. Not fantastically; just daily.

I imagine that’s most of you. Thank God for that… for a life that has lived free from some of the hardships of our brothers and sisters, from some of the prodigal lifestyles chosen by them as well. If today you’re living and breathing the same witness of faith that you lived yesterday… that you lived ten years ago, maybe even fifty years ago, then to God be the glory, and pass me your book please! What makes your story a worthy read (at least in my opinion) is your steadfastness to keep on doing what pleases God, come what may. To never stray too far off the path of grace, thus sparing yourself the need for a dramatic rescue from the heavenlies. To be content to live godly, even though it may never garner you the attention of the world.

Make no mistake… if you’re living godly, you’re being noticed. God is paying attention to your every chapter, even if you or others currently consider them mundane and ordinary. He’s adding the color along the way and as you go, and one day soon, you’ll see the fruition of his “fantastic” spin on your story. When you get home to him, you’ll find your book, shelved there alongside those of the ancients of old. It won’t go unnoticed or unpublished. It won’t be tucked away or forgotten or overshadowed by those whose stories you once deemed more worthy of recognition. No, your story of daily grace will stand front and center… in the very hands of God, and he will call it good and finished and a perfect fit in keeping with his kingdom library.

And that, my friends, is the making of a fantastic life story—one that begins and ends with our Father’s commendation. It may not make the shelves of Borders, but you can be certain it will make the shelves of heaven. I, for one, cannot wait to sit ringside with you and hear our Father read your story aloud for all of creation’s notice. Your life is just that good… just that worthy.

Believe it. Live it all the more. Here’s my toast to your beautiful, noteworthy life lived with God’s daily grace. I love you and thank you for investing good kingdom seed into the soil of my heart. As always…

Peace for the journey,

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Investing…

July 26, 2010

I asked him to repeat his name to me, not because I didn’t hear him but, rather, because I didn’t think I heard him correctly.

Doris. Or Dorrace.

That’s what he said. I “googled” it upon returning home; apparently Doris was a popular name for boys in the 1930’s. Seems in keeping with the age I determined him to be in our moments of exchange. He was hunkered down over his cart while pushing it through the paint aisle at Lowes when he stopped just short of me.

“Ma’am, can I ask you a question?… What color would you paint a bathroom?”

I knew there was more to his question than just paint, but it served as our starting point. Every good conversation starts somewhere (usually with a question), and ours started with paint. He showed me his card of samples; I showed him mine. His included shades of brown. Mine included shades of green. We covered the generic questions in keeping with paint conversation, and then the dialogue moved to a deeper level.

“Haven’t painted the house in years, but I’ve been taking on more projects these days. It’s just me now, so it doesn’t much matter the color I choose. But she’s still with me, you know. I don’t think she’d mind all the changes. I talk to her about it every day.”

“Your wife?”

“Yep. Almost sixty years of living together. She died a year ago, but she’s still with me. She’s on the mantle in the den.”

Another starting point for a more pointed conversation… one that lasted a good thirty minutes. We covered a lot of ground in that time. Mostly I just listened to his lonely heart. Words about extended family members who’d been here for a recent visit. A collection of Hummels his wife had collected over the years. Life in Fayetteville, the traffic, and then a final probing question from my heart to his.

“What about friends, Doris? You’ve lived here so long; you must have some good friends to spend your days with.”

“Oh, I don’t have many friends. I live a pretty lonely life, but I’ve got her with me everyday. Whenever I feel alone, I just talk to her.”

And my heart broke into a thousand pieces as I listened. I reached into my purse, grabbed a piece of paper and wrote my name, along with my husband’s name and phone number, onto it and handed it to Doris.

“You’ve got two friends now, Doris, and when you get that bathroom painted, we’d really love to stop by for a visit and take a look. Everyone needs a few good friends, and I’d like to be yours.”

He said that he’d call; I hope that he does, but I don’t imagine he will. Something tells me he’s not quite ready to let a stranger through the front door. That’s OK with me; I much prefer the access of a back door friend. Back door friends talk about everything… soul things, whether over a cup of coffee at Starbucks or in the paint aisle at Lowes. Perhaps thirty minutes was all that was meant for our paths… his crossing mine and mine crossing his.

Sacred intersections… that’s what I call them. Two roads that collide to further God’s kingdom work. A moment that stands at a crossroads where two hearts connect intentionally, purposefully, non-coincidentally, perfectly timed and orchestrated by God and feeling as natural as the air we breathe. I’ve had a few of them in recent days. Not as many as I would like, but just enough to remind me of what I’m supposed to be doing with my days…

Investing.

In others.

Not just in things, or endeavors, or plans, or goals, but more importantly, investing my time and energies into people. I cannot always pick when that happens, don’t always have the luxury of planning my sacred intersections. I much prefer it that way. Plans can sometimes be full of pretense and projected outcomes. I’d rather let the intersections arrive as they will and along the way. God knows when they’re coming; he sees them from afar and is more than capable of making sure that my heart is prepared for their arrival.

So tonight I think about Doris. I think about the joy I would have missed if his cart had not connected with mine. I think about my big God who sat back and watched the exchange… entered into the exchange, even though his voice deferred to mine in that moment. And I am thankful for the privilege of being his conduit of kingdom dispensation.

He’s trusted me with so much… the mystery and the secrets of the kingdom. He has committed to me the ministry of reconciliation… of being his mouthpiece as though he were making his appeal through me (2 Cor. 5:18-20). I cannot conceive of his choice, his trust and his willingness to allow me any measure of influence upon this earth. Instead, I can only receive it as yet another grace from his heart.

I don’t always get it right, friends, don’t always speak God’s witness as I should. Sometimes I keep my silence; sometimes I say too much, but every now again, a Doris-moment comes along, and I know that it was pretty close to perfect.

His path crossing mine; mine crossing his.

An investment of the richest kind.

I may never stand before a crowd of thousands or see my name in lights on this side of eternity, but you can be certain I’ll wake up every day to have that kind of sacred intersection. Some days it’s all I can do, all that I have to give, all that keeps me going when little else in my life is making sense, and trust me when I tell you that life doesn’t “feel” sensible right now. Even so, I pray the Lord to keep me to all that I can do and all that I have to give and to let my tomorrow be filled with more intersections and investments of the kingdom kind.

The Doris kind.

I pray the same for all of you this week. As always…

Peace for the journey,

~elaine

PS: Thank you for all of the kind comments on “the Goody Bag” and for visiting Judith’s new blog. I made sure to include your name in the drawing, whether you posted a comment here and/or there. Miss Amelia just drew the winner prior to going to bed. Jennifer @ The Spirit of Truth is the winner. Send me your address, Jennifer, via e-mail, and I’ll have your book to you this week. Shalom.

Category Archives: grace