grace | Elaine Olsen

the "exactly-why-we-need-Easter" post…

April 1, 2010

Would that I could escape the sin of this world.

I would, but I can’t. It surrounds me, invites me, terrorizes me, and reminds me of everything that is wrong about this world. Read about it in the headlines, see it on the television, hear it in the Wal-Mart, wherever we live and move and have our being, sin is the order of the day. A blatant and firm reminder of exactly why Jesus and his cross are needed, not just 2000 years ago, but today.

Today.

My heart is a tangled-up, jumbled-up mess this morning. I went to bed a mess; woke up a mess all because of a single headline that has, yet again, gripped my emotions with all the fury and fuss of hell’s intention. A seven-year-old girl has fallen prey to the sadistic schemes of the enemy, brought about through the hands of her step-sister and several young men intent on satisfying their sinful lusts via her innocence. I’ll spare you the details. They’re enough to turn your stomach, and if you’re stomach remains upright and unturned by them, then your heart has grown cold, calloused and unmoved by the sin-sick condition of this world.

This isn’t my happy Easter post; friends. Would that it could be. This is my exactly-why-we-need-Easter post. It would be nice if Easter dresses and egg hunts were the focal point of my heart this day, but they aren’t. Instead, I’m thinking about the unsanitized version of Easter—the one that’s ugly, repugnant to the senses, and that steps all over our need to keep Easter lovely and between the lines of our religious décor. As Christians, we are sometimes tempted to skip over the fuss and fury of Friday’s hell in order to arrive at Sunday’s conclusion.

I understand. I’m a Sunday-conclusion kind of gal. It’s how I like to live my faith, in victory and full of the conquering truth of the resurrection. But to arrive there without taking ample pause to reflect on what our Jesus went through in order to allow us sweet victory, is to keep sin’s ugliness separated from grace’s beauty. And that simply cannot be done. They come as a package deal, sin and grace, grace and sin. Without one, there is no need for the other. Life could simply live as it lives with no consequences, no rules, no guidelines except the one that says, “If it feels good, do it and let the chips fall where they may.” Apparently what felt good for at least seven men this past Sunday was a seven-year-old girl, and the chips? Well, they’ve fallen on tender soil—the broken soil of a young life—the consequences of which will be staggering in the end.

We don’t live in a world free from sin and the need for grace therein. As Christians, we sometimes forget our need for grace; the world has certainly forgotten its need for grace, but God has never been neglectful with his remembrance. He knows what we need, even as he knew it 2000 years ago, even as he planned for it pre-Eden on the front side of Genesis.

It’s hard for me to think about God and the “all-knowing” part of his nature—if he saw this past Sunday coming, even from the very beginning, then why did he allow it? Why make her pay for the sins of others? Why should she (the least of the least) harbor the fullness of carnality when she didn’t ask for it? Someone should have loved her better, watched over her better, made sure her “better” was of paramount importance. But “better” she didn’t receive, and now she is left to mourn what’s been lost.

I don’t have perfect answers for my questions, but I serve a perfect God, and by faith, I’m choosing to believe in those answers. I may not receive them on this side of eternity, but if I didn’t believe they’d one day be available to me, then I’d given up on faith a long time ago. Why? Because my almost forty-four years have afforded me plenty of occasions for questions and for the sacred mystery attached to their answers. There are simply some wrestlings of the heart that exceed my understanding at this point. Perhaps with spiritual maturity, I’ll grow in my understanding, but for now, all I can do is concede truth to Jesus and to look toward Sunday.

For Sunday is coming.

Soon.

Resurrection is upon us, closer now than it has ever been.

A Sunday conclusion that reads sinless, sanitized, saved by grace and grace alone.

Grace for all, even them—those seven, Lord—the exact reason why you could not skip over the hell of Friday to get to the hallelujah of Sunday. Oh the depths of where you’ve been for me, for them, for her, for the world. I cannot explain that kind of love and grace. I can only receive it, and in turn, Lord, out of that receiving… give it.

Even to them.

This is the conquering truth of Sunday’s conclusion.

Forgiveness.

Not as the world gives, Father, but as you give.

Even so, make my heart a conduit of yours.

So be it.

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the kindness of God

March 10, 2010

They kept asking, “What does he mean by ‘a little while’? We don’t understand what he is saying.” Jesus saw that they wanted to ask him about this, so he said to them, “Are you asking one another what I meant when I said ‘In a little while you will see me no more, and then after a little while you will see me’? I tell you the truth… ” (John 16:18-20)

I saw something this morning, something I’ve missed a hundred times before while reading this passage of Scripture. I didn’t mean to come across it; it simply came across me—my heart and my thinking, and I am deeply moved by what I discovered. This morning in my reading, I saw the kindness of God displayed in a way I’d not seen it before; not just once but twice.

First in his astute observation of the situation. Secondly, with his answer to the situation.

Let me explain. It would be so much easier for me to tell you this via a video, even as I told my Bible study group this evening, but alas, videos take a ton of time to upload, and I’m afraid my energy reserves are at an all-time low. Thus, this is my quick attempt at sharing some truth with you that personally means so very much to me this night. I believe that someone needs the witness of the Word, even as I have needed it.

Our Jesus is kind. He tends to our needs, our questions, and our pains as they come to him; sometimes even before they move from our lips to his ears in the form of a prayer. Did you catch that here? Did you read that even in the midst of the disciples’ tremendous grief and confusion regarding Christ’s soon and certain departure, Jesus interrupted their pain with his answer? He didn’t wait for them to get around to asking the question—about what he meant when he said “in a little while.” He saw, in advance, the troubled nature of their hearts and interjected his witness into the mix. This is a tender, first kindness from Jesus to the children he loved back then… the children he loves still.

The second kindness he offered them was one of words. Five seemingly insignificant words that, when spoken by the Creator, have the capacity to change the direction of all hearts in a single pause.

“I tell you the truth…”.

It really doesn’t much matter the answer that follows. Well, it does to a degree. Christ clearly interpreted the meaning behind his words for his followers that day. But the truth is, when Jesus says, “I tell you the truth…”, you and I can take whatever words that follow to the spiritual bank. His truth is the lavish gift of all heaven; it keeps us, moves us, emboldens us, and points us in the right and good direction. This is a loving, second kindness from Jesus to the children he loved back then… the children he loves still.

Oh would you, Father, tell us the truth? For we are a people surrounded by temporal lies that are eating us alive. Everywhere we turn, every road we travel, everything we see, is littered with a scheme from the enemy to keep us as we are—confused, tormented, consumed by tragedy, blanketed in pain. We are up to our necks with the world’s version of “truth,” and we are drowning in its deception.

Are there any greater two kindnesses we could receive from our God today?

One—his intervention of an answer to our questions even before they are asked, and…
Two—the witness of his truth?

I wish so very much that I could sit with you in contemplation of our Father’s kindness. Something tells me he would be well pleased with the conversation, for where two are three are gathered in his name, he promises to come alongside and interject his thoughts into the mix. When God is the topic of our many words, he bends low to listen; he moves in to make sure we get it right. Get him right.

God is right, and he is kind, and his love for us extends reason and limits. It extends all the way from a moment 2000 years ago to right now, this day, when the truth of his Word still stands as the truth for all seasons. How I love God for interrupting my day with the witness of his kindness! May his kindness reach you this day as well. As always…

peace for the journey,

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Sunday morning…

February 28, 2010

The brilliancy of a Sunday morning’s sun.

It beamed through the slits in the mini-blinds reminding me of a new day’s embrace. I needed its witness this morning… needed to know I’ve been given another day to live it right, especially since yesterday seemed to live so completely wrong. From beginning to end, my Saturday was filled with confusion, chaos in my externals which contributed to an internal chaos that remained throughout the day. When I put my body to bed last night, I did so with a simple prayer in my heart:

Lord, visit me in my rest and sort this mess out. Make tomorrow my brand new beginning.

It’s a prayer we can pray in faith, because our Father makes it his business to sort out our messes and to bring new beginnings to his children. We can never out-do his willingness to make sense of our confusion or out-sin his grace therein. God makes himself available to our pleas for the “new” and will always be faithful to follow-through with a “new” that is tailor made to individual needs.

I don’t know what transpired in my night’s pause, but the brilliant arrival of sunshine seemed to punctuate the fact that my Father took my prayer to holy heart and granted me the grace of a new beginning this morning. I couldn’t help but notice him. Morning light has a way of announcing his presence—of saying “I’m here…” and “won’t you join me on the road today?”

Life lives new and fresh and better than yesterday when we join our Jesus on the journey of grace. Certainly, some days flesh themselves out as healthier than others. Some days we operate out of God’s fullness rather than personal depletion. Some days our wills line up with our Father’s and, no matter the schemes of the enemy aimed in our direction, we don’t take his bait; instead, we keep faithful to the truth and to the right and good witness of the Holy Spirit living within us. Some days we live life like God intends for us to live it. Some days we live like Easter people.

And some days we don’t live much at all. Some days we step over boundary lines that we were never meant to cross. Some days we say things, do things, pretend things that aren’t in keeping with kingdom living. Some days we live for self rather than for God. Some days we don’t live up to our potential because we’re too busy living beneath our level. Yesterday was a “don’t” day for me, but thankfully, today is walking better.

Today is living like Easter. Like resurrection. Like light. Like freedom, and I have the brilliancy of a Sunday morning’s sun—a Son—to thank for that.

A resurrected life with a resurrected Jesus… how I want to live each day. How thankful I am for a Father’s grace that covers me when I don’t live with resurrected truth and for his willingness to intervene in my night’s pause to re-work my chaos so that my morning shines new and fresh and with the promise of a better day ahead.

May each day of this new week we’ve been given live with the brilliancy of a Sunday morning’s Son as our witness. He intends for us to live in the truth of Easter and with the grace of the cross as our inheritance. Be kind to yourself when you don’t get it right, and be deliberate about asking for a new beginning accordingly. He loves you far more than you realize; you are his bride, and for better or worse, in sickness and in health, he’s keeping you forever. As always…

peace for the journey,

~elaine

PS: I don’t know how much I’ll be around this week. I have some pondering and praying to do apart from blogging, but I’ll be visiting you and loving you from my own little spot on the globe. If you have anything more specific you’d like me to pray about this week, please feel free to e-mail me. Shalom.

a single thing

February 15, 2010

“…being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philipppians 1:6).

A few days ago, I wrote a post—a few rambling words brought about because of a single picture that spoke a single word to my spirit. Peace.

If truth be known (and really what profit is there in pretending), I didn’t want to write anything. My pen has grown weary in recent days. In fact, a certain fear crept over me last week, albeit momentary, that, perhaps, for the first time in a long time, I had nothing to say… nothing worthy to write. I’ve heard of writer’s block before, but I’ve never experienced it. Even typing that feels strange, almost ominous, almost as if by speaking it aloud, it might come on in full measure after hitting the “publish” button to this post. If I’ve written it once, I’ve written it a dozen times…

For as long as God allows the ink, I’ll keep penning my heart for him. And so, despite my feelings regarding an empty computer screen and with ample tears to go alongside, in obedience I began to type and pray. Pray and type, all the while asking the Lord to just use it as he would… if he would. Apparently, he has, and that, my friends, is no credit to me. It’s a credit to him.

God honors our obedience to use our gifts, most days in spite of us. We can choose our “no’s”—decline his offer of kingdom investment into the lives of others—but our “no’s” do nothing to further his agenda. Certainly there are seasons when our weariness and worn-out status diminish our effectiveness. We must heed those prompts of needful restoration. But even then, God will always use our willingness when our willingness concedes the struggle to his hands over ours… when we get to the end of ourselves and simply say, “If you will, Lord, use me once more in this single thing.”

A single thing.

We never know when ours will make an impact… our single thing—our one act of obedience, chosen freely despite feelings, emotions, and wills that sometime lead us to consider another direction. Instead of choosing self, we choose a single thing that extends influence beyond personal gratification—that changes the direction in someone else’s life, albeit seemingly small and immeasurable. We…

Bake some bread.
Pen a card.
Visit the sick.
Send a gift.
Run the carpool line.
Make a call.
Share a ride.
Hug a neck.
Speak a word.
Write a check.
Answer an E-mail.
Say a prayer.
Lend a hand.
Offer some time.
Share a smile.
Voice some truth.
Do some chores.
Live some love.
Give some Jesus.

Single things, when gathered and collected, become a big thing in the lives of those who stand on the receiving end. We’ve all been the recipients of single things; time and again our need has dictated their arrival. If we were to chronicle those single things—perhaps even the ones that have been lavishly bestowed upon us over the past week—then we would begin to understand the length that our Father’s love is willing to travel in order for us to have a more perfect life.

He’s working it all out, friends, in a way that exceeds comprehension, and he’s using us as his conduits of sacred dispensation. He’s taking the single things of our single days and weaving them into a tapestry that radiates with kingdom color and creativity. Rarely are we aware of his workings as they unfold, for we are a people easily distracted by temporal details and frustrations. God’s goodness continues in its liberality within our day-to-days, but without pause in our spirits to receive his invitation of sacred participation or to receive his goodness as it arrives, we come to the end of our days barely aware of his entrance and intervention on our behalf.

This week you will stand on both sides of God’s equation for goodness; you will receive it in abundance as well as be called upon in some capacity to add to someone else’s. Your obedience with your single thing will bring color to God’s bigger thing—a portrait that collectively gathers grace upon grace to paint a masterpiece worthy of the throne room of heaven. You may think that your single thing doesn’t matter, is too small and too inferior to make a difference. But your obedience to that single thing may just be the one thing that shifts the eternal foundation of someone’s forever.

Don’t underestimate your single thing, friends. Don’t diminish your obedience to use the gifts that God has generously seeded within your heart for kingdom progress. He who began a good work in you is faithful to bring it to completion. Not just for your sake, but more importantly, for his.

Keep to your single thing; keep yielding your heart in obedience as the Spirit prompts, and see if he is not faithful to make it all count! These are good days to be serving alongside of you in continuing faithfulness. Let us march the steps of our spiritual ancestors, believing God for far more than the eye can see, mind can conceive, and heart can imagine. I love you. As always…

peace for the journey,

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Mike

January 13, 2010

He’s found his way into my thoughts this morning. I can’t imagine why. I certainly wouldn’t have brought him to my remembrance on my own accord. I had other plans for my devotional time with God, but then I read these words from Sarah Young’s Jesus Lives:

“In the presence of a loving, strong father even the most frightened child eventually calms down. You have a perfectly loving, infinitely strong Father, so bring your fears freely to Him.” (Sarah Young, Jesus Lives, Thomas Nelson-2009, pg.28)

And then there he was. A boy named Mike. A boy from my adolescent years. An “unlovely” boy. Smelly, unkempt, poorly dressed, even more poorly mannered. His impulsive behavior and inappropriate responses to those around him quickly labeled him as the “creature” amongst us. Most of us feared him; not because he was overly mean or vindictive in character, but simply because he was different. Mike didn’t fit the high school “norm.” In that season of my life, it was a stretch for me to think of him fitting into any kind of societal “norm.” Mike was the most abnormal boy I knew. I never really saw him as anything more, and I was content with the labels that we had assigned him.

Until that day. The day he rode the bus home with me.

For whatever reason, the bus schedule had been revised. When Mike got on my bus at the end of the school day, we all assumed he’d made a misstep in his afternoon routine. The driver assured us otherwise. Mike would now be on our route for pick-up and delivery. I don’t remember talking to him that day. Most days I avoided him for fear that any interaction between us might signal to him my desire for something further. I do remember smelling him that day, wishing quietly to myself that he had chosen a seat further back on the bus. After what seemed to be forever, the bus stopped on a dusty road, and Mike made his move to the front door.

He exited, and I watched him as he went. Watched him for a long time as he walked along that one-lane path which would eventually land him home—a small farm house barely fit for human consumption. In that moment, I realized something I hadn’t realized before.

Mike had a home. Had a life apart from all the teasing and trouble that followed him throughout the school day. Had a family who loved him, claimed him, and did their level best to support him despite his struggles at being “normal.” The Mike I witnessed everyday at school was only a scratching at the surface of who he really was. There was so much more to this person that I didn’t understand. So much of a life that existed apart from me… a life I would never know, all because I was too afraid to cross the great divide that existed between my world and his.

I wish I could say that Mike and I became friends. We didn’t. I do remember my being more courteous and kind to Mike after that day. Saying hello; waving good-bye, occasionally including him in casual, bus conversation. Mostly, I kept my distance, but now with a little more love and understanding in my heart for him. More grace and more compassion.

I don’t know what happened to Mike. Maybe some of you who shared those days with me do. I’d love an update. But this one thing I do know.

Mike is everywhere. We don’t have to look very hard to find a person who makes a strange fit with our “norm.” The smelly, unkempt are right beneath our noses, within reach and more than ready for some love from someone who has taken the time to imagine them beyond the labels that consume them. Someone who is willing to cross that great divide and offer them the hand of fellowship and the heart of God.

And while my tangible, physical life never cried out for rescue as Mike’s perhaps did, my inward life cried out in accordance with Mike’s voice. For someone willing to cross that great divide and to offer me the hand and heart of sacred fellowship. And because Someone did, I realize that Mike and I aren’t as different as I once thought we were. All of us, every last one of us, are in need of that kind of rescue, friends. All of us need a safe place to run home to—a family who loves us, claims and supports us, most days in spite of us.

God has given us one another to be that body of grace. We are God’s church. A church not based on denomination and regulation, but rather on the one truth that cuts through all the peripheral rest of it to stand alone as the sole requirement for membership into God’s kingdom.

Faith in Jesus Christ. Faith in who he is and in what he has done through his shed blood on the cross.

Jesus is the common thread that links all hearts to home. Perhaps the reason my heart stirred for Mike nearly three decades ago as I watched him exit his school life to embrace his safe life. It certainly is the reason my heart stirs this morning. For all the Mike’s of this world. For those who’ve yet to realize that there is a safe place to land at the end of the day… at the end of this life. And lest we think we’re so far removed from them, all of us at some point in our journeys were the smelly, unkempt, poorly mannered creatures roaming God’s earth in need of God’s rescue.

How thankful I am for the Savior who found me, who bridged the chasm between my great need and his great grace to say “hello” to me and to invite me into the sacred conversation that continues to this day. It’s been a good morning to ride the bus with Jesus, friends. If you’ve yet to climb aboard, there are plenty of seats awaiting your need. As always…

peace for the journey,

~elaine

PS: I will draw a winner to Shirley’s book with my next post. I haven’t forgotten…

Category Archives: grace