Category Archives: knowing God

Lying Down . . .

 

I’m not a huge fan of the Academy Awards, not because I have anything against honoring quality art via the silver screen but mostly because of the seemingly endless parade of the self-impressed. Couple this with the fact that I haven’t seen ninety-nine percent of the movies up for awards, and well, let’s just say my interest peeks with the red carpet and its dazzling display of gowns.

I am, however, a fan of good words spoken at the right time. Certainly, movies are filled with many such moments, but when those moments happen off stage (when the actor removes the mask and throws the script to the sidelines in favor of real-life drama), I’m duly impressed by the dialogue. Such was the case with Daniel Day-Lewis following his 3rd Oscar win for his portrayal of Abraham Lincoln. Backstage after his win, Daniel was asked regarding his plans for the future, about what character he might like to play next. His response immediately gripped my heart:

“I need to lie down for a couple of years. It’s really hard to imagine doing anything after this.” (see source)

He’s going to lie down. Take a lengthy sabbatical with his family on his fifty acre farm south of Dublin, Ireland. Work on other things, like perfecting his cobbling (shoe-making) abilities or learning the rural skill of stonemasonry. Just “happily working away at other things.” (see source) Daniel Day-Lewis is going to lie down for a season, away from the stage and the bright lights of the big city.

What a wise choice.

I am challenged to follow his lead. Bright lights and big stages serve their purposes, but once the curtain goes down and the camera crew heads home, it’s time for a breather. Time to fuel up, rest up alongside the still waters where the only stage beneath my feet is carpeted with green pastures and the only light framing my steps radiates from the candle of the Shepherd.

My lengthy sabbatical with God to happily work away at other things.

Those things? Well, I don’t imagine it’s important to discuss them here. What is important is knowing that those things exist and that only by my lying down for a season will I be able to most happily, most agreeably engage with them. The good that grows in the pasture is not easily grown on the stage. Bright lights and big audiences—too much shine and too much recognition—dim the eyes and dull the senses, kind of like a blundering sheep in need of a wise Shepherd.

Life is changing for me . . . again. I must travel with the shifting wind, not against it. To fight my lying down is to relinquish the merry pleasures of rest. To linger on the stage after the curtain is drawn and the audience has departed is to stand alone and to feel lonely. But to leave with them? To trade in the stage for God’s greener pastures where dialogue is limited to just the Shepherd and me? Well I don’t suppose I’ve ever felt more enveloped in the fellowship of the Beloved.

I need to lie down for a while, friends. This doesn’t mean I won’t be here from time to time. Every sheep needs a flock, and you are mine. I simply need to give myself permission to happily work away at other things.

Soul things. Intimate things. God things.

Lying beside the still waters and on a blanket of green.

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

God’s address. . .

“Craving hearts will never know satisfaction regardless how often or how much God provides.”

So tweeted my friend, Alicia Chole. I sat with her thought for a bit, knowing that her words are never casually written. Instead, she writes and lives from a deep well. After considering her contemplation, I probed her heart further with a tweet of my own:

“And so my question, how to rid oneself of the crave?”

Her response was what I expected . . . another probing truth that has captured my thoughts this rainy Tuesday afternoon. She writes:

“For me personally, one of the first steps is identifying my specific ‘address’ for interior contentment.”

Go ahead; sit with it all for a few minutes. Think about craving hearts and specific addresses. Think about satisfaction and interior contentment. Think about what it is you are craving and what specific ‘address’ is attached to that craving. And then, if you’re willing, ask yourself a question or two.

Does Jesus live in this place? Is this the home of his choosing?

If not, then, perhaps, a move is in store for you. Get to where to Jesus lives and watch your satisfaction grow—an inner soul-contentment no longer fueled by worldly provision but instead fueled by heaven’s dispensation.

Where are you parking your heart this day? It seems as if mine has been drifting as of late. I suppose I have a bit of Jonah inside of me, thoughts of Tarshish instead of Nineveh; thoughts of steering my own ship instead of taking a seat in God’s. A search . . . a craving that never knows a full measure of satisfaction, no matter how much or how often God’s provision rains down over me.

Today is a good day for a reroute. A right time to come home to Jesus, to live where he lives, and to drink from the cup that refreshes us both. I don’t want to finish this day unsatisfied, unfulfilled, and underwhelmed by the faith that I profess to believe. Instead, I want to finish this day firmly convinced and richly contented by the provision of a Father whose love for me knows no limits. Accordingly, I move toward Jesus. I park my heart at the front door of his heart, and I wait for this craving in me to let go . . . to die so that I might hold something better, something purer, something eternal that no longer empties me but, rather, frees me.

I invite you to come along, to join me at God’s address. There’s room enough at his table for us all. There’s grace enough to feed us as well. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

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coastal daybreak . . .

There are many moving parts to my story. They change on a regular basis, moving on to the stage of my life without warning and, just as quickly, making their exit. I cannot predict the flow. I only know to expect it—an ever-shifting current of ins and outs, ups and downs, heart-highs and heart-lows.

This is survival.

It’s not easily defined and even harder to defend. Each day is a fight—a deliberate choice to enter the fray, to live forward and to do so in the shadow and strong witness of Calvary. Because Jesus survived the cross I, too, can survive mine. He is the standard-bearer for survivorship, conquering the grave and stepping forth into resurrected light. I want to step accordingly, to greet each new morning with the expectation that what has not yet been wrought in me will be cultivated in me by the hands and willing grace of God.

As the sun rises, so does my hope. Daybreak heralds the arrival of possibility . . . opportunity. A new day for a fresh work of God, by him and for him. There’s so much yet to learn, so much yet to become. I am limited in my abilities, worn and torn by the struggle of my flesh. I am renewed by the truth that spirit trumps flesh, that eternal wins out over temporal, and that the pulse currently within me caters to them both—my now and my then.

Who, but our God, could fashion such a form to house both the seen and unseen seeds of forever? What mystery exists within us! The moving parts of our stories make for interesting dialogue, and for as long as our earthly tenures continue, we should our conversations with the Father. This is how we get to know him. This is how we move closer to holiness. When we tether our words to him, he tethers his Word to us.

This is survival. Real survival. This is how we rise above the madness and make sense of the many moving parts of our stories. This is how we live forward. We keep talking to God. In doing so, we acknowledge the Holy, and we open up our hearts to receive fresh words of consecration that, not only validate our survivorship, but also move us into a place of effective, kingdom ministry.

Two years ago, I couldn’t have predicted the parts of my story that have now moved on to the stage of my today. It would have felt too weighty back then; it barely feels a reasonable load right now. Still and yet, this is my story to receive and then to live. No one else gets to move the puzzle pieces. Just God and, then, just me. It scares me sometimes—this responsibility called my life. But what scares the most is not ever really living it, not daily making the most of it.

And so, this morning, to honor the moving parts of my story that belong to my Father and, then, to me, I said, “Yes!” to the morning’s light and joined Ben Ball on his radio talk-show, Coastal Daybreak. I trembled with the responsibility, and then I let it go . . . gave it to God, and said “So be it. Do with it what you will.”

 

(to listen to my radio interview with Ben, click on the following link: Elaine Olsen on Coastal Daybreak)

 

I don’t imagine I have a future in talk-radio, but I do imagine that God could take something as fluid as my story and give it a voice to further his kingdom purposes. In my weakness, he is elevated. In my brokenness, he is seen. In my survivorship, he is celebrated. And with my story, he is remembered.

When Christ is elevated, seen, celebrated, and remembered because of the moving parts of our stories, then we live the kingdom forward. We move it forward as well. What could be more honorable than this? What better way to finish the walk in front of us?

Keep moving, friends, and leave a kingdom trail behind you as you go. It’s the best that any of us can do.

Peace for the journey,

 

PS: The winners of Lisa Shaw’s book/CD and Cindy’s cards is Cheryl! I’ll be in touch, friend.

A Sunday Morning look from God’s Pew

This is where we went to church yesterday . . . at least for those of you who answered the roll call on my facebook page:

Twenty-five states represented (I think), at least twelve denominations and several non-denominational churches. You can click on this link for a better visual. Sorry, NC folks, we’re a bit covered up on the map. Thanks to everyone who pinpointed their Sunday worship to this completely random and highly unscientific poll. There’s no hidden agenda here, no huge motive attached to my survey, and certainly no guilt allowed for anyone who didn’t make it to church yesterday! I just wanted to give you a tiny (emphasis on tiny) of how our “church going” might look to God from his heavenly vantage point. Can you even imagine how we must look to him, how wonderfully warmed God is when he sees our worship meld together as corporate praise on any given Sunday morning?!

 

Along these lines, I’d like to share with you a reflection I wrote in my book, Peace for the Journey. It details the reasons behind my choice to be a church-goer. Blessings to you, each one, as you move forward in your faith this week. Shalom.

 

A Sacred Doing (excerpt from Peace for the Journey, F. Elaine Olsen, 2010, 134-136)

 

Church is a family business around here. Doing life with Jesus isn’t an option in our home. Hearts may refuse the deeper “doing”—the sacred work of the cross. But as it pertains to our physical “doing,” to our comings and our goings and our stops between the two? Well, there is compliance on the part of my children, at least for the seasonal eighteen years beneath our roof.

 

It sounds harsh, legalistic, and intrusive, but as parents charged with the sacred trust of “training up a child” in the way of holiness, we understand that church serves as an ample shaping ground. At least it should. If church isn’t your thing, if for some reason you’ve come to the conclusion that your church is doing more harm than good, then it is time to revisit the issue. Maybe even time to find a new church.

 

Why? Because church was never instituted for our harm. Church was given to us as a gift, as a celebration, as a way of gathering hearts in one accord for the unified worship of the one God who is worthy of our reverent pause.

 

It’s not about programs and seeing how much we can cram into a worship service in hopes of raising our emotional fervor. It’s not about worship preferences, a rocking band, a stoic tradition, or even the dressing of our flesh. It’s not about who knows more, who seems less, who offers little, who tithes best. It has nothing to do with pageantry and pomp and circumstances created to boast a better faith than that of the competing churches down the road.

 

We may think it does, and in many ways, the best of these things often enhance our time of church participation, thus leading us closer to the heart of God. But to limit our church experience within such parameters—to define the quality of our faith based on these self-imposed guidelines—is to limit the sacred worth behind God’s intention for our gatherings. That worth is based on something far greater—a grander intention that cannot be matched by our feeble attempts at the same.

 

Church should be a place where we gather to know God. Any other intention falls subject to this overriding one. We may institute all manner of routes to get there, but at the end of the day, only one path leads us to the heart of the Father . . .

 

The cross of Jesus Christ.

 

Churches that are willing to follow along this path are not obsessed with the peripheral “rest of it.” Instead, the people are simply content to gather together in order to more fully examine and more profoundly entreat the Lover of their souls. Where two or three come together in God’s name, he promises his presence (Matthew 18:20).

 

And this is one of the primary reasons why church is family business in my home. I am counting on the probability that when our Sunday gatherings commence, there will be at least two or three others who have gathered with a similar intention. I want my children to be in the path of other believers, giving them the opportunity for the sacred intersection of their hearts with the heart of the living God, who knit them together in his likeness.

 

Does it always work out that way? Not always, but does that mean we should stop our efforts along those lines? Should we forego our corporate worship because it sometimes feels contrived and fake and so seemingly full of pretense? When God seems to prefer the hidden corners of our gatherings rather than a full-blown revelation of himself, do we pout out the doors in hasty retreat never to return? Further still, do we allow our children their choices about their participation? Are we content to coddle their preferences about God’s mandate for their sacred shaping? Where does our obedience lie?

 

Church will never perfectly practice our faith. Wherever flesh gathers, problems seem to follow. It is the tension of an earthly pilgrimage—this warring between selfish living and selfless surrender. Still and yet, it is our road to walk. It is our path of privileged participation. We can refuse it, or we can bend to it. Either way, the road requires our feet and the feet of those we hold dearest.

 

Better to give church the benefit of our many doubts and believe that somewhere in our “doing” of it, we will come across Jesus. And whenever that happens, friends, the kingdom of God is opened up for the partaking therein.

 

I don’t want to miss the kingdom feast. I yearn for the joy of its sacred celebration; it is a desire I hold for my family, a yearning I pray for you. Thus, I bow my head and offer this humble plea:

 

Show us, Father, the glory behind our obedience to “do” church. Meet us as we gather, and humble us with your presence. Forgive us when we think that you could do it better. We are a selfish and foolish people to put our needs ahead of your purpose. We want to know you, God; and then out that knowing, we want to serve your people with the truth. Keep us to church; root us in faith, and then carry us along the path until our willing obedience finds us safely in your arms, fully home, and finally at rest. Amen.

 

To learn more about Peace for the Journey and how you might obtain a copy, click here.

the trembling heart . . .

God sees the trembling heart.

He saw mine this morning, took notice of the growing conviction that began in me long before my burden made its way to my usual second pew. His Word sparked a fire. His Spirit fanned it into flame, and I trembled . . . all the way through four verses of Johnston’s and Towner’s Grace Greater Than Our Sin.

“Sin and despair, like the sea waves cold,

Threaten the soul with infinite loss;

Grace that is greater, yes, grace untold,

Points to the refuge, the mighty cross.”

Soul-threatening, infinite loss. There was something about that phrase that rang as a clarion call to my spirit; it stirred me in the deepest way, and my heart trembled privately in that moment. It didn’t warrant the response of others. I kept it hidden. Most times I don’t; soul-stirring moments usually move me to an altar and to my knees in responsive worship, but not today. Today, I stayed put . . . stayed hidden in Christ and allowed my trembling heart its due. It came in fullness, and I was washed afresh with a healthy and holy dose of reverence for the only God who can be known.

I fear the day when my heart no longer trembles with such awareness, when my soul remains unmoved by the Spirit’s stirring. That would be death to me. Certainly, there have been seasons in my spiritual journey when I’ve experienced a worldly numbness to God’s presence—times when I’ve been unaware of his movements within and around my life. Times when, perhaps, I chose not to look inward, to reach upward, to bow downward because of some foolish notion regarding my own abilities to shake off spiritual complacency and to stir up a fledgling faith.

I cannot create a trembling, reverent heart on my own. Without God’s participation and willing disclosure of himself, I cannot grow my fear of him. I can only receive it as it comes from him, times when God clearly and forcefully cuts through the chaos and clutter of my existence and announces his authority in undeniable measure. This I can recognize. This I can claim as truth.

God is God, and I am not. Today my heart trembled with this realization. In holy fear, I clutched my hymnal; I sang conviction, and the sinner inside of me looked inward, reached upward, and bowed downward in grateful pause for the holy love that swept me up, swiftly and fully into the grace of Jesus.

How long has it been since you’ve felt the holy trembling of your heart because of God’s revelation of himself? When was the last time your soul shook with the realization that God is God and that you are not? Have you forgotten to look inward, reach upward, bow downward in anticipation of God’s presence? What self-reliance is keeping you from holy dependence?

I cannot create a trembling moment for you. I can only point you to the One who is willing to give you one of your own. Get to God. Ask him for more of himself to be revealed to you in your hour of need. God is not reluctant in giving himself to his children. God stands ready. He’s looking for those who stand ready to receive.

“Marvelous, infinite, matchless grace,

Freely bestowed on all who believe!

You that are longing to see His face,

Will you this moment His grace receive?”

Oh that we would never grow too grand and too certain regarding our righteousness that we forget the marvelous grace of our loving Lord! It exceeds our sin and our guilt and postures our souls for heavenly gain. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

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