Category Archives: living God’s truth

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.

a secret worth sharing…

May I tell you a secret? For those of you who know me personally and do life with me on a regular basis, it won’t be fresh revelation. But for others—those of you who only know me as the woman who writes these words in this public place—my disclosure might come as a surprise. Are you ready?

 

I’m here today, writing these words, out of obligation—an allegiance to a gift that once flowed so naturally through my heart and my pen.

 

Obediently, I take to the task, not because of some burning desire to engage with my words, but because I owe it to the woman I once was—a woman who easily and willingly penned the thoughts of her heart. That ability was shattered by the rigors of cancer treatments. I want it back. Life would be so much easier (or so it seems) if desire was here to fuel my “want to.”

 

Obligation—the driving force behind most of my decisions these days. Obligation, not emotions, keeps me connected to my world . . . to people, to work, to faith, to God. I do what I must do—what I know is the right thing to do—in order to keep moving forward, believing that somewhere down the road my emotions will kick in and supplement obligation with a healthy dose of desire.

 

For now, my emotions remain unpredictable, yet another surrender that has been made in the name of health. I chose this, gave my good “yes” to the doctors when they asked for my consent regarding chemo, ovary removal, and a long-term drug that would block any remaining estrogen produced in my body. It was a good decision back then, the best one to prolong my life. But today, it seems too costly. In eradicating the cancer, I’ve eradicated most of my desire, and I find that a life based on obligation and void of desire is a very difficult life to live at times.

 

So be it. I’m not the first person to let go of desire in order to take hold of lasting life.

 

Why the confession? Why plead for your understanding and make it all about me and my woes today? Because in doing so, I believe there is a truth that surfaces for us all—a holy undertaking that typifies the life of an earnest believer.

 

Good health, optimal health, is often the result of hard surrenders. A choice for life is usually preceded by a choice for death . . . letting go of and stripping away the weight that keeps us tethered to the fleeting and unconfirmed desires of our infancy.

 

The life of a saint is a life of work, despite desire, emotion, or a lack therein. To grow up in Christ is to stay near him, move with him, lean into him, and learn from him. The life of a saint is a life of obligation. Once you give him your “yes,” you tether your forever to his. It’s the inescapable reality of salvation. God never promised us a life of ease. Instead, he promised us his presence in the unease, in the struggle, and in the sometimes torturous releases that best enable us to dig into, hold onto, and live unto his glory.

 

So what do we do when desire and emotions aren’t around to fuel our obligations?

 

We keep going. We base our choices for survival on good health, on previous faith, and in the truth that what is not always felt by us is felt by God. Knowing that he holds my desire—knowing that he hasn’t forgotten the woman I once was and the gifting I once felt—is enough to push me forward. I don’t have to understand it all; I just have to keep obliging my feet, my heart, and my mind to the faith that has carried me thus far. It will assuredly carry me home.

 

Obligation. It keeps me connected to God. It keeps him doing the same. We are holy, certainly, and beautifully obliged to one another, now and forever more. And that, sweet friends, is a secret worth sharing . . . one I won’t make you keep to yourself. Go ahead, tell everyone. You have our permission.

 

Peace for the journey,

 

How are you living out your obligation to God despite the difficult surrenders along the way? I’d love to come alongside you in prayer.
 

a DON’T to DO…

“I’m writing on the 5 D’s to workout motivation. Can you guess one of the “D” words?” So asked Melanie Dorsey on her facebook wall yesterday afternoon. My response to her was immediate . . .

 

“DON’T eat a piece of the chocolate cake I just posted a picture of on my wall . . . I mean really, just the word ‘Don’t’ speaks a message all its own. Just don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Apply it whenever necessary.”

 

Of course, I was making an attempt at humor, but as I stepped back from my statement, my “don’t” took root; so did my ruminations.

 

Don’t. Just don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. What if we could really do our don’ts—move past our declarations and start walking our determinations? This is what happens when we bravely and willingly do our don’ts. We move forward. We get unstuck.

 

The Bible is replete with “don’ts.” I spent two hours last evening combing through Biblegateway’s online concordance, taking note of each “do not” listed there. There are thousands of them; I scribbled down four pages’ worth. All of them, when applied to a heart, are motivators for getting a stuck faith moving again. Don’ts like . . .

 

Don’t worry;

Don’t be afraid;

Don’t lose heart;

Don’t doubt;

Don’t do what they do;

Don’t have in mind the things of men;

Don’t be alarmed;

Don’t put God to the test;

Don’t belong to the world;

Don’t be silent;

Don’t let sin reign;

Don’t give up;

Don’t give the devil a foothold;

Don’t handle, touch, or taste;

Don’t be carried away;

Don’t harden your hearts;

Don’t forget to do good;

Don’t merely listen to the Word, do it.

Don’t ________________.

 

You get the picture, and this is just a mere scratch at the surface of what seems to be the great many regulatory “don’ts” of Scripture. Now, before you shut down . . . before you see these as obligation rather than as a road map toward freedom, allow me to share with you the one “don’t” that struck me through to my soul’s marrow. The one “don’t” that I’m going to do this weekend.

 

Would you be willing to do that? Just work on one? Just do one don’t that most significantly strikes a chord with your faith? I’m convinced that just doing one of God’s don’ts is enough to propel our faith forward, even just a little bit.

 

Here’s is the one don’t I plan on doing:

 

“Don’t throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded” (Hebrews 10:35).

 

This “confidence” in the Greek context means “boldness, assurance, freedom in speaking, without concealment.” Boldness in speech, being sure of my words, freely speaking without a hidden agenda? Well, for this to happen and to happen rightly, my confidence must be rooted in truth—yet, another confidence.

 

“Have no fear of sudden disaster or of the ruin that overtakes the wicked, for the LORD will be your confidence and will keep your foot from being snared (Proverbs 3:25).

 

God as my confidence. Contextually speaking, God as my “flank.”

 

So what does this mean for me going forward—as I do my “don’t”?

 

Don’t throw away your confidence, Elaine, because your Confidence has you covered. Don’t throw away your boldness, your freedom in putting forth the truth plainly, because God is your flank. God has situated himself around the most vulnerable, tender part of your faith, and he will not let you be destroyed. He has you covered from all angles. It’s safe to move forward, speak forward, live forward, because God’s got you covered every step of the way.

 

Don’t throw away your confidence. Don’t. Just don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Apply it whenever necessary. Just do this one don’t and see if God is not faithful to apply his movement, his strength, and his limitless confidence to your faith.

 

What if I could really live this one? What if I could really do God’s don’t? When a faith moves in that direction—when a heart really takes hold of that kind of understanding—the possibilities are endless. For what it’s worth, I’m going to give it a try.

 

What are you going to try? What’s the “don’t” that God is calling you to do? The one deliberate “do not” that you can apply to your heart that will get your faith unstuck and moving forward in a good direction?

 

Do your don’t, and then don’t be surprised by what God will do. Don’t and do’s. Do’s and don’ts. Sometimes it’s just as simple as it seems.

 

Now, get busy. And when you have a moment, check out Melanie’s 5 D’s to Workout Motivation. I’m sure her list has less to do with “don’ts” and much more to do with do’s. I’ll see you on the other side of Sunday. As always . . .

 

Peace for the journey,

five steps to harvesting a good theology…

It’s been one of those mornings in Bible study—a time of reflection that promotes more questions than answers. A day when I (again) wrote these words in the margin of my current Bible study guide, “Do I really believe this?” Whenever this happens, my contemplation takes a turn, sometimes toward clarity, sometimes toward confusion. On this particular morning, there’s confusion—a long wrestling of thought, Word, and practical living that doesn’t compute fully with the author’s considerations. Accordingly, I won’t “go there,” at least not with you, friends. Instead, I’ll take my questions to God and continue to flesh out my beliefs with him, with his Word, and with an open heart. Sometimes it’s just better to let our questions simmer before him rather than fanning them into flame before mankind. Why?

Well, sometimes we’re not as forgiving as God is. In fact, never are we as forgiving as God is. He’s more open-minded with our earnest probing and deliberate searches for answers. We, on the other hand, are more comfortable with ours judgments, making assumptions, drawing conclusions, and rendering a verdict when someone bravely risks doing the heart work attached to his/her faith and doing so out loud. And so today, I tuck away my questions, and I focus on a scripture that has surfaced for me from this same study and from God’s Word that doesn’t warrant my question mark but only my highlighter and my “Amen.” Hear now from God’s Word:

“So Ruth gleaned in the field until evening. Then she threshed the barley she had gathered, and it amounted to about an ephah. She carried it back to town, and her mother-in-law saw how much she had gathered. Ruth also brought out and gave her what she had left over after she had eaten enough” (Ruth 2:17-18).

So what in the wide world of faith and function do these verses have in common with the questions stirring in my spirit this morning?

Everything, because in these two verses, God gives me . . . gives you a “how-to” for dealing with the hard wrestlings that sometime surface for us as we move forward in our faith and understanding. Ruth . . .

  • gleaned the harvest;
  • threshed the harvest;
  • carried the harvest;
  • ate the harvest;
  • shared the harvest

Good theology, good understanding begins in the wheat fields, where bread has already been planted by the Sower, watered by the Sower, and grown by the Sower. Truth cannot be created. Truth already is; accordingly, our souls’ understanding cannot, should not be built from scratch. We must start with good seed planted in rich soil—a harvest ready for gleaning. Good understanding begins with God and his Word. Get there first, and you’re in a good place of education and eternal growth. Glean truth from what’s already been grown; you won’t come up empty-handed. God’s already handed you his abundance.

Secondly, good understanding grows during the threshing process—a time when the wheat is spread out so that the edible grain can be loosened from the inedible chaff. A time of cutting through the chaff to get to the palatable. “Without the grain’s release from its hardened casing, the ripened seeds are reduced in their usefulness” (Peace for the Journey, 2010, pg. 113). Good understanding doesn’t come home to roost in our hearts unless there’s been a hearty threshing applied along the way. It’s not always easy to relinquish the harvest to the pounding; rarely is it comfortable, but if we’re after God’s truth—if we really want to know that we know that we know deep down in the marrow of our souls—then we must surrender our questions and our confusion to the winnowing process.

Notice Ruth’s next obedience. She carried the harvest back to town. When questions surface in our hearts regarding our faith and our theology, not only must we glean and thresh the harvest, but also we must carry the harvest with us . . . for a season. Let the work that’s being done in you, linger with you for awhile. Don’t short step this process or make false assumptions about your knowledge. Good understanding must be mulled over, contemplated, and developed over time. The saints of old spent a lifetime cultivating godly understanding. They didn’t have all the answers on the front side of their faith; the answers arrived for them along the way and as they went, one step at a time. You don’t have all the answers regarding God and his Word. Thinking that you do is a good indicator that there’s more work to be done.

Next, Ruth ate the harvest. After gleaning it, threshing it, and carrying it, the harvest was finally ready for consumption. I don’t know much about the digestion process, but I do know that once something goes in my mouth, it goes down . . . deep down and becomes (in essence) part of my inward being. Are you hearing what I’m saying (rather what I’m typing—rather quickly and furiously I might add, not furiously bad, but furiously good)? Before anything, any truth, any knowledge becomes part of our inward beings, let’s be sure we give it thorough consideration before we consume it. To blindly eat the harvest in front of us is to open up our souls to disaster, to waste, to fraudulent food that does more harm than good.

Finally, Ruth shared the harvest. After she had eaten her fill, she generously shared the harvest with Naomi. Initially, we might think Ruth would have first given the harvest to her mother-in-law; after all, Ruth’s generosity is clearly on display at every turn. But I want to lead you along for a moment with a thought that just occurred to me. Just as the ancient custom of the king’s cupbearer tasting the wine before passing it on to his master, could it be the same principle at work here—Ruth eating her fill, making sure it was good for consumption before passing it along to Naomi? Could it be the same for us in regards to spiritual understanding? That after we’ve gleaned, threshed, carried, and eaten the harvest, we might finally come to some realizations about God’s truth in regards to our wrestlings and questions? In other words, if it goes down smoothly for us, if the harvest is good for us, then, perhaps it might be good for others, might be ready for the sharing? Sometimes, eating the harvest is the only way to know if it’s safe for public consumption. Better to pass truth along after it’s been tested.

And so today, on a day when I wrestle through some questions, I’ll do so with Ruth’s example in mind. I’ll glean from God’s fields, thresh the wheat, carry the edible around with me for awhile, eat it while monitoring my digestion, and then, maybe I’ll share it with you. Maybe I won’t. It’s too early to tell.

Oh that we all might take Ruth’s lead and step back from the mirror long enough to submit our thoughts, questions, and theology to the harvesting process so that we might arrive at the place of fully believing in the faith that we are so willing to boldly profess!

For what it’s worth, it’s what I’m thinking about today. What are you thinking about? As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

when Genesis falls to the floor…

Genesis went flying to the floor . . . literally. It came unglued, unhinged from its binding and cascaded to the ground a few weeks ago while I was walking down the hallway. I knew it was loose, knew it wouldn’t be long before I would have to give attention to its permanency. The cover holding it all together—the entirety of God’s Word—had long since lost its luster. My Bible desperately needed a make-over, but I kept hoping for “later” rather than “sooner.” It kept telling me “sooner” rather than “later,” and when Genesis fell to the floor, I made the decision to fix the problem.

 

After all, what good is the story—my story—when the beginning is omitted? When Genesis goes missing, so goes understanding. Life, faith, and truth must be worked out within the framework of Genesis—our beginning days when the Word hovered over the dark and the deep and spoke words of gracious and good creation. We need the witness of our beginning. No life story is complete without it. With this in mind, I carefully packed my “Genesis,” along with the remaining balance of Scripture, and sent my beloved Bible to Burrows, IN. Apparently, the Word is alive and active in Burrows, and there are some wonderful folks at Leonard’s Books more than willing to make sure that my beginning stays intact.

 

I am grateful for their handiwork. Yes, I could have purchased another Bible, perhaps a couple for the price that I paid to have it restored, but they wouldn’t be able to replace this one. Why? Because it is this Bible, the one I purchased eight years ago, that has literally transformed my heart. This Bible and I have some longevity with one another; I plan on it walking with me the rest of the journey home. Having my beginning in hand makes my ending that much sweeter.

 

So, a question or two. What do you do when your beginning—your “Genesis”—falls to the ground, separates itself from the rest of the pages of your story? Do you leave it there unattended? Do you tuck it away in a drawer with good intentions to graft it back in at a later date? Do you cast it aside, deem it unnecessary and discard it along with yesterday’s trash? Do you stuff it back inside the covers of your story with hopes that it will stay . . . all on its own, without glue, without hinge?

 

Sometimes, our stories take a hit or two. Sometimes our “Genesis” falls to the ground. We lose our compass and stray far from God’s intended path. We foolishly make assumptions regarding the “fix” thereby postponing understanding. We patch, paste, and carelessly cram God’s Word together, hoping it will be enough to carry us through to the finish. But patching, pasting, and cramming leave the door open for neglect—for misplaced pages, fallen chapters, and lost beginnings. When we forsake the entirety of God’s Word, when we pick and choose what stays and what gets left behind, we’ve lost some of our story. And to lose our story, friends, is to lose the purpose of our lives.

 

How much better would it be if we carefully and willingly picked up the missing pages of our stories and sent them to God for the rebinding? He is the glue who holds our pages together, who scripts our lives from beginning to end, and who promises to make them all count . . . every last word of this great adventure called life.

 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning (John 1:1-2).

 

He is with us still—our “sooner” rather than “later.” I don’t know about you, but I could certainly use some soul-rebinding right now . . . there’s something missing in my life, a few pages that have been lost along the way. Even as I am willing to send off my Bible for repair, I pray for a heart that is willing to do the same. Maybe you understand; maybe this post is for you.

 

May the tender, gracious hands of the Father rest upon you and lovingly rebind your story to his this day. May the truth that you hold in your heart be the same truth that he holds in his, and may his covering be the strength that binds all the pages of your story together and that carries you safely home to heaven. As always . . .

 

Peace for the journey,

error: Content is protected !!