Category Archives: living God’s truth

Legacy (a reflection from "She Speaks")

 She nestled in next door to me, to my left and within an elbow’s reach of bumping into mine. Around the table set for eight, we began our dissection of rolls, salad, and sweet tea. Her choosing a seat next to mine put a smile across my heart. She’s a good fit with my favorite people group, and as things go with my favorite people group—those exceeding me in wisdom and age by at least twenty years—I heartily welcomed her as part of my evening digestion.

Some meals feed the stomach; other meals feed the soul. This meal would provide nourishment on both counts. Thus, the “feeding began” with a few words of initial impartation from my heart to hers.

“Tell me a little about yourself. Where did you come from, and why are you here?”

“I’m from Arizona, although it’s not really my point of origin, and I’m here with my daughter this weekend. I’ve never been to She Speaks before, but I wanted to come and see what the buzz is all about. Mostly I came to support her. Can I show you something?”

(Honestly, she could have shown me a pair of nail clippers at that point; she “had me” at her words about “point of origin.”) Instead of nail clippers, she pulled out a copy of the newly released book by Glynnis Whitwer, I Used to Be So Organized: Help for Reclaiming Order and Peace.

“My daughter wrote this book, and she dedicated it to me; I didn’t even know it until today.”

She opened the book to the dedication page, and we read the words together. Her name was written there—in print and on display as a lasting memorial to the parenting investment … the loving deposits, she’s made into the life of her daughter over the years. Glynnis obviously “had her mother” with these initial words of personal dedication. It was a Kodak moment, at least of the heart kind—one that I mentally snapped and reflected upon throughout the remainder of the evening.

I watched them as they broke bread with one another and wondered about how many tables they’ve shared over the years. The evening was filled with little moments of mother-daughter give-and-take. Caring for one another in simple ways. Passing the salt. Passing softly spoken messages. Passing the tissue box. Passing touches. Passing love.

At one point in the evening, my new friend gently placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. It remained there throughout the serenade beautifully voiced through Michael O’Brien. I could barely contain my tears while witnessing this love pass from a mother to her daughter. A stretch of grace from a mother’s womb to the fruit of that womb.

A grace-filled tribute to legacy.

The keynote speaker for the evening spoke of legacy. Ann Voskamp challenged us in regards to those “book/movie trailers” we’re creating for the next generation. What seeds are we planting? What trails are we blazing? What steps are we marking? What stones are we gathering? What remembrances are we collecting? What will be the lasting memorial of our earthly tenures?

As the evening drew to a close, I thought about the “book trailer” that I had just watched unfold before me at the table. Not the one on the stage screen, but on the screen closer at hand—the 3D, in the flesh trailer that rubbed elbows with me throughout dinner. Clip after clip of loving legacy between a mother and her daughter. I’m not sure anyone else noticed it, but I was privileged to sit ringside to its witness. As I prepared to leave our time of fellowship, I looked at my new friend and said…

“This is the book trailer; the way you love your daughter and the way that she obviously loves you in return … this is the trailer that matters. Keep to it … keep to your loving.”

Weary and worn from a day’s worth of peddling my words to publishers, I threw a few more out there; not on behalf of myself, but rather to validate and commemorate a precious love between a parent and a child.

Legacy–a trailer we leave for the next generation.

  • Traveling with the ones we love.
  • Talking about the ones we love.
  • Touching the shoulders of the ones we love.

Not a bad formula for making a life-trailer. Traveling. Talking. Touching. What better words of final benediction could be spoken over our lives? I want them to be spoken of me one day.

She traveled with us. She talked about us. She touched us with her love.

This is the book trailer, friends. The one that matters. Keep to it … keep to your traveling, your talking, and your touching this week. And thank you, new friend, for being willing to rub elbows with me. You had me at your “point of origin.” As always…

Peace for the journey,

~elaine
PS: Leave a comment to be entered into a give-away for Glynnis Whitwer’s new book, I Used to Be So Organized. There will be another give-away with my next post for one of Michael O’Brien’s CD’s. Shalom.

near…

“A woman in the crowd called out, ‘Blessed is the mother who gave birth and nursed you.’ He replied, ‘Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it.’” (Luke 11:27-28)
What “word” are your hearing from God this week? Is there a prompting from his Spirit within you, nudging you in a certain direction? A verse, perhaps, that keeps resurfacing through different venues? What sacred declaration? Gentle revelation?
 
What word?

God’s Word tells us that we are blessed to hear such a “word” and then further blessed when we obey its prompting. It may come to us in unexpected ways and through all manner of godly allowance; but for me those “words” normally first arrive at the doorstep of my heart via the pages of Scripture; God, then, backs up his Word with many moments of earthly punctuation as I continue to meditate and ponder the depths of his revealed Scripture.

It’s not enough to just hold Jesus as a baby at Bethlehem; it’s not enough to walk the road with him to Calvary and watch him die. It’s not even enough to see the resurrected Lord ascend into the clouds. What is enough is holding all of God’s truth within our hearts, believing it, and then obeying it. Have you read it this week? If so, then I imagine he’s been prodding your heart along in a certain direction and making sure that you “hear” him as you go about your daily business. And so I ask you again… what word from God has become your word of meditation in recent days?

Mine has been “the nearness of God.” In the last couple of weeks, I’ve been reminded to consider just how near and close to me is the presence of God:

“Come near to God and he will come near to you.” (James 4:8)
“The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.” {Psalm 145:18)

As I’ve paused to consider the richness of such a promise, I’ve been moved to action. To come near to God, to call upon his name in prayer, to invest some time in the study of his Word, and to trust that with every intentional act of my heart will come his response–the fruition of his promise to draw closer to me.

God is near. Just near. For whatever that may or may not mean to you today, it’s certainly meant a great deal to me this week. Just thinking on that one word—near—has brought a rich measure of peace to my heart. I’m blessed to know the God who is near.

Now, to live what I know? To live the nearness of God? Well, that will be the measuring standard of truth revealed to my heart. I’ll keep you posted on that one.

What word has been your portion in recent days? I’d love to hear about it. As always…

Peace for the journey,
~elaine
PS: The winners of Joanne Kraft’s book Just Too Busy are Phil, Cindy C., and Pamela. Send me your snail mail, friends, at my new e-mail address: [email protected] and I’ll mail these out early next week!

a steward of inconvenience…

My neighbor taught me a lesson a few days ago. A lesson about what it means to be a steward of inconvenience.
I call him neighbor, but the truth is I don’t even know his name. He lives down the road and around the corner from my home. I only see him in passing while I’m out walking; he’s a lawn person. You know the kind… those folks who live for the lush and green and blossom of summertime. Those who aren’t afraid to get on their knees and tend to the parcel of land beneath their feet. Those whose water bills double during summertime because of their love for landscaping. Those who potentially get annoyed when any one thing creeps in to wreak havoc upon their hard work.
Yep, he seems to be one of them; accordingly, I felt that he might be irritated by the presence of city water trucks last weekend. Several workers showed up on his front lawn to dig up, tear up, and fix up a broken water line that ran from the middle of the street onto his property. I made a few laps in their direction, noting the consternation on the face of my neighbor and his wife. They kept close watch on those workers, even more so on the lawn that was being dismantled; not a large parcel of land but just enough to inconvenience them both. I quietly regarded the scene, packed it away and didn’t give it much thought until I passed by again a few days later.
The scene was much different this go around. No more workers; no more holes in the ground; no more digging and no more corporate mess. Just a man, his hose, a loosely tilled piece of earth, and a patched, gravel spot where the asphalt had previously known fracture. I paused from my walking and commented to this unnamed neighbor about the condition of his lawn.
“Looks like they really messed up your lawn; I know how much work you put into it. Sure hope they found what they were looking for; sure hope it didn’t cost you much.”
His response?
“Just a little water line break and, no, it didn’t cost me a dime. Just a little patch of ground.”
A smile broke across his face, and then one broke across my heart. As I pushed on past his little patch of ground, I thought long and hard about what he had said; his gracious response wasn’t what I had expected. I anticipated his annoyance. Instead, he spoke his peace. In a few simple moments, he taught me something about what it is to be good steward of earthly inconveniences.
I get the feeling he understands something about the earth… about ultimate ownership and his temporary rights therein. About what it is to tend to earth’s parameters—the ones marked out for him by life’s trajectory; the ones that have become his responsibility for the earthly tenure granted him. And while his great love for his lawn is obvious to all passer-byers, what is greater is his perspective regarding the inconveniences that sometimes mediate their witness into the soil beneath his feet.
Rather than complaining, throwing a fit, and being annoyed by the freshly dug-up “brown” amidst the lush and green of a season’s hard work, my neighbor took it all in stride; took a hose in hand, and hovered over that little patch of ground. He bent to his inconvenience, bowed low and served the soil by watering it with his careful and willing stewardship.
I wonder how many of us could say the same… could live the same. Could see life and all its inconveniences with a similar posture of heart. A perspective that continually looks on the bright side of bothers—the right side—and that says…
This life is not my own; it was bought at a price, and it didn’t cost me a dime. Just a little patch of ground here and there. Just a little bit of soil that really doesn’t belong to me in the first place. Just a little bit of time; a little bit of water; a little bit of tending and bending to make sure that any temporary loss is replaced by eternal perspective, eternal growth. Eternal harvest that leaves our little patches of unearthed “brown” healthier, more vital, more vibrant, and more mature because of the tilling that’s taken place within.
What would it take for us to get there, friends? What if we looked at all of life and the little patch of ground entrusted to our care as the greatest, most precious holding of our hearts? What if, instead of collapsing with every uprooting that takes place in our lives, we just grabbed a hose, stooped low, and simply offered our hearts and hands to the re-growth therein? What if we could live there instead of staying mired in our annoyances? What if we simply consigned our gratefulness to the witness and grace of each new day we’re given, regardless of the intrusions that present themselves?
What if we could be a steward of inconvenience? A willing giver in the midst of taking. A joyful tender of disruption. A gracious gardener despite uprooting.
Indeed, a lesson given to me by an unnamed neighbor. I am thankful for its arrival—a small understanding applied to a great big life that just might make a huge impact for the kingdom of God.
Just a little patch of ground for Jesus. Beneath my feet; beneath yours.
Even so, my good, kind friends, keep to it. As always…
Peace for the journey,
~elaine

PS: My friend, Cindy, is a good steward of her camera. I’ve ordered and used several of her cards that contain some of her photographs. I’d like to gift two of you with a set; if you’d like to be included in the give-away, visit Cindy and tell me which photograph you’d like. Shalom.

nighttime desperations…

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

"the hour has come…"

I had a thought last night in those closing moments before restless slumber. It didn’t originate with me, and I’m certain I’m not the first person to think upon it. It’s one of those “staying” thoughts as evidenced by its arrival to my consciousness upon waking this morning. It blesses me, challenges me, humbles me, and relinquishes to me a gift of weighty proportion.
A thought that belonged to Jesus first, and now a thought that belongs to each one of us who call him Lord, Savior, Father, and King:
“The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.”(John 10:23)
Jesus would carry the fullness of that mission; Jesus was and is the only One to explore the depths of what that would mean as he willingly surrendered his flesh to wooden beam and iron spikes. Jesus, better than anyone else, understood the measure of an hour’s approach; not just any hour, but an hour—an eternal moment—that gave perfect witness to the perfect plan set in motion by the perfect Father in the perfect beginning.
Calvary. The hour that changed everything. The hour when the Son of Man opened the door for the God of man. The hour that gave stage to the King and his story. The hour that shook the foundations of hell. The hour that gave the world entrance into the portal of heaven.
God’s hour. Christ’s hour. And by his grace, our hour as well.
I tread carefully here, for in no way would I want to diminish the work of Calvary by suggesting that you and I, mere mortals with an eternal pulse, could measure our kingdom work against the work of the cross. It wouldn’t be fair to Jesus; his glorification of the Father because of his surrendered flesh is too big, too wonderful, too weighty a standard for human shoulders. What I am suggesting, though, is that there may come an hour or two for each one of us that, like Jesus, will become an occasion for the Son of Man to be glorified in us… through us… most days in spite of us.
As the blood-bought children of the Most High God, as the temples of his pulsing Holy Spirit, you and I are given the unbelievable privilege of being a doorkeeper for the King and his kingdom… of making gracious entryway for Jesus and his donkey, the Savior and his cross.
I don’t know when that hour will arrive for you in coming days. Perhaps this one or the next will cradle eternal significance for you and for the life of another. Perhaps in coming days. But of this I am certain…
You won’t have to wait very long for an occasion to display the glory of God in you. He’s just too big of a deal, too wonderful and far too weighty to stay bottled up inside of you. I suppose you could refuse his release—his witness—to those around you; but in doing so, you forsake your God-ordained, sacred responsibility as a believer in Jesus Christ—to glorify God’s name. To make God bigger. To magnify his majesty. To give God the stage so that others might bask in the reality of who he IS.
Oh friends, the hour is upon us. Not just any sixty minutes, but rather an eternal moment when the response of our hearts to Christ’s cross and its reaching grace can make all the difference between life and death for a human soul. Carry your cross this weekend, friends, in light of how our Jesus has carried his. Our hearts may be initially troubled by its weightiness, but what shall we say?
Father, save us from this hour? No, it was for this very reason that we came to this hour. Father, glorify your name through us. (paraphrase of John 10:27-28)
The clock is ticking. May our hearts be willing to keep in tandem with its pace. As always…
Peace for the journey,
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