living God’s truth | Elaine Olsen

Room to Breathe

November 10, 2008

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; you works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, … .” (Psalms 139:14-15).

I am pro life. Whether on the battlefield, in the nursing home, at the end of a feeding tube, on death row, or in a mother’s womb, I will always vote for life. This doesn’t affiliate me along party lines, for both sides hold their merit in various ways. It does, however, make me ever conscious and deliberate about the decisions I make when elections roll around. That being said, there is a story I want to write.

Not because you haven’t heard it before, but rather because by not doing so, I would be denying the stirring that’s been haunting my thoughts for nearly a week now. It’s a story that’s been writing me for the past five days. A story that doesn’t belong to me alone, but one that belongs to the million plus voices who, this year alone, will never be given …

room to breathe.

We all know the outcome of the presidential election on November 4, 2008. But there is a lesser known outcome from that day that probably didn’t make the “cut” for post election discussions around your tables and in the work place.

California’s Proposition Two. Jim Downing, writer for “The Sacramento Bee,” reports the following:

“To a huge majority of California voters, it seems, the chicken does come before the egg. The measure makes California the first state to require that its chickens be freed from their cages and allowed to stretch their wings.…

And what does getting out of a cage mean for a chicken? Three main things: a nest, a perch and a place to take a dust bath. Without these basics, hens act stressed. Caged systems don’t offer them, while modern cage-free setups generally do.”[i]

Apparently, the hens are living in less than desirable conditions, and while their “output” remains strong, their surroundings for doing so was deemed worthy of an upgrade. The National Humane Society contributed over eight million dollars toward the upgrade, while opponents donated over seven million dollars toward its defeat.

Fifteen million dollars expended on behalf of the chickens. A costly proposition in my opinion, and one that paid off…at least for the hens. By the year 2015, hens across California will be stretching their legs, making their nests, and enjoying the romp of a dust bath at whim and will. Thanks to the voters, California hens will have a little more room to walk their two year life expectancy without any…

*bars to cage their steps.
*inconveniences to cramp their living.
*restraints to hinder their production.

Room to breathe, friends. I can almost hear their thankful clucking from where I sit tonight on the opposite coast. And lest you think, I’m ungrateful, I’m not. I am for the humane treatment of all of God’s creatures, but as it pertains to a chicken’s “rights” and California’s Proposition Two, my heart and soul shudder at the hypocrisy lived out with such a mandate.

Many well-intentioned people expend their pocketbooks, voice their objections, and vote their conscience along such lines. They man their vigorous campaigns with bold initiatives and principled views, all in the name of the humane treatment of animals.

But when it comes to the one and half million unborn babies who will know an early death this year because of abortion, pocketbooks often remain closed. Voices remain silent, and the human conscience is swallowed up by a vigorous “lesser” that offers no room for innocence to breathe her first breath, much less make a nest, find a perch, and stretch her wings toward hopeful flight.

Many will argue that the issues are different. That the variables are extreme and cannot be considered as equal.

I would agree. Hens and human life are different. They are not equal and, in terms of intrinsic worth and eternal value, should not be considered in the same breath. But when the hypocrisy is so blatant, so obvious and so egregious, I cannot help but speak of them in the same sentence. When the rights of a hen get more press than the rights of the unborn child, my heart cries in disbelief and in grief for the moral disparity that is blanketing our country.

Abortion was not the only issue in this year’s election. I understand. There were and still are many valid concerns that weigh heavy upon our hearts. America is the sum total of these concerns. But I’ll be honest. I didn’t walk to the voting booth with many of them in mind. Instead, I walked with a “one issue” focus that took hens and the like off the table and put the sanctity of life at the helm.

I cast my ballot accordingly; not because of any particular fondness for either candidate, but simply because I want the unborn children of 2009 to have the right to walk their life expectancy without any…

*bars to cage their steps.
*inconveniences to cramp their living.
*restraints to hinder their production.

I want them to live. To spread their wings and to have room to fully breathe their rights as God-created, human beings. Some will. Sadly, statistics show that over a million won’t. And tonight all I can muster is a few painfully pondered questions.

Who can fathom the consequential depths of such poor decisions? Why would anyone want to? Who could argue the death of a child as a best laid plan…ever? Who could appreciate such statistics and reason them appropriate? Who could voice abortion’s worth accordingly?

I cannot, nor would I ever endeavor to try. My holy fear of a Holy God won’t allow me to voice such an offense in his presence. God is not impressed with our excuses, with our many words and with our defense of such poorly reasoned sin. Nothing we could argue would warrant his condoning of abortion. He is the Author of human life, and he values it accordingly. The fact that you are reading this now is witness enough to the beauty of such a sacred truth.

Your mother was willing to give you room to breath. To let your life matter. To let you grow and to let you become a person of kingdom influence upon our King’s soil. There was never a moment when you didn’t count, when you didn’t matter and when your Father looked away. You have always been his priority. Not chickens. Not ever.

As I approach a new year with a new Washington, I will be watching to see if our new President will uphold the strides that have been made in the past eight years toward reducing abortion and toward promoting the rights of the unborn child. I will remember California’s chickens, and I will expect higher preference to be afforded the children growing in the womb. I will settle for nothing less, at least as far as my voice is concerned. I may be forced to live with the choices of unreasonable politicians, but for as long as I have breath, I will voice it…

For life. For freedom. For wings to stretch. For nests to call home. For perches from which to launch, and for wide, open spaces that afford me a gracious cleansing and room enough …

to generously and thankfully, breathe it all in.

the fruit of my thankful womb!

As always,

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[i] Jim Downing, “What California Voters Hatched with Chicken-Cage Ban is Unclear,” The Sacramento Bee (November 10, 2008), http://www.sacbee.com/111/story/1380971.html.

PS: Congrats to Pamela for winning the $20 gift certificate toward a necklace. Pam, please e-mail when you are ready to purchase, and I will have a code for you to deduct the $ from the total purchase. If you know you won’t use it, please let me know so my daughter can draw another name! Congrats, friend.

This Moment…

November 5, 2008

“For the eyes of the LORD range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.” (2 Chronicles 16:9).

Perspective.

Remember?

I woke up this morning, just as I have for the past forty-two years. With some moments and with an opportunity to make those moments count. To seed them with eternal thoughts and eternal doings or to limit them by ignoring the possibility of their worth.

I bet you woke in similar stride. If you’re reading this, then you did and, now, you have come to see what I have to say in the matter. A matter that matters for the kingdom, but not one that will impede the process. Rather, one that has been part of the process all along and has finally been given to us for the unwrapping.

Thank God. Seriously. Thank Him for the unveiling of an answer that has kept us captive to our “what if’s” for a long season.

Had I hoped for a different outcome? Yes. Did I weep some tears for the unborn child? You bet. But I did something else in addition to my disappointment. I gathered my family sometime after midnight, and we surrendered our tears in prayer to God. We laid our hopes and dreams and fears before the throne of heaven, knowing that our Father heard, understood, and then, listened to him as he asked for our understanding in the matter.

For a higher perspective that yields faith, obedience, and a heart that is willing to seed mercy and grace accordingly. For hands that are willing to get down in the soil and get to the business—God’s business—that exceeds a shift in Congress or the new residents of the White House. It includes them, but they are not the sum total of the whole.

They are part of the bigger picture, and alongside my country, I choose to stay focused on the role I’ve been given to play and the chapter I’ve been given to write. No one can do that for me. My story is mine to live, and these next few moments are mine to give to the world … to God. To stand and to kneel as the bridge between the two.

It is my joy and my privilege to do so. Thus, I pray for peace. Search for peace. Receive my peace, and go forward from this one moment, walking with peace. Peace is not some far off possibility or longed for conclusion. Peace shattered the night sky over 2000 years ago with the cries of his feeble flesh and his divinely rooted purpose.

A purpose that included moments of walking out the role he’d been given to walk, on an earthen soil he’d been given to save. Is Peace ringing his hands this morning? Is Peace heading to the local bar to drown his sorrows? Is Peace chaotically assembling his army for a showdown? Is Peace spreading more gossip seeded in fear? Is that the Peace you know?

If so, then may I be so bold to suggest that true peace will never be your portion?

Time for perspective, friends. Time for reframing and for some soul searching in the matter. Time for remembering who you are and who you belong to and for believing in a stronger and higher purpose that exceeds this one moment; not separated from this one moment, but rather lived in unison with a greater unseen whole that is walking its story in perfect cadence with our Father’s clock.

I love America. I love the fact that I’ve been given the privilege to call it my home. Do I think we are off course and could use a strong and bold revival in our land? I’m praying for it because I fully believe we are due its arrival. We are a needy and selfish people, both inside and outside of the church. Some of us our licking our wounds today. Some of us our celebrating a shift in leadership who has promised far more than any single person is capable of accomplishing.

Human nature is like that … always thinking it is up to us to solve the problems and the sin in the world. Too much of a load for any one man to carry. But One did. All the way to Calvary and back, fulfilling the role he had been given to play. The story he had been given to write.

His name is not Mr. President. His name is King Jesus, and he, alone, is my Peace this day. He’s yours too.

Pray for him. Seek him while he yet may be found. And then walk with him, in this moment and in the next, until all moments are gathered and collected and laid to final rest within the boundaries of a garden’s rest. Heaven. Forever.

A final unwrapping of a gift and an unveiling of an answer that has kept us captive to our “what if’s” for a long season. So be it, even so come.

Live it like you mean it, friends. This moment is yours to seed for eternity’s gain. As always,

Early Memories…Lingering Lessons

November 1, 2008

My dad is one of the best human beings I know. He is a gifted communicator, a passionate preacher, and hands-down…

the best story teller I’ve ever come across. When I was a child, I spent many nights being whisked away to imaginary places via his one-of-kind narratives. Over the years, I have come to appreciate his flare for the dramatic as it pertained to his make-believe stories, but more importantly, as it pertains to the Story–the one that levels real and provocative and life-giving everytime it is heard. My father’s heart beats for his Father, and thus, it is my privilege to share a little bit of his writing with you this weekend.

My dad (most affectionately known as Chuck to friends and as “paps” to his grandkids) writes a weekly word to his friends. The piece below was sent to me today, and I wanted to share it with you. It got me thinking (my father’s words always have a propensity to voice accordingly) about my early memories and how they seeded their story into mine–even 42 years down the road.

So without further fanfare … meet Chuck. My dad. The first man who ever held me in his arms and spoke his love into my heart. Enjoy hearing from his today.

Sam Keen is a noted author who has given us many quotable quotes, like:

- “We are always in the process of writing and rewriting the story of our lives, forming our experiences into a narrative that makes sense.”

- “Darkness is the place where you find renewal.”

- “Your questions are your quest. As you ask, shall you be.”

“Love isn’t finding a perfect person. It’s seeing an imperfect person perfectly.”

Well, there is one more quote I would like to give you. I was in a workshop with Sam Keen a few years ago and the memorable quote from that workshop was, “Tell me your three earliest memories and I will tell you what you are working on right now.”

My earliest memories? Let me give it try.

1. Dr. Thompson and his black bag

I was four years old. I had what they called “the old fashioned measles”, with a temperature of 105 degrees. I was told years later that Mom and Grandma hovered over me for days, wiping my fevered brow, fearing for my life. That I don’t remember, but what I do remember is Dr. Thompson, standing at the front door with his little black medical bag, talking to Mom. Years later, I was told that it was a grim conversation. The doctor was not only concerned about my survival, but that the high temperature could be harmful to the brain.

My first memory had to do with fear; fear of dying.

2. The tar-papered house

That is how my parents’ first home was described to us kids—a tar-papered house on Sam Hay’s farm. I remember the day they took us to the place where the house once stood. All I could see was a patch of sandy soil filled with sand burrs. They told us about their furniture, too; orange crates for cabinets and an old pot-bellied stove. It was that stove that got our attention as Mom told us about the fire.

She told me that on the night of the fire, she needed to go to her parents’ home for an errand and had debated whether she should just leave me sleeping in the cradle or wake me and bundle me up. She decided on the latter and took George, Patty, and me along. When we returned the house was in flames. Again, I could have died that night.

While I obviously didn’t remember that night, I do remember that day when the story was told and how I was revisited with a fear, a fear of not being in the world.

3. First grade with Miss Wilma

I was five when I started first grade. Mother persuaded school officials to allow me to register at five, even though I wouldn’t be six until January. All the details are sketchy but I do recall some embarrassment for having been punished for writing with my left hand. Miss Wilma worked hard to get me to change my writing hand. This infuriated my mother and she made a special trip to the school to inform Miss Wilma that Charlie can write with his left hand if he wants to. And that was the end of that.

Could it be that in that early experience there was programmed in me a sense of insecurity, a feeling that there was something wrong with me, that being left-handed made me strange and odd, and that I was somewhat inferior to others?

Well, there you have it–three of my earliest remembrances. Was Sam Keen right? Am I still working on those issues? I suppose I am.

Ernest Becker in his book, “The Denial of Death”, states that the fear of death is at the heart of all our fears. Philosophically and theologically, I am at peace with the rhythms of life, but there is still this ‘nag’ about what Shakespeare said, “…that undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns, puzzles the will.”

And this whole business of trying to measure up to other people’s expectations, like “I will write right handed if you want me to” is a statement about relinquishment of my own Chuck Killian-ness; affecting self-confidence and self-assurance. From time to time, those old tapes have reared their ugly head.

Those ‘old tapes’ had numerous occasions for bringing on disaster. But they also have been the very places for joyful deliverance, forgiveness, and healing. It was out of the ‘dark night of my own soul’ that I was forced to remember. As Elie Wiesel said, “To forget extends the exile, but in remembrance comes liberation.”

Sam Keen was right, “Darkness is the place where you find renewal.” I am still a fierce believer in the “Light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness will never be able to put it out.” (John 1:3-9). How blessed is one who finds light in the dark places!

~Chuck

For those of you who would like to read a little further about my father, please click here to read a post I wrote about his marvelous gift to me … his voice. Have a blessed weekend. Shalom.
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The Forest for the Trees…

October 27, 2008

I dedicate this piece to my friend, Melinda at “Traveling the Road Home”, who graciously afforded me the use of this picture from one of her recent trips. It grabbed me the moment I saw it on her blog, and it has taken me a few days to put some words around it. I pray they speak its witness accordingly. Thanks, friend.

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for.” (Hebrews 11:1-2).

What do you see when you look at this picture?

I see beauty. I see between. I see beyond.

My eyes refuse the focus of the cluttered clustering trees and instead focus on the entirety of the painted landscape. Rather than get bogged down in the details, I breathe in the witness of a well-planned masterpiece …

the forest instead of the trees.

The full and lush of a long ago planting, seeded by the hands of nature and through the intent of a loving God who visions at a higher level than me. Who paints with a perfected end in mind rather than settling for a partial finish. Who gives careful attention to the details so that the finished product breathes with the life and vitality of exacting and necessary brushstrokes. Who gives us his creation to teach us something about eternal visioning and forever focus.

Faith.

Lived and walked in the details, all the way through to the end—to the other side of the forest where clutter gives way to spacious living. Where shadowed existences give way to God’s lighted embrace, and where the backward glance at the trees left behind fills in the gaps about seasons previously misunderstood.

The ancients of Hebrews 11 understood about faith and the potential cluttering therein. They were commended for their focus … for seeing the forest as their bridge to home rather than as an obstacle to prevent their arrival. Refusing to be overwhelmed by the maze of tangled brambles and knotted roots along the way, they set their eyes on the faint glimmers of a finish that sparkled its radiance light through the dim masking of branches and foliage.

Their vision leveled toward completion.

“All of these people were living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.” (Hebrews 11:13-16).

A city … just beyond the trees. A better country that houses the perfected end of the process that we now walk. A permanent dwelling where the din and lies of the forest are replaced with the splendor of God’s eternal peace and truthful witness.

Friends, if ever we needed the witness of eternity’s truth, it is now. We are walking through a tree-laden season of volatile living. The chaos and clutter of an electoral process is leaving most of us confused and pointedly focused on the trees that obstacle rather than on the forest that divinely shapes. Our minds landscape with the ugly and contrary nature of a temporary foliage that refuses to budge and that so easily trips.

We fight understanding as we soldier on. We refuse to bend and to bow to the trees’ cloistering for fear that in doing so, we will never make it beyond their branchy embrace. Rather than concede to the process of our perfection via difficult trees, we slash at their bark with our words, with our hateful intent, and with our neglect to love.

We fear the outcome, even though the outcome was never ours to fear. What happens in our country over the next few weeks does matter. It is important. But our perfected end, and God’s sovereignty in the matter, isn’t so fragile that it cannot abide an Obama or a McCain presidency.

God has never intended for our focus to stop mid-forest. To freeze frame on a single tree or on a single event in history that was only ever intended to be one miniscule part of the whole. The enemy would like nothing better than to stop us in our tracks and to have us think that the next president will be our savior. The truth is…

No man or woman will ever or could ever hold that title.

There is only One who is worthy of such an honor. His pilgrimage through the forest would require that his Father journey deep into its dark in order to cut the one tree that would house and hold his surrender. He did, so that our requirement would be less. So that we could walk it through to the other side with temporal wounds that bleed less and never lasting. Christ didn’t journey without forethought. He walked with one purpose in mind.

The forest for the trees.

The beauty, between, and beyond of a portrait that was painted long before he allowed us any voice or any vote in the matter.

Is God concerned about our now? Perhaps, but only as it pertains to his completed masterpiece. Is God involved in our now? Absolutely, because what he has in mind is a canvas that is brushstroked with the truth of his ample sacrifice—an end that is painted with the blood of Calvary’s grace. And that, precious readers, will always warrant his attention and his brush.

We are almost home, nearly finished and nearly perfect. God is after our beauty, both individually and collectively as a people. No thing or no one person will thwart his kingdom agenda. No matter the trappings and confinement of a few temporary trees … no matter the outcome of a presidential election … God’s light is still shining through the branches of our dim and our confusion. He is calling us through to the other side, and one day soon, our backward glance will afford us a beautiful understanding for the cluttered shaping that we now walk.

Fear not, our Father has allowed us our trees so that his forest will boast the punctuated splendor of a few faithful hearts—hearts that are trusting and fully content to leave the painting up to him. Thus I pray,

When I am fearful, Lord, with the confusion from the trees that surround my life, remind me of the forest that houses the completeness of your plan. Illuminate each step with the light of your forward focus that will keep me moving in the right direction and in the full assurance of what awaits me on the other side. This season is my season—one that you have ordained for my steps and for the steps of the country that I call home. Keep us, Father, in perfect rhythm with your will. And when I am tempted to consign such understanding to the fragile minds of men, forgive me for assigning them with too much. You, alone, are the King of my heart and my life. Only you can carry me on to my perfection and to your intended end. Humbly, I bow to the beauty of your trees this night. Amen.

Guarding the Sacred

October 22, 2008

My son was watching for his morning ride to school. I was waiting for my rest. The latter wouldn’t come until the former had walked its course. It did, and after hugs and kisses good-bye, I made my way to the bedroom and opened up the Word of God.

I didn’t know at the time that his watching and my waiting would eventually weave together as a sacred portrait of truth, but God knew. He began the portrait even before I began my daily reading. But as so often the case with a heart in a hurry for a quick fix of Jesus, the holy breath of a single moment is sometimes missed. Overlooked and pushed aside in favor of a seemingly more divine approach to doing life with Jesus.

I missed it this morning, temporarily. But God knew that I needed it. Thus, he tendered my heart with his Word, and opened up my eyes to receive a gift that might have, otherwise, gone unnoticed. It would punctuate on the other side of my reading from Proverbs 4:23-27.

“Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life. Put away perversity from your mouth; keep corrupt talk far from your lips. Let your eyes look straight ahead; fix your gaze directly before you. Make level paths for your feet and take only ways that are firm. Do not swerve to the right or the left; keep your foot from evil.” (Proverbs 4:23-27).

Guarding the heart. What does that look like? It looks intense. From the Hebrew transliterated word natsar:

“To guard, watch, watch over, keep; to preserve, to guard from dangers; to be kept close, to be blockaded; watchman.”[i]

Further is carries the heaviness of the Hebrew transliterated word mishmar meaning “a place of confinement, prison, guard, jail, guardpost, watch, observant.”[ii]

Guarding the heart is serious business. Why? Because the heart houses the wellspring of true living.

“Jesus answered, ‘Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.’” (John 4:13-14).

“On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, ‘If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.’ By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive. …” (John 7:37-39a).

Our hearts are worthy of watchful care. Not only do they rhythm with the pulse of our next breath, but greater still, they rhythm with the pulse of the Holy Spirit’s indwelling. And that combination, friends, is a proverbial dam waiting to burst its wet onto the lives of those who walk within its reach. He is a worthy cause. His holy dwelling—our hearts—are a worthy upkeep.

Keeping purity at a premium requires more than a casual approach to heart tending. Keeping purity means keeping watch. It means a straight walk from today into tomorrow. A fixed gaze on the unseen, yet fully accessible God who seeds our lives with the truth of his identity everyday and in everyway. It means sticking to the beaten path even when the unmarked trails proffer their adventure and intrigue. It means putting one foot in front of the other, even though the dance on the peripheral voices a fanciful escape.

It means not worrying about the scenery on the right and in the left, but only on the scene that landscapes directly in front of us. The long awaited finished line that punctuates with an eternal glory that far outweighs the exploration of temporal paths. Guarding the good and sacred deposit given to each one of us as believers in Jesus Christ comes with a deliberate and focused watch over the heart … over what’s getting in and what’s flowing out.

We do it through spending time on our faces in prayer with that God. We do it by training our minds with the truth of God’s Word. We do it by refusing the world’s dressing and, instead, dressing ourselves in full battle gear that includes: a belt of truth, a breastplate of righteousness, two shoes (not one) of peace’s gospel, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the indwelling and uncompromising Spirit of the living God.

And if you’re a little child, one who houses a wild and tenacious imagination toward all things that go bump in the night or otherwise, you do it by keeping your rifle in hand, pulling up a chair, and fixing your watchful gaze on the world outside.

This is God’s portrait of truth, painted for me without my knowing. Saved for me and for a moment when I was unhurried and unconcerned about a quick fix of Jesus. The holy breath of heaven breathed its witness in my house this morning. He came in his Word and spoke a good teaching. He came through the witness of my son’s imagination and shouted his profound punctuation.

Doing life with Jesus has never tasted any sweeter. I’m guarding it more closely today. Thus I pray,

Thank you, Lord, for the eyes to see the tracing of your hand in my life—through your Word and through the simple posture of a child’s imagination. Never let my spiritual routine become my excuse for not living in the moment. For not pausing to contemplate the extraordinary wrappings of any extraordinary grace that comes in all types of packages, big and small. I thank you for my son’s watchful care of our home. May the watchful care of my heart speak with such similar and fervent intention. Amen.

[i] http://studylight.org/desk/?l=en&query=Proverbs+4%3A23-27&section=0&translation=nsn&oq=&sr=1
[ii] http://studylight.org/desk/?l=en&query=Proverbs+4%3A23-27&section=0&translation=nsn&oq=&sr=1

Copyright © October 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

Category Archives: living God’s truth