Category Archives: ministry life

Rehearse Your History with God (a new frontier)

Rehearse your history with me, Elaine.

So whispered the Father to my spirit in the early morning hours of August 13, 2022. It’s an oft-repeated phrase I use when challenging others to remember the faithfulness of God in their lives—to retrace their steps with God over the years in order to hold the collective and certain witness of his activity therein. God doesn’t want us to forget his past faithfulness; he wants us to bank on it as our futures unfold.

And so it was for me on August 13th … counting and collecting the memories of God’s faithfulness in my life, in particular, as it pertained to the past twenty-five years of ministry life that Billy and I have shared together.

The Trenton-Maple Grove UMC years – those two, early years of shaping a family within the framework of a two-point, pastoral charge set against the backdrop of a hurricane named Floyd. It was here where we began to navigate both streams side by side—family life and ministry life. Trenton was the truest measure of my “leaving and cleaving”—leaving behind the family I grew up with in order to cleave to the family that would grow up with me.

The Washington UMC years—four years within a community often designated as “Little” but a season in our lives that was anything but. We grew a family along the edge of a pond named Pamlico. Two branches were added to our family tree. A season of rich, deep and abiding friendships. A season of igniting my soul with a flame that had never been lit so brightly. I fell in love with Jesus all over again in Little Washington. Our departure from there was nothing short of what was witnessed in Acts 20:36-38. We were well-loved in that place.

The Pine Forest UMC years—six years of fruitfulness, both in ministry life and in our home. In that place and in that space, we all grew up, experienced many of life’s “firsts and lasts.” Bible studies were led; souls were fed. A book was written. Hearts were given … fully. We invested deeply into the soil of that community, broke bread and shared the table of grace with dearly beloved friends. Such feasting can still be tasted in my memories.

The Christ UMC years—three years of walking through the shadowed valley. A broken church; a broken flesh. Both needing to be salvaged, our church and my flesh. I would live to tell the story, to stand on the other side of survival. The church? Well, the people live on to tell the story; the building does not. And while Christ UMC Fayetteville no longer has a physical address, I fully believe that God is alive and active in the faithful saints that once filled the pews on Raeford Rd. Those specially selected souls carried my family through a very difficult season. Equally and tenderly, I carry them closely in my heart and thank God for their willingness to walk through the shadows with us.

The Saint Luke UMC years—six years of planting a flag in the ground and calling it home. The neighborhood years. A season where everyone knew our names and, generally speaking, smiled when they spoke them. Our nest grew smaller; Nick and Colton flew away. I busied myself by re-baptizing myself with the waters of teaching. Another hurricane named Florence blew through, this time baptizing us all with the waters of “letting go and trusting God.” We did, and He did … miraculous things. He spared the life of our son, and he brought a community alongside to witness the height and depth, width and breadth, of such a generous gift.

The Benson UMC years—the now years. The not-yet-seen years. Three years and counting. The reason behind my early morning moments with God on August 13th.

It was at this moment in my deliberations with the Father when I paused my historical rehearsing. Instead, I was silenced by the scene that the Holy Spirit dropped simultaneously into my mind’s eye. Lying there in the dark, I clearly saw the framed print that our daughter-in-law, Rachel, had commissioned for us and given to us at Christmas 2018—an artistic rendering of the churches we had served to date: Trenton UMC, First UMC Washington, Pine Forest UMC, Christ UMC, and Saint Luke UMC.

While the rest of my family lay sleeping, I crept out to the dining room to behold the picture. Pointedly missing from the scene? Benson UMC—our current church home. There have been times in the past three+ years of ministry when we’ve lamented the fact that Benson UMC isn’t included in this artistic rendering. When it was originally commissioned five years ago, there was no way of knowing where we’d be today.

And where we are today?

Well, today we’re in between. A week ago, on September 25, 2022, the Benson United Methodist Church made the decision to disaffiliate from the United Methodist denomination and to affiliate with the newly formed Global Methodist denomination on January 1, 2023. As a United Methodist clergy for the past 25 years, my husband has decided that we will travel to this new frontier with our church body. It has been a brutal process for our family and our church. To linger with the “what ifs” and “maybes” over these past several months has been a difficult cross to carry at times. I don’t imagine we’ve lived the fullness of what that will mean to us in the upcoming season. But on that night back in August, before any final decisions had been made, God slipped a single, encouraging thought into my spirit about the season ahead … that there was a shift coming. That the very good, beginning three years of ministry at Benson UMC would continue under a new entity. That this current church would, one day, find its history amongst the other parishes we’ve served but would stand alone under a new banner – a new name. That name has yet to be determined. It doesn’t much matter to me what the name will be. What does matter to me, is that I get to walk on this sacred soil—a fresh work of grace authored by the Grace-Giver.

Time will write the witness of what has been done in this hour. We’re living in a season of messy imperfection. New frontiers are fraught with unseen complications. The mud is thick in places. Many repairs will have to be made along the way. But despite all of the unknowns and the growing pains that inevitably come with growing a new thing, there is a bold hope securely fastened to this new frontier—God is in it. Not “instead of” an already established denomination but, rather, “alongside of” a new one. He stands in both places knowing that faithful souls are anchored to each landscape. I will not underestimate or try to manage the work he longs to accomplish on each frontier. God is too big and too gracious to limit our horizons. How thankful I am for a history that rehearses accordingly!

And so, in this new hour and for those who have yet to be convinced of this trajectory, I offer you the wisdom that Gamaliel offered to the Sanhedrin two thousand years ago when the Apostles were brought before them and accused of spreading a false Gospel:

“… Let them go! For if their purpose or activity is of human origin, it will fail. But if it is from God, you will not be able to stop these men; you will only find yourselves fighting against God.” (Acts 5:38-39)

Yes, friends. Keep rehearsing your history with God, and then go in the strength of that witness. Let the grace-filled portraits of your past serve as the backdrop for the portrait yet to be painted. God will not fail you; God will not abandon you. God will go with you. And as my daddy (a life-long Methodist preacher and teacher) would tell you …

The best is yet to be. With Christ in your story and the Holy Spirit as your guide, your best days are always ahead of you; never behind.

Lean into that frontier today. I’ll meet you on the road, and as always…

Peace for the journey,

You’ll do.

Our Sunday School roster of teachers was down to slim pickings today. The regularly scheduled facilitator and her substitute were otherwise detained, and I offered to step in at the last minute. Attendance numbers were slim as well, but what we lack in quantity we make up for in quality. These people I do life with are some of the finest folks I know.

After an initial greeting and my pre-emptive apology for serving as a fill-in, a generous soul in our midst offered me, perhaps, one of the most sincere and beautiful commendations I have ever received:

“You’ll do.”

Generous laughter followed his proclamation, along with an inward tugging in my spirit. He attached no harm to his words; instead, they rolled off his lips as a compliment of the highest order. And therein I felt safe. Wanted. Warmed by his genuine assessment of me.

“You’ll do.”

Oh, to be welcomed to the table of holy conversation with a hearty handshake of acceptance! It’s a gift to me … to be graciously received and, further still, to no longer need any weightier accolades attached to my name. That’s not always been the case. There was a season when I clamored for a bigger stage, a larger audience, and a calendar filled with invitations to validate my spiritual prowess.

That season didn’t last long. And while I knew that I was naturally and (at times) supernaturally gifted for the stage, it wasn’t to be. Instead, God simplified the matter for me, took my hand, bowed my heart, and led me down a quieter path of holy privilege.

There’s nothing “lesser” about a quieter path, at least in God’s eyes. It just means that kingdom work doesn’t always need a stage to get results. Sometimes the good seed falls to a few good souls who gather on a Sunday morning to say “yes” all over again to the holy deliberation of God’s Word. To be awed by the wonderment, the workings and worthy practice of chewing on a few verses and believing that, with the chew, something profound and beautiful happens.

Jesus happens. Every single time. In the midst and in the muddle of a week and of a world that is often void of his voice. When the Bible is open, Jesus takes the stage regardless the size of the audience. He makes no apologies for his presence. He simply and profoundly stands there on the pages of holy writ with all truth embodied within his frame. Like a brilliant shard of light dispelling the darkness, Jesus illuminates and fills the empty pages of our souls. And when that happens, when the hunger of our hearts is satiated by the love in his heart, then the kingdom moves forward. The kingdom expands.

Eternal deliberations with the eternal God yield eternal results.

I’ll get up every day for that kind of spiritual progress, friends. A step toward home is a step in the right direction. And to step it alongside a few hungry saints, is, indeed, the path of holy privilege.

Maybe today you need to be reminded of such things like quieter paths and open Bibles and friends who trust you to lead the holy deliberations therein. These are not lesser stages of significance and your participation isn’t a lesser point of privilege. Rather, these are great works of grace with a great and awesome Jesus.

You’ll do, friend. Bring what you have to the table in obedience.

He’ll do … the rest. Even better. Even more.

On earth, even as it is in heaven. As always…

Peace for the journey,

from a distance…

“All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance.” (Hebrews 11:13)

 

Five months ago, I curled up in my bed barely able to breathe. Physically I was fine. My mental state, however, was taking a hit. The details surrounding my life were all-consuming. An impending move. A high school graduation. College applications. A wedding. A house and a classroom to pack up. A cancer scare. Aging parents.

The “to do” list was endless. I cried out to God in anguish:

How will I ever get to the other side of this?

His answer was as potent as my pain.

With me.

In that moment of clarity, I released my question to God’s capable hands and knew that, regardless of the minutiae in between, he would safely land me (and my family) in this place of relocation–Benson, NC.

I’ve lived here for a month now. Five months ago, I couldn’t have known how it would feel to be a resident of this community. Instead, I could only imagine it. And I did so on a regular basis … imagine it in my mind. Every now and again, I’d add some texture to my imagining by making an occasional detour off I-95 while en route to visit my folks who live a short distance away. But even then, in all the detours in my mind and with my car, I couldn’t fully appreciate the fullness of a life lived here. I could only welcome it from a distance.

Faith anticipates and welcomes life from a distance.

The ancients understood this … were commended for it. They lived expectantly, never seeing on this side of eternity, the fullness of God’s promises to them, only believing that, in fact, the fullness would arrive at the time of his choosing. And so, they sowed seeds of faith into the soil beneath their feet, watering it with both tears of sorrow and joy. God grew something on that sacred patch of land. It stands as a memorial for us today–a history of a well-worn, intricately woven faith.

And every time we choose to follow suit, every time we lend our hands to the plow that is before us so that the ground beneath us becomes the road that transports us, the voice that is within us echoes the beautiful refrain of faith. It’s a song that pleases our Father, a forward trust that resounds in the chambers of heaven, reminding those who have gone before us that we are not far behind.

Faith! Faith!
Hear our cry;
Here we stand
To testify.

The night’s been long
The journey severe;
The details endless
A call to persevere.

Through doubts.
Through fears.
Through questions.
Through tears.

In sickness.
In health.
In poverty.
In wealth.

Wherever we are
Wherever we’ve been;
Wherever you’re leading
Wherever it ends.

The soil is yours
This plow in our hand;
These seeds in our hearts
Our time in this land.

This faith from a distance
This faith we hold dear;
It keeps us together
It keeps us strong here.

Until we are finished
Until our time through;
Until our road ends
And we finally see you.

Our Author, our Perfector
Our Finisher of faith;
Our Father, our Redeemer
At last face to face.

With you, with the angels
with those gone before;
At home, at rest
In peace forevermore.

Yes, Faith! Faith!
Let the heavens resound;
This is life from a distance
This is life heaven bound.        (f.elaineolsen7/23/19allrightsreserved)

Faith anticipates and welcomes life from a distance. Wherever you are standing today, friend, cast your eyes to the horizon and cast all your imaginations into the capable hands of our Father. Soon and very soon, you’ll land safely into the place of his relocation. Soon, you’ll be home. Until then,

Peace for the journey,

finishing

“When they landed, they saw a fire of burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread.” –John 21:9

 

Finish strong.

I used those words repeatedly in the classroom as the fourth nine weeks of the academic school year arrived. Students have a tendency to slack off as they see the finish line approaching. Accordingly, I offered them a push to not give up … to not allow the strong effort of the three, previous nine weeks to be dimmed by a lack luster, weak conclusion. For the most part, as long as my “push” was present, so was theirs.

A strong finish is often accompanied by a strong cheerleader.

But every now and again, despite the encouraging voices along the way, there comes a season when we don’t finish strong. Sometimes, we just finish. Not strong. Not pretty. Nothing to brag about and not a single cheerleader in sight. Instead, we wearily drag our lives, our work and our witness, sloppily to the finish line, hoping for an acceptable conclusion but realizing deep within that it could have been so much more–a better, stronger finish.

It’s not a comfortable fit for me. Still and yet, it’s one I’m wrestling with today as I prepare for the closing of one chapter so that another one may begin. There are some loose ends dangling around the edges of my heart, some regret about the messy steps I’ve taken toward this particular finish line.

How about you? Do you have regrets–things you wish you had said, done … not said, not done?

Regret is a heavy burden to bear, and if I’m not careful, it can quickly overshadow the many positive, strong steps I’ve made along the way. Perhaps you understand. Maybe you, too, are crossing a finish line with no personal fanfare, no pats on the back, and no gold medal in sight. This hasn’t been your strongest finish because you haven’t given your personal best. The outcome is less because the output has been less. Your hands are empty, but (in contrast) your heart is filled with the pangs of would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.

Thankfully, there is a workaround for regret, a way to move past regret and to move forward in hope for the next lines in your story. That workaround?

It’s found in Scripture. It’s found with the Scripture-Writer, the Truth-Teller, the Grace-Giver … Jesus.

On this particular occasion as recorded in John’s Gospel, Jesus was also known as the fire-Starter, the fish-Catcher, the fish-Cooker, the fish-Feeder and the bread-Bringer. After a season of sloppy, woeful finishes by his disciples at the Crucifixion, Jesus stands on the other side of that line to offer them a breakfast full of hope. Instead of casting further shame into their hearts, Jesus lays before them a bounty of fresh fish and bread. In doing so, he offers them a fresh start. He didn’t remove their regrets from their minds; instead, he holy and profoundly reframed them against the backdrop of his grace.

Their Cheerleader wasn’t MIA after all. He was waiting for them on the shoreline, calling them in for breakfast, and feeding their hearts with the gift of his presence, his love, and his willingness to entrust his kingdom to their fledgling faith. Shame and regret didn’t get the final word in the disciples’ lives. Jesus did.

He speaks the same over you and me. His is a message of undeserved grace, love, and trust. Jesus Christ stands at all the finish lines we’ll cross on this side of eternity. At times, we’ll finish strong. At other times, we’ll just finish. But in all times, in all finishes, God offers the gift of his grace, the gift of a second race … a third, fourth, tenth, hundredth race. Another opportunity to finish strong … to finish with Him.

Jesus Christ is our workaround, friends. Always. When we fail to finish as beautifully as we would have liked, he never fails to meet us at that point of frustration and to remind us that all has not been lost in the night.

The dawn is approaching. The embers are burning. The fish are frying, and the Master is calling.

Breakfast is served. Won’t you come and taste grace today? I’ll meet you at the table. As always …

Peace for the journey,

a time to keep

Packing while unpacking.

It seems like a contradiction, but it’s really just a delicate consideration about things kept, things discarded, things remembered, and decisions therein. One doesn’t pack up a house … a history … without a little unpacking of the soul alongside.

A time to keep and a time to throw away, as Solomon would say.

Such has been my portion since April 10th, the day I first learned of our impending move to Benson, NC. It almost seems like yesterday when our moving van pulled up to the parsonage in Laurinburg and we began to unpack our lives here.

Six years of living history in this space. Six years of being loved, being sheltered, being known, and being well-cared for. Saint Luke UMC has been a good place to grow and to rest our hearts. Some would call us crazy for leaving this place, this congregation and this community. In fact, on paper, it doesn’t make much sense as far as pastoral moves go.

But every now and again, “what makes sense” gets trumped by something greater, something higher, something more akin to choosing “what’s best for now” over “what’s been best for the past six years.” And that best for us?

Moving closer to home.

“Home?” you might ask.

Yes, home. You see, for me, home is portable.

It’s not a place. It’s a people. It’s not a house. It’s a family.

And my membership in a family began a long time before I married Preacher Billy. Before I was part of the Olsen family, I was part of the Killian family. Before I was a pastor’s wife or Nick, Colton, Jadon, and Amelia’s mom, I was a daughter. I still am. I belong to Chuck and Jane, and they belong to me. We’ve been a family for fifty-three years.

I spent the first twenty-one years of my life living under their roof in Wilmore, KY. Eight years later, I returned home for an additional three years where they continued to parent me as well as their two young grandsons. I moved away from Kentucky a final time in 1998, and four years later in 2002, my folks followed suit, relocating to North Carolina to be closer to their family. Dad left his fruitful career as a professor at Asbury Seminary to pastor two small churches in Mayodan, NC, while mom came along for the ride as his help-mate.

Apparently, “home” was portable for them as well.

Not a place, but a people. Not a house, but a family.

Us. We are that family. We were the reason they uprooted their existence of thirty plus years and said good-bye to their community, their countless friends, and their comfort. If you asked them today, I don’t imagine they’d voice any regrets. Their great sacrifice has been our great gain. The life we’ve shared together because of their being closer to us cannot be calculated in dollars and cents. It can only be measured in the heart, in those deep kinds of ways that shore up a foundation, solidify a history, and fortify a future. My parents brought “home” to us seventeen years ago.

Two months from now, we will have the rich privilege of returning the favor … of bringing “home” to them. For how long, only God knows. But for however long he ordains, we will be able to “do life” more practically with our parents. More time together. More face to face. More memories made because of more access. And that, friends, is what is best for now.

A home delivery to the Killian family from the Olsen family.

Indeed …

A time to keep.

Even so, Lord Jesus, grant us your peace for the journey as we walk these next steps in absolute faith and expectation. Amen.

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