Category Archives: pilgrimage

a greater thing…

 
I’ve been stuck recently. Hung up on and hunkered down in a thought or two regarding a particular spoken word from Jesus. A promise. One that doesn’t compute with my internal, spiritual compass. One that has always confused me, challenged me, asked me to consider just exactly what he meant by his saying it. Perhaps it’s brought you reason for pause in your personal, exploration with God.
 
“I tell you the truth, anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing. He will do even greater things than these because I am going to the Father. And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father.” 
{John 14:12-13}
 
Doing what Jesus did. Even greater things. Almost seems treacherous typing it, much less laying claim to it as part of my personal identity. Surely he didn’t mean it as it sounds. Surely he isn’t saying what it seems as if he is saying. That I, that you, sinners saved solely by the grace of the cross, could walk in his similar shoes, dispensing a similar grace on similar occasions with similar results.
 
Surely not. Such a gift feels too weighty. Too much sacred privilege given to human flesh. Too much trust. Too much kindness. Too much royalty. Too much inheritance.  Too much glory for any one person to handle with any measure of Godly humility. Too big of a theology for a pint-sized brain like mine and an even weaker flesh to absorb in this moment.
 
I am in a diminished state. My thoughts aren’t always what I want them to be. Medications and course of treatment force my limits. My thinking is sometimes scattered, and I labor to have it make sense. Accordingly, when it comes to the weightiness of the Word of God and all its intricacies—the mystery and marvel of words that breathe as fresh breath from his lips today even as they were spoken in yesterday—I don’t always get it right. I’m no scholar; no theologian deeply steeped in study and adorned with degrees from the most prestigious religious institutions.
 
 
  Yes, my daddy is a preacher and served as a professor of preaching at one of the finest seminaries in the country. I spent years running its hallways and sitting under some of the richest preaching and teaching offered to formative young minds. As a youth, I was mentored by one of the most deeply committed, well-known youth leaders in the country who made it his solid commitment to make sure that the pulse of my heart would eventually catch up with my over-grown head. Indeed, I was offered the best when it came to my spiritual shaping. But even with all of that tutelage back then and with all of what I’ve come to know since that season…
 
I still get stuck sometimes. And I wonder about God and his promises to me and what he means for me to do with such knowledge. How do I take what he says, apply it to my heart, and then live it out most courageously before his watchful gaze in hopes that I do him some justice… bring him some glory? What could I do in this season of my life that would even come close to matching the sentiment of his heart as spoken in John 14? How can I, sick as I am, stand where I am, as a representative of the I AM and do even greater things?
 
It doesn’t compute, but then again, neither does grace. And just the other morning while others (perhaps even you) were catching sleep granted humans via the natural cycle of life, I was clutching my cross, and I had a thought regarding my “greater thing.” It arrived in the form of few words from God’s Word. Silently, they crept in without notice, transferring me from the dark of my bedroom to the dark of a sea. A night some 2000 years ago, steeped in chaos, waves, and despair. A fourth watch where disciples, not unlike me, took to the waters in hopes of reaching the other side without incident. A night when fear roared its opposition in the face of truth and when faith was shaken to its core. A night when those who were closest to the Master needed the witness of his eternal hold.
 
A night scare that required a night God and the witness of a night Word that would carry them through to the morning’s light:
“Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.” {Matthew 14:27}    
 
And with those eight words, I become less stuck in my previous ruminations. For with Christ’s mandate in that moment—an event in history separated from his promise in John 14—I begin in my understanding of what Christ might mean by my “greater thing.” That I, feeble in flesh yet strong in Spirit, might be a someone who could make that night walk on behalf of the fearful. That God in his infinite mercy and willing cooperation might so endow me with the gift of his Spirit so that I could cross waves and cut through currents to become a hand’s extension. Heaven’s extension. A sacred bridge linking the dying, fear-filled soul to the living, faithful God.
 
That I, a single pilgrim on this journey of faith, might know the power of an interceding Jesus. And that because of his Holy Spirit, I might be filled to overflow with Him so that I would be able to withstand the fear of the night’s storm in order to walk in peaceful pause to extend the courage of Christ to others.  
 
That, my friends, is a greater thing… a greater work. To be one extension amidst millions of other faith-filled extensions who are well-supplied and well-equipped to dispense the King’s courage. Not because of anything we have done, but rather because of everything he chose to do. He chose to make me and you a part of his rich inheritance. We stand alongside him as co-heirs to an undeserved kingdom. On paper and in our minds, such grace will never compute. We’ll never be able to make sense of the “greater things” he has in mind for us to do. But every now and again, when we really take hold of all of what that might mean for us, we catch a glimpse of perfect understanding.
And we find our place… our sacred responsibility and our reason for moving forward with our faith in this world.
 
We are here for God’s greater thing. I don’t know what that will look like for you in the week ahead, but I do know where the fearful live in my little corner of the world. They cloister together less than a mile from my front door, in chairs hooked up to the deathblows and life-giving vein named chemotherapy. Many are stuck in the fourth watch. Many have yet to know that God is the Master of their fourth watch. That his courage and his hands are available to them, and that just maybe, those hands might come to them through a weakened vessel named Faith Elaine. Hands wrinkled by years. Hands drying by drugs. Hands weathered by understanding.
Hands extended in love. Hands speaking the truth in love…
“Take courage; It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
Words rightly and humbly spoken by a daughter of the King. A greater thing, indeed. What a marvelous, treasured gift with which to be entrusted. Live your greater thing like you mean it, friends, and never underestimate your worthiness in the kingdom of God. He has called us, each one, to a greater understanding of the greater gift we’ve been allowed. Use it all, do it all, love them all with his greater end in mind. As always…
Peace for the journey,
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Ascending to my "overlook"…

“When the men of Judah came to the place that overlooks the desert and looked toward the vast army, they saw only dead bodies lying on the ground; no one had escaped.” (2 Chronicles 20:24).
My spirit is moved today in a strong direction—a navigational pull that leads me into the midst of a story belonging to my spiritual ancestors. They are your ancestors as well, for (as believers in Jesus Christ) we are the spiritual seed of Abraham. Those long ago and faraway events tucked into ancient history and laid out for us on the pages of Scripture belong to us. They are commended to us for our good care and careful consideration. Theirs are the ancient paths (Jer. 6:16) given to us as a road map for our current walkabouts in faith.
I find strength in their witness, and today my thoughts are anchored within a Judean soil, alongside a king named Jehoshaphat, and in the midst of a people named Israel. Collectively, they faced a real threat by a real enemy in a real place during a real point and time in history. Their response to that threat has me thinking… even more so, has me doing.
1. When the enemy came knocking, they immediately took their concern to the one place, the One God who had promised them consideration along these lines:
Spoken by the king… “If calamity comes upon us, whether the sword of judgment, or plague or famine, we will stand in your presence before this temple, that bears your Name and will cry out to you in our distress, and you will hear us and save us.” (2 Chronicles 20: 9)
2. The corporate gathering of Israelites waited in anticipation of God’s Spirit to move; when He did, He lighted upon one of them and spoke this message over them:
“Listen King Jehoshaphat and all who live in Judah and Jerusalem! This is what the LORD says to you: ‘Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God’s. Tomorrow march down against them…. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the LORD will give you, O Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Go out to face them tomorrow, and the LORD will be with you.’” (2 Chronicles 20:15, 17).
3. The Israelites received the message as their own, and when tomorrow came, they obeyed God’s directives, worshipping as they went:
“Early in the morning they left for the Desert. … As they began to sing and praise, the LORD set ambushes against the men of Ammon and Moab and Mount Seir who were invading Judah, and they were defeated. (2 Chronicles 20:20,22) 
Note that in the midst of their praise and worship and unbeknownst to them, God moved on their behalf.
4. God’s people took their position at the overlook and witnessed his faithfulness in manifold measure:
“When the men of Judah came to the place that overlooks the desert and looked toward the vast army, they saw only dead bodies lying on the ground; no one had escaped.” (2 Chronicles 20:24).
These are the makings of a good walkabout in faith, don’t you think? When the threat came…
They prayed;
They listened;
They worshipped;
They obeyed;
They took up their positions;
They witnessed the deliverance of their God.
And in the midst of all their “theys”, God was working to procure an ending in keeping with his God-ness. This is corporate, spiritual victory at its best; responses from both ends of the equation—ours’ and God’s—working together to solidify and set in concrete a heart truth. Not merely a head truth, but a truth that exponentially increases as we courageously allow it some feet and a voice so that it can make its way from the pages of a book onto the pavement of real understanding.
Theirs is a faith I want to live.

 

Accordingly, I have stood before the Lord in his temple (1 Cor. 6:16). I have listened to his directives, and I have worshipped. I am taking him at his word, and now begins my ascent to the overlook. I don’t imagine the climb will be easy. Mountain terrain always hosts its fair share of rocks, edges, misshapen branches, and pebbles that like to get wedged into the soles of our feet. Sometimes the air around us betrays us as we make that ascent, forcing the issue of our every breath. Sometimes our companions as well; not every mountain ascent is created for every mountain climber. Sometimes our journeys are meant to walk in isolation.
But of this one thing I am certain of today, for I have known it to be true in my yesterday…
When we arrive at the overlook of God’s intention, the view will be breathtaking. Why? Because our good and gracious Father has gone ahead of us to secure for us a victory that will far outweigh any difficulty required of us while making personal pilgrimage toward eternal Promise.
I am counting on the upcoming view from my overlook; in many ways, I’ve had an advance glance at it today. What a joy to know Jesus and to know that he can be trusted with my all! He just keeps multiplying his goodness and grace into my world. May you know and hold a similar understanding in your hearts this day. You are good pilgrims with which to share my journey. Thank you for spending some of your time with me. I count it a privilege. I love you each one. As always…
Peace for the journey,
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 PS: I will be MIA most of the week, but will try and check in with you as I can. Shalom.
on being a "Luke"…

on being a "Luke"…

{for Nancy, my “Luke” today}

“Do your best to come to me quickly, for Demas, because he loved this word, has deserted me and has gone to Thessalonica. … Only Luke is with me.” (2 Timothy 4:9-11).
The words from his pen haunt me now, even though nearly two thousand years have passed since they were first inked onto parchment.
Only Luke.
Two words that paint a vivid portrait of comfort and pain all in the same brushstroke. To have a Luke is a special gift. To have only one, especially in times of intense suffering, is a difficult abiding. Why? Because sometimes our pain needs more than one Luke. Sometimes our prisons and our shackles, our tumors and our tumult better benefit from corporate comfort rather than the solitary efforts of the one. Sometimes we need the beauty of a bouquet rather than the bloom of a single rose. Sometimes… our woundings cry out with more need, more desire, more desperation than can be aptly handled by a single saint.
Sometimes, my good friends, we need the church.
You have been the church for me over the past six weeks. To chronicle the fullness of what that has meant would take too long and would, more than likely, leave out a few important mentions. I don’t want to risk it. You mean too much to me. Safe to say, I’ve felt the corporate touch of heaven’s hands in manifold measure. As God has prompted you, you’ve been obedient to yield to those promptings. Calls, cards, gifts, food, face-to-face visits, prayers… the list is endless. Your love has come in waves, ebbs and flows and currents that allow me to pause in between the pulse to reflect, contemplate, and be thankful.
I wish I could open up my heart so that you could peer inward for a closer look at the work of the cross. If I could, I have no doubt that any reservations you might have had regarding the faithfulness of God would be put to rest once and for all. You’d see him there, spilling over every crevice and gully of my being and filling me up to over flow. You might even get wet in the process.
But I can’t… physically cut open my heart and let you see. Instead, I give you my word… my many words in hopes that you’ll believe me when I say…
I am better for having you in my life than if our paths should have never crossed.
You’ve expanded my understanding about grace and God and about what it means to be a fervent pilgrim on the road home to Jesus. You’ve watered my feet and my soul with your servant’s posture, and you’ve walked a mile or two or ten in my shoes just because you could. Not because you had to, but because Jesus lives in you, and it is your pleasure to do so. I don’t fully understand you willingness, but I receive it as yet another undeserving grace from a God who keeps on giving, despite my readiness to sometimes hoard the blessings therein.
So thank you… for being the church. And thank you for being a Luke when God called upon to be one. For walking alongside my cancer and for sitting ringside to my pain. For offering your gifts and for bringing your “little” to the table so that at the end of the day, any king would be proud to pull up and chair and partake of the gracious plenty. I don’t know why you love me so much, but I am your willing recipient for this season. I only pray that when your turn comes—when prison bars and pain find their way to your heart—I’ll be as gracious in my giving to you.
To being your Luke. Or your Nancy (above picture)—a faraway friend who willingly receives your spur of the moment visit in order to gift you a haircut. And some gel to make that free haircut cuter. And some barbeque from the freezer to feed your family for the week. And some hugs and tears and prayers just because we’re friends.
Me your Luke. You my Paul.
Me your Paul. You my Luke.
I imagine that each one of us can claim one position or the other—the posture of a prisoner or the posture of a servant. I don’t know where you’re at today, but I do know that our pain belongs to one another. It is a gift we give to each other—the sharing of our pain—for God never intended for us to go it alone in this world. He means for us to live as one beneath the watchful gaze of heaven. When we get that… when we really take hold of what it means to bend and to bow, to wash and to serve all because of the One who first gave us the blueprint on loving, then hell’s determined purpose is vanquished and victory belongs to the King.
Tomorrow is another day to live your kingdom conferment. Someone will cross your path that needs the love and commitment of a Luke. Be that Luke, friends. Continue being and doing what you’ve been and done for me over these past weeks. And should you be the one in need, never fear to ask for more. To pen your words of request to our Father and then to make sure that letter gets into the hands of the saints. If there’s one thing I’ve been privileged to witness in the course of my cancer it is the unmerited, lavish love of God through his people.
I never knew it to be so strong. I never knew it to be so long and wide, high and deep. It stretches across my soul this night, even throughout the world. Even to a remote church in Estonia, but that’s another post for next time. Until we arrive there, may the love and peace of Christ rule in your hearts, and may the outward expression of that seeding intersect with a heart in need of receiving its nourishment. As always…
Peace for the journey,

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Layers…

Layers…

This morning, I found myself wishing that I was anywhere else but there… in that sterile environment, awaiting my turn at the scan machine. The milky cocktail I was given to drink (at least a quart by my estimation) messed with my stomach, more so with my mind. The “IV”? Just another reminder to me that pricks and pokes and prods will be the order of the day for the season to come.
And it was cold. And I was shivering… even through the two layers of warm blankets kindly extended to me by the radiologist.
Tears found their way down my cheeks on several occasions, and when I went into the round doughnut to play “dead” for at least forty minutes, my arms were strapped to my side. I had to remind my radiologist of my recent double-mastectomy that currently limits my range of motion. Holding my arms in the normal posture (over my head) was out of the question, thus the large velcro binding that fastened them to my side. And while I know in my head that this is nothing compared to what is coming in just a few days, it all felt too much, too scary, too “out-of-the-way” for the path that I’m on.
And I wished that it was over. All of it. That, perhaps, I could skip this “layer” and let my heart “catch up with the last layer” before moving on. That what is would quickly morph into what was and that my life didn’t have to walk this particular bend in the road.
But then ten o’clock arrived. Needles were removed; warmth re-established; hunger abated by a cookie at the cancer lounge before my departure. And I was thankful for the finish, for completing this layer and for its finishing work in me. I’m not keen on repeating it, but something tells me it’s now woven into my story and should it require an encore somewhere down the road, it will hold less mystery and more normalcy for my pilgrim heart.
Thanks for your prayers. Thanks for allowing your heart to walk this layer with me. I want to leave you with a beautiful “gift” my Uncle Bill gave to me this week… another poem! Laura, I know you’re laughing out loud, because you know my penchant for poetry in general. But this one is special—written from a tenderness and depth of understanding that pulls at my pain while alleviating it… all in the same breath.
What layers are you living this day, my good, kind, and compassionate friends?
Live them with the end in mind. As always…
Peace for the journey,
~elaine
Layers –
whether it’s a cake
or a life,
layers.
Time takes time
to do its thing,
layers.
Chapters, changes,
just-around-the-corner
challenges,
layers.
Sometimes they stack up
too fast, too high,
and when we try to peel them back
the new ones get in the way,
layers.
Lord, please hold the next one –
I would like to catch up
with the last one.
I’m lost in the
layers.
From a far,
the strata of my life is textured
with beautiful pain
that cries me to sleep
into a perfect dream,
a dream of
layers,
of colors that will not quit,
of sound and scent
that usher me toward the Holy
and helps me lean into the morning,
into the
layers
of a new day
where awareness whispers
My gratitude is greater than my pain,
my attitude is whole, and I shall remain…
Elaine – now and forevermore –
layered with a joyous childhood,
enriched through study,
toughened by circumstance,
blessed with romance,
fulfilled by family,
and completed by faith –
yes, I am Faith Elaine Killian Woods Olsen,
and don’t you forget it!
In those five names,
there are enough
 
layers
 
to carry me for a thousand years.
{written by Bill Killian, Sr.
a poem for Elaine Olsen, my niece
Sunday, September 19, 2010}

Deep Waters…

Courtesy of Susan Hood

“The purposes of a man’s heart are deep waters, but a man of understanding draws them out.” (Proverbs 20:5). 

A couple of years ago, I attended a women’s conference where I had the privilege of meeting a few of my blogging friends. At that time, I was fairly new to blogging, so the depth of relationship with other bloggers remained somewhat superficial. (It takes time to build depth of relationship, does it not?) I’ll never forget a comment I received from Lelia after spending some time with her one evening.

“Elaine, I thought you would be this deep, philosophical, thinking kind of person, but you’re really normal and fun to be around.”

I immediately understood what she was saying, and after a hearty, belly laugh we went shopping… for underwear. Yes, it didn’t take long for me to dispel any myths regarding my ponderous estate, and I was glad for the disclosure. Why? Because I sometimes think it is easy for us to paint a picture with our words in our blog posts that misses the mark regarding who we are in our day-to-day, real life. I never want to be accused of “writing someone” that I’m not. Accordingly, I’ve tried to keep it real here at the blog, even as I try to keep it real in on the pavement of my everyday life.

Am I normal and fun to be around? Ask anyone who knows me. They’re the accurate judge on the matter. On the contrast, am I a deep, philosophical, thinking kind of gal? I’ll let the archives of my some 350 blog posts tell the story. I am a woman who loves to laugh and who loves to ponder. Laughter and thinking are compatible sojourners on this pilgrimage of grace. They balance one another… knowing when to defer center-stage status to the other and when to step in as a replacement. I don’t have to be one or the other. I can be both.

And just this morning, I came across the above verse from Proverbs which seems to grant me permission to keep pondering… keep thinking… keeping digging deeply into the recesses of my heart for the hidden mysteries that reside beneath. God mysteries. The ones that belonged to him first; the ones that belong to me now because of my status as his child.

“However, as it is written: ‘No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him’—but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit. The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God.” (1 Corinthians 2:9-10).

I’ve got some “deep waters”, friends. So do you. You may think that you don’t… that somehow you’re just an average thinker with an average heart that doesn’t dip too far below the surface to mine the treasures of God—to contemplate his heart, his thoughts, and his perspective. Some of you feel ill-equipped for the task, perhaps even wrong for wanting to try. God is big… really big, and you feel comparably small. Digging below the surface to get to the heart of God may seem dangerous to you… even treacherous, almost as if to “go there” would be to cross some spiritual boundary or to break some religious law that wrongly states, “You can go this far with God and no more.”

God doesn’t put limits on what can be known about him. Certainly, in this season of our lives we see in part, live in part, know in part, walk in partial understanding. Fullness of understanding will come when we get home to Jesus, but until then, we have the freedom to dig.

Deeply dig.

To dip our buckets into the well of perfect understanding and to wait for God to fill them accordingly. We get to live deeply because we anchor our personal ships in some deep waters. When our lives were formed and fashioned in the secret place (Psalm 139), they were created in depth, with depth, to live depth. There was nothing shallow about that moment; in contrast, your conception represents, perhaps, the deepest, most hidden moment of your existence. When God weaved you together in your mother’s womb, he variegated your flesh with colors and contrasts and intricacies that can only be discovered with your willingness to go deeper with your Creator.

In doing so—in mining the treasures beneath your surface—you discover some of the mysteries that better enable you to live your life with sacred perspective. You discover the wise counsel of God which sheds light into your plan and your purpose for being on this earth. Without the dig comes the risk of remaining shallow—of living the rest of your days with surface understanding.

For some of you, that’s enough. You don’t have to think too far beyond current wisdom to be secure in your faith. You’re happy with the knowledge that you hold, and it will be more than enough to carry you through to glory. I celebrate that in you. I wouldn’t want you to be someone that you’re not. But I will tell you this one thing because, just maybe, you haven’t realized this about yourself.

You’ve got some deep waters bubbling beneath the surface of your heart this day. A big, huge cauldron of wet waiting for you to dive into in order to discover some hidden truth that you’ve yet to hold as your own. To get there, you need to be willing to get wet—to ponder and to think with your heart wide-open before God. You’ll need to ask questions in prayerful pause. You’ll need to wait for our Father’s response. It won’t be immediate, but as you are faithful to press into the heart of God, he will be faithful to fill yours with a ladle or two of his personal mystery.

And for that, friends, I’ll keep digging. I want to know Christ. I want to live the resurrected life while my flesh yet tarries in this land. Today is the day of salvation, and we have a God who can be known… deeply known. And for as much as I can know God on this side of eternity, I’ll keep dipping my bucket into his well of grace.

“The purposes of a man’s heart are deep waters, but a man of understanding draws them out.”

Even so, Lord, make me a woman of depth this day. Keep me drawing from your well and keep me believing that with every personal, intentional pursuit of knowledge that I make will come further understanding into the deep things of you. Forgive me when I choose less. Bless me when I choose more… choose big… choose deeply… choose you. I thank you for your mystery. Even greater, I thank you for allowing me to hold some of it as my own. Amen.

Peace for the journey,

elaine

PS: Many of you have asked regarding my schedule for the week and how you might pray for me. In the future, I may initiate a “caring bridge” page to keep you updated on the medical trail I’m traveling, but for now, here’s the latest:

Tuesday: Genetic counseling and BRCA testing in Chapel Hill.

Wednesday: PET/CT scans locally

Friday: MUGA (heart) testing, along with chemotherapy counseling locally. 

In the next week, a follow-up meeting with my oncologist, the placement of a port-a-cath, the beginning of an eight-cycle regimen of chemotherapy over the next four months. 

Please pray for continued healing from my surgery… still very sore and the thought of implanting a port-a-cath sends my stomach reeling! For strength enough, peace enough to courageously walk into this new chapter of healing. We love you each one and covet your prayers as we go forward. Now, how might I pray for you? Shalom.

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