pilgrimage | Elaine Olsen

By faith, elaine…

April 10, 2009

“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. By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.” (Hebrews 11:1-3).

By faith…

Faith Elaine that is.

Forty-three years ago today. Easter morning. Father standing behind a pulpit preaching about life issuing forth from the tomb. Mother lying in a delivery room earning bragging rights about life issuing forth from her womb. Both having something to say in the matter. Both cradling the blossoms of Spring—a Savior and a longed-for baby.

By faith, both blossoms were received into the lives of two parents who longed for their arrival. One into their hearts; the other into their arms. It was a good day for Chuck and Jane for so many reasons. It was a good beginning for Faith Elaine for so many more.

In both the literal and in the spiritual sense, the cross of Jesus Christ has shadowed my steps for the past forty-three years. Regardless of my wanderings to the contrary, the empty tomb has been my haunting—my known truth and my accepted understanding all the days of my life. There has never been a time when I believed otherwise. Jesus has always been real to me.

My journey with God is a “by faith” kind of thing. A deeply rooted belief in something grander, someone Greater who keeps the ebb and flow of my days in check. Who simply says and IS, and therefore, is worthy of my believing.

There have been moments of clarity along the way. The well-worn paths to the altar of my surrender are stained with tears of deeply rooted repentance and understanding. Times when I have strengthened my faith with a more intentional and willing trust in a God who longs to consecrate my life toward holiness. But from the very beginning, my life has been filled a knowing perception of God.

I’m thankful for that. It’s been a gift that has spared me untold heartaches … of that I am sure. And while I’ve had some questions along the way, never have the answers (some obvious, some still awaiting their voice) swayed me in my belief of an unseen, yet profoundly “felt” God.

God and me … well, we just go together.

And lest you think it is pride thing—that somehow I think I hold the market on what it means to walk a life in complete faith and holiness—then you don’t really know me at all. For if you did, you would understand that it is only by God’s grace, only by this “going together” seemingly from my beginnings, that I’ve made it to my 43rd birthday with any “absolutes” in my bag. If God hadn’t presented Himself to me early on in my life, I’m confident that I wouldn’t be presenting Him to you as the Savior and Keeper of my soul. Why?

Because I love this world too much. I am easily enticed by its trappings. It invites me, tangles me, and has the propensity to hold me to the contrary of everything sacred. I know that we are all prone to our struggles along these lines, but, perhaps, there are those of us who struggle with it more profoundly. I am one such struggler. Accordingly, I’ve needed the grounding of my Easter morning birth.

To walk my life in the shadows of a splintered cross and an empty tomb has been to walk in Truth. It is the way of sacred pilgrimage. It has been my way, much as it has been the way of the ancients of old. The “by faith’s” of Hebrews 11—the Hall of Faith as it pertains to biblical history.

We don’t see ourselves there. Instead, we focus our attention on the names and the corresponding “stories” that are attached to those names: Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses’ parents, Moses, the Israelites, Joshua, Rahab, Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel, the prophets, the martyrs. Indeed, a list of worthy journeys … all marked by faith.

But if we stay mired in their stories, if for some reason we think that their journeys hold the market on faith and that ours could never follow suit, then we’ve missed an important part of Hebrews 11. Before any mention of the well-knowns from our spiritual history, we are there … listed as part of the faithful entourage.

“By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.” (Hebrews 11:3).

Did you catch it?

“By faith WE… .”

You and me, listed amongst the heroes of our ancestral faith. Why? Because we believe that our world was created by an unseen God, and that his saying so—his speaking it all into being—is more than enough to solidify our limited understanding into a rock solid faith that is worthy of a mention alongside the ancients of yesterday.

I’ve spent most of my forty-three years living by my middle name… Elaine. I’m good with that, at least in the temporal. But in the spiritual … in the way that my Father sees me on a daily basis? Well, I want to be known by my first name. I want my life to be rooted in a by Faith kind of understanding.

By faith …

Elaine lived, Elaine died, and Elaine rose again to see the fruition of her first name made sight and the fullness of her hope made certain.

It won’t be long in coming, friends. Maybe in this new year of life that I’ve been given. If not, then in a season to come. It matters not to me the day nor the hour. What matters to me is my confidence in its arrival. And by faith, I am believing God to be the sure and final outcome of my intentional and current trust.

I began my earthly life within the confines of a resurrection remembrance—an Easter Sunday morning forty-three years ago this day. I will begin my heavenly life with the same. With a resurrection of a new body in a new place where everyday lives like Easter.

By Faith, Elaine is going to get there. By faith, I pray you’ll get there too.

I love you precious friends. Thank you for sharing this pilgrimage with me. Take some time this weekend to find your name written within God’s Hall of Faith. If you know Jesus as your Savior, then you are there, verse three (write it down). By faith,believe it and receive with all the certainty of an Easter morning’s resurrection. I love you each one. As always,

PS: Many thanks to my Tuesday night Bible study girls for remembering me! You women have been so faithful to study and to live your God. Keep to it! (note the inscription on the cake…aren’t they awesome?!)

Sweet Trust

April 5, 2009

Then Jesus told them, ‘You are going to have the light just a little while longer. Walk while you have the light, before darkness overtakes you. The man who walks in the dark does not know where he is going. Put your trust in the light while you have it, so that you may become sons of light.’ … ” (John 12:35-36).

I watched him walk to her. She couldn’t make it to him. A stroke claimed her ability to do so.

Two years ago she would have been able to make that journey down the aisle to receive the bread and wine. Today she sat in stillness as it was brought to her, and all I could do was find my tears. I’m not sure anyone else noticed the blessed exchange between her “less” and God’s “more,” but for me it was a privileged invitation to sacred participation.

I amply partook, not just of the elements but of the moment that birthed a true witness to the beginnings of an Easter week … as to what it means to pilgrim from a palm branch to an empty tomb.

Remembrance.

It’s a remembrance that has been a part of Ms. Margaret’s ninety plus years on this earth. I don’t imagine that she’s missed many communions in that time. Because she currently resides in a local nursing home, she is no longer a regular attendee of our church gatherings. Today was the exception. For whatever reason, today was a day that allowed her to come home to a familiar pew and to dozens of familiar faces.

It was good to see her; not just her physical presence, but her faith that continues even though her flesh has relegated her to a state of seeming anonymity. Wheelchairs and inaudible speech cannot confine the witness of a heart that has been claimed by the cross of Jesus Christ. Despite her physical limitations, her spiritual vibrancy remains, and I, for one, am better for the beholding this day.

As I lingered in the moment, the familiar hymn written by missionary Louisa Stead accompanied my contemplation:

Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to take Him at His word;
Just to rest upon His promise;
Just to know “Thus saith the Lord.”

I’m so glad I learned to trust Thee,
Precious Jesus, Savior friend;
And I know that Thou are with me,
Wilt be with me to the end.

Jesus, Jesus how I trust Him!
How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er!
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!
O for grace to trust Him more.[i]

Sweet trust. That’s what I witnessed this morning. It is a trust that has been birthed between a daughter and her Father throughout nine decades worth of living. A trust that has lingered despite ample heartaches and debilitating health issues that have begged a heart to the contrary. A trust that simply and profoundly says that God’s Word is enough.

That God’s Word is worthy. That God’s Word is willing. And that God’s Word is “… with me, Wilt be with me to the end.”

I don’t know when that “end” will come for Ms. Margaret. I wouldn’t presume to take her one moment sooner from this earth than what God has allowed. Her life still breathes with kingdom purpose. And her King? Well, He’s marked her days from beginning to end, and for now … for this day and, perhaps, for this upcoming week, she’ll be allowed another journey of remembrance to the cross, to the tomb, and to the glorious awakening of an Easter morning.

It is my privilege to walk it with her. It is my joy to walk it with you, ye saints of God, as we boldly approach the throne of grace with a sweet trust that walks in surrendered faith knowing the One who awaits us at the end of the road.

And while Jesus no longer hangs in submission upon a tree, remembering Him there is the worthy pause of our hearts this day … the worthy pause of hearts for always.

The body of Christ, broken for you. The blood of Christ, poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.

Do it all … live it all, my friends, in remembrance of Him, and do it with a sweet trust that walks a lifetime with the complete confidence in an everlasting grace. This is our invitation to sacred participation; accordingly, may our feet be found on the road of remembrance this week. Thus, I pray…

Let nothing take my focus from your cross this week, Father. Let not the consumption of my “to do list” consume me to the point of forgetfulness. You are worthy of so much more from me. More of my time, more of my thoughts, more of my hands, and more of my heart. Forgive me for relegating your cross to an annual remembrance. May I never lose the wonder of its place in history and its hold over my heart. You have allowed me the daily privilege of lingering in its cleansing pour. Thank you for the blood that has amply paved the way home. Keep me to its path until I safely land at your feet in final resurrection. Amen.

[i] Robert J. Morgan, “Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus,” Then Sings My Soul (Thomas Nelson Publishers: Nashville, 2003), 210-211.

The Painful Truth

April 2, 2009

“Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?’ Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’” (John 14:5-6).

Her question paused my spirit last night. Not because I wasn’t prepared for its arrival, but rather because of the pain that was attached to its speaking. It is a pain that often fastens itself to questions that root the deepest—questions that linger hard and long in the murky waters of uncertainties. Questions that surround a soul with a needful longing for clarity. Questions that require our participation because our minds and our hearts are equally invested in the answers therein.

It’s not easy to entreat them … to be the recipient of hard questions. Still and yet, it is a privilege to be trusted with their asking, for in doing so, we are given the rare privilege of influence. Of speaking something of worth and value into a pain that is intent on consumption … on paralysis, on keeping a soul from moving beyond its confinement.

That is what I faced last night. A suffering moment that required a wisdom beyond my years and my limited understanding about why life sometimes seems to portion out raw and rough and rude, almost always with inadequate notice. Her question doesn’t breathe in isolation. I’ve been receiving many of them as of late. They seem to find me, despite my inability to “fix” anything to the contrary. And last night, as I tossed and turned and tumbled her question over in my mind, I had a thought as it pertains to this “answering” of pain. It has stayed with me throughout the day.

Pain deserves the truth. Not preferences.

Read it again, and pause to consider its worth.

Pain deserves the truth. Not preferences.

You and I are living in a pain-saturated society. If not our personal pain, then the pain of a people we love … a people we commune with, celebrate life with, go to church with, work with, shop with, “internet” with, share our resources with, partake in this world with. We are a people living with pain’s insistence, and when it comes knocking, it warrants our respect, our notice, and our involvement. It means to do so.

Pain’s knocking is our invitation to involvement. Rarely do we welcome its intrusion, but almost always are we forced to swallow its intention. Thus, pain deserves more than our menial attempts at soothing. Pain deserves more than our coddling preferences that band-aid the ache without ever touching the wound. Pain deserves more than our religious speak and our fast forward approaches to its release.

Pain deserves the truth.

And lest we think that any truth will do (for many are prone in their thinking that truth seeds relative), there is only one truth worthy of a pain’s trust … a pain’s receiving … a pain’s taking. It is not a truth embedded in philosophy. A truth not formulated by man’s attempt at having life make sense. A truth not vetted or promoted on the talk show circuit. A truth not rooted in a guru or a mantra or a set of rules for “becoming a better you.”

None of these “truths” are ample enough, strong enough, steady and sure enough to answer the problem of pain. They fall flat and soothe simple and, at the end of the day, inaccurately treat the intrusion of suffering.

Pain deserves better. Pain deserves the truth; not contradictions. Not maybes. Not a #1 best-seller, but rather, it deserves the certitude and confidence of all creation. Pain deserves the smoldering wick of an eternal flame—a truth that was lit on the front side of Genesis and that continues its watch through until forever. And that truth, my friends, does indeed exist. Truth has a name. It was given to Him before the very foundation of the world.

Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God.

The Word made flesh, living among us for a season; living within us for always through the power of his abiding and Holy Spirit. He is only Truth who is worthy of a pain’s holding. He is the only Truth who understands the depths of a pain’s intention.

Thus, when pain finds its way to our door, the only Truth that serves truthful, that proves useful, that lasts lasting, is the One who is well familiar with our griefs and our sufferings (Isaiah 53:3). He walked the road of suffering so that we could better walk ours. And if for some reason we think that our road should walk pain free, then we have missed a deeply rooted tenet of our faith.

To take up our cross and follow after Jesus is to resolutely walk the path of his intention (Luke 9:23-24, 1 Peter 4:12-13). To be like Jesus, we are called to walk like Jesus. And His walk, fellow pilgrims, was painted with suffering. Not suffering for suffering’s sake, but suffering for our sake, so that when it, too, becomes ours in smaller measure, we will better understand how to walk it through.

With a Truth that is transparent and real and willing to share in our sufferings and with a purpose that often times hides its intention but is, nevertheless, present and profitable for our sacred transformation.

Pain deserves the Truth. It deserves our notice, and then it deserves our release to the Truth. We may never understand pain’s grip on this side of eternity. We may never have the perfect words to offer on behalf of pain’s intrusion into the lives of others. But if we hold the light of Jesus Christ in our hearts, then we hold enough … more than enough … to lead us onward in victory.

Pain doesn’t get the final word in our many matters, friends. Neither do our preferences. Truth does. Thus, when pain comes knocking and brings her questions accordingly, may we always find our words and our trust anchored in the eternal Flame who lights us home and burns us brightly as we go. Thus, I pray…

Seed your Truth within my flesh, Father. Root Him deeply and burn Him brightly, regardless of the suffering going on around me and in me. Where there are questions, answer them with Truth. Where there are tears, dry them with Truth. Where there is suffering, cover it with Truth, and where there is doubt, replace it with the Truth. Keep my heart and my tongue ready with the Truth, so that on all occasions your Truth stands at the podium and my understanding submits to Truth’s shadows. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart, always be found acceptable in thy sight, Oh Lord, my Strength, my Redeemer, and my absolute Truth. Amen.

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Ruby Tuesdays: A Mighty Woman (part three)

March 31, 2009

Please join us over at Refreshmoments to read more Ruby Tuesdays’ posts. To read part one and two of my series, click here.

“She senses that her gain is good; Her lamp does not go out at night.” (Proverbs 31:18, NAS).
My lamp wants to.

Go out tonight.

But my heart refuses its dimming. Not because I don’t need it to; I need some rest. But rather because I have a stirring that forces my thoughts. A penned up feeling that has surfaced today; the first of its kind, at least as it pertains to this child. My second child. A boy who’s grown up too quickly and who, in two months time, will throw his cap into the air and declare his finish to his childhood.

I’ve been waiting for this feeling to surface all year, but for whatever reason, it waited until today to erupt. I was unprepared for its arrival and yet completely willing to entreat its sway over my mind and my emotion.

Butterflies.

Flutters of worry. Flutters of anxiety. Flutters of anticipation. Flutters of exultation. Flutters of “what’s next” and flutters about “how I’m going to walk this one through.” Flutters of all manner of feelings, rolled up into a few moments of pause.

It brought me to my knees and my tears accordingly. To my prayers and my hopes for how this thing … this future that remains to be seen … is going to shift my season, yet again. Two years ago, I walked this road with my first son. It was different then. Harder in many ways. Time has developed my trust for the process, especially because that time has been seasoned with good decisions and good provision that have grown us all in very good measure.

My gain has been very good. All those years of seeding the soil of my eldest son’s maturation have blossomed into a budding harvest of manhood. I imagine the same for my second son. I hope for it; I pray for it; I long for it to walk in similar and smooth transition.

It seems that it will, at least for today. Today, despite my flutters, the future seems to be narrowing—to be falling into sharper focus as to where my son will further his growing over the next four years. Four of the five colleges to which he’s applied have laid some ample offers at his feet. Good offers. Financial packages that we couldn’t have imagined for him on the front side of this process.

On the front side, we couldn’t see a way. With an older brother already in college and with us living within the budget of our single-family income, we couldn’t imagine how we would be able to afford him the education at the school of his choice. So I didn’t.

Imagine.

On the front side.

Instead, I simply left it in God’s hands.

Good hands. Hands that are completely capable and willing to hold the trust and faith of our hearts.

And now, on the backside of a strenuous and lengthy stretch, it seems that we will be able to afford them all. And the mighty woman in me, a woman longing to be found worthy of a ruby’s bestowing, is sensing a very good gain through the hands of a very good Father who understands the needs of his children and of his provision therein.

God has moved on behalf of our household, friends. And when I discerned it today, when I began to see the prayers of my long and deliberate trust beginning to unfold in our favor, all I could do was fall prey to my fluttering. From one emotion to the next until I found my knees and my subsequent thanks.

God gave me more than an answer today. He gave me the gift of faith … of seeing how my believing Him on the “front side” of an unknown can be walked in peace and assurance until the answer arrives.

Rarely have I done that. Rarely have I fully trusted Him with my prayers. Rarely have I believed that He was truly and faithfully going to work it all out. But this time—this season of trusting God with my son’s college outcome—was my rare exception. This time, I chose expectation over doubt. Faith over fear. Peace over panic. And tonight, from the backside, it seems to me to be a very good way to walk a journey.

In full assurance of a good gain because a good God stands at the helm.

Long ago and many seasons before this one, God lit his lamp within my heart. I’ve spent the better part of forty years tending to that wick. Some years have walked brightly. Some dim. Some pure. Some tainted. But all have walked with the possibility of a brilliantly lit faith. Today, my faith burned with a radiance that surpassed them all.

Today, faith grew, and tonight, God’s wick within me is flaming with a peace that has rarely been my portion. God has stoked my heart with a night’s burning that will remain, despite this body’s need for rest.

I can take that rest because my Father is faithful to tend to my all in my stead, on the front side of tomorrow … on the backside of today. My times are in his hands. So are yours. And that, my friends, is a good gain all the way around. As always,

~elaine

One

March 28, 2009

“Then Jesus came to them and said, ‘All authority in heaven and earth has been given to me. Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.’” (Matthew 28:18-20).

We share an unlikely friendship.

He is twenty plus years my junior, having grown and currently living in a world that stands in stark contrast to mine. We don’t look alike, talk alike, or share any commonalities beyond the one that we shared over eleven years ago.

A classroom.

I entered it as his teacher. He entered it as my student. And while the year would roll a little rough at times, what emerged from our nine months of “doing life” together, was a budding relationship that continues to this day. Today, it doesn’t look so much like it did back then.

Back then, he sat in the first row, front seat (a good place for a kid who is hard of hearing and even harder in taking instruction). Today he sits on the other side of a computer screen.

Back then, he could barely write cursive. Today, he’s mastered the keyboard.

Back then, he was mostly concerned with his being the class clown. Today, he’s mostly concerned about his being God’s man.

Back then, he was my third grade student. Today, he’s a college student.

Back then, he asked me about reading, writing, and arithmetic. Today, he asks me about more.

A bigger more. Issues that exceed the rudimentary. Things that surpass the boundaries of what’s “allowed” within the public school forum. Things about life and God and about how to write a mission statement for a ministry that he’s beginning with the focus of helping young boys in their becoming of Godly men. Things like that.

It is my privilege to enter into his need for my “more.” Not because I think that I am overly qualified to do so, but simply because I’m the one on the receiving end of his questions. To deny him my time, my attention, and my tutelage is to deny my responsibility in the carrying out the Great Commission—God’s mandate “to go and to make disciples of all nations.”

My young friend is but one life within that nation. One amidst many. I am called to that one. You are called to another one. Never is our “making” of disciples an en masse kind of production. Preaching en masse is appropriate. Teaching en masse all the more. But corporate discipling, I believe, misses the mark of God’s intention—God’s model for how this sacred shaping is to be done.

God’s theology of the one.

Hear now what the New Testament Lexical Aids have to say about the word “discipleship” (mathetheuo) as found in Matthew 28:19:

“The action of the verb describes much more than the mere academic impartation of information; one is doing more than simply instructing a pupil in a particular field of study or aiding a student in developing a certain vocational skill. Rather, the word suggests (in religious contexts) the deep shaping of character and the cultivation of a world-view through a close, personal relationship between the student and the teacher. The teacher is a mentor par excellence who seeks to stamp his image on his disciples and thereby enable them to participate in his life. For the goal of discipleship is not simply the attaining of information, but the experience and enjoyment of fellowship.”[i]

Jesus modeled this understanding of discipleship better than anyone. Yes, He would feed the crowds, teach the crowds, and even die before the crowds. But more than living his life out loud and in front of the crowds, Jesus’ life was lived within the context of the one-on-one relationships that were formed as he went and while on the go.

Those are the ones that we remember the most … the ones that stoke the fires of our sentiment and understanding. Why? Because when we see our Savior pause for the “one,” it emboldens our belief in his willingness to do the same for us … to come alongside and to disciple us accordingly. With his time and his attention, and with his tutelage about issues that extend beyond our rudimentary in order to root our lives in his sacred extraordinary.

To stay as we are … as we were at the moment of our salvation … is to miss out on the fullness of what it is to be a disciple of Jesus Christ. Thus, through the power of his Holy Spirit, God comes alongside to mentor us. He places others in our paths to do the same. He then charges us with the gift and responsibility to seed the equivalent in others.

One life at a time. One phone call at a time. One e-mail, one letter, one conversation, one “interruption,” and one prayer at a time. It’s a one-on-one kind of mentoring that exceeds our sometimes, en masse, preferences. After all, en masse reaches more. En masse is the stuff of accolades and building resumes and of seemingly doing more for the kingdom. But what is the worth of an en masse kind of discipleship that walks away and isn’t available for a hug or a prayer or a further word on a further matter?

I’m not dogging en masse. I’m simply saying that en masse doesn’t cut it when discipleship is required. Yes, it seeds the soil for further work, but if we are truly to grasp our role in God’s Great Commission, then we must be willing to put aside our en masse in order to attend to the discipling of the one.

All of us should have some “ones.” We cannot be all things to all people, but we can be the shepherd to some “ones.” And if we think that our calling is all about the masses, then we think shallow. Many can preach the kingdom of God, but rare are those who are willing to disciple His kingdom living into the hearts of a few “ones.”

Pulpits come and go, friends. Stages tear down and move on to another city. But the classroom of discipleship is always in session. It has nothing to do with platforms and report cards and the counting of sheep, but has everything to do with our commitment to intimate and intentional relationship with a few.

God’s theology of the one.

May we never get too busy or too big for our britches so as to neglect the needs of the one. Whether that one is a child, an adult, a family member, a stranger, or a student from days gone by, all “ones” matter in the building up of God’s kingdom. May our hearts and hands and feet be found upon the path of such a sacred and faithful “going” this day. It’s what our Jesus came to do. He’s charged us with the same.

Thus, let’s keep to it, friends, for the kingdom of God is near … closer now than it has ever been. My “ones” coupled with your “ones” coupled with your neighbor’s “ones” are the makings of a good party. And I, for one, cannot wait to see what heaven will birth accordingly. There is coming such a day. Even so I say, come quickly Lord Jesus!

As always,

~elaine

[i] Entry for “mathetheuo” from The New Testament Lexical Aids, NIV Key Word Study Bible (Chattanooga: AMG Publishers, 1996), 1647.

Copyright © March 2009 – Elaine Olsen

PS: The winner of the Starbuck’s gift card from my UBP post is #38, Stephanie from Truthsharer. Congrats, Stephanie! Please send me your snail mail via my email. For all of you, may the truth and hope of Easter be present in your Sabbath rest as we draw ever closer to the cross and our remembrance of Love’s redeeming work! Shalom.

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