Category Archives: pilgrimage

Lying Down . . .

 

I’m not a huge fan of the Academy Awards, not because I have anything against honoring quality art via the silver screen but mostly because of the seemingly endless parade of the self-impressed. Couple this with the fact that I haven’t seen ninety-nine percent of the movies up for awards, and well, let’s just say my interest peeks with the red carpet and its dazzling display of gowns.

I am, however, a fan of good words spoken at the right time. Certainly, movies are filled with many such moments, but when those moments happen off stage (when the actor removes the mask and throws the script to the sidelines in favor of real-life drama), I’m duly impressed by the dialogue. Such was the case with Daniel Day-Lewis following his 3rd Oscar win for his portrayal of Abraham Lincoln. Backstage after his win, Daniel was asked regarding his plans for the future, about what character he might like to play next. His response immediately gripped my heart:

“I need to lie down for a couple of years. It’s really hard to imagine doing anything after this.” (see source)

He’s going to lie down. Take a lengthy sabbatical with his family on his fifty acre farm south of Dublin, Ireland. Work on other things, like perfecting his cobbling (shoe-making) abilities or learning the rural skill of stonemasonry. Just “happily working away at other things.” (see source) Daniel Day-Lewis is going to lie down for a season, away from the stage and the bright lights of the big city.

What a wise choice.

I am challenged to follow his lead. Bright lights and big stages serve their purposes, but once the curtain goes down and the camera crew heads home, it’s time for a breather. Time to fuel up, rest up alongside the still waters where the only stage beneath my feet is carpeted with green pastures and the only light framing my steps radiates from the candle of the Shepherd.

My lengthy sabbatical with God to happily work away at other things.

Those things? Well, I don’t imagine it’s important to discuss them here. What is important is knowing that those things exist and that only by my lying down for a season will I be able to most happily, most agreeably engage with them. The good that grows in the pasture is not easily grown on the stage. Bright lights and big audiences—too much shine and too much recognition—dim the eyes and dull the senses, kind of like a blundering sheep in need of a wise Shepherd.

Life is changing for me . . . again. I must travel with the shifting wind, not against it. To fight my lying down is to relinquish the merry pleasures of rest. To linger on the stage after the curtain is drawn and the audience has departed is to stand alone and to feel lonely. But to leave with them? To trade in the stage for God’s greener pastures where dialogue is limited to just the Shepherd and me? Well I don’t suppose I’ve ever felt more enveloped in the fellowship of the Beloved.

I need to lie down for a while, friends. This doesn’t mean I won’t be here from time to time. Every sheep needs a flock, and you are mine. I simply need to give myself permission to happily work away at other things.

Soul things. Intimate things. God things.

Lying beside the still waters and on a blanket of green.

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

Five Years of Peace

Five years ago, I started this blog.

  • Five years.
  • Half a decade.
  • 1826 days.
  • One-ninth of my life.
  • 555 posts.

Who knew it could be done? I certainly didn’t . . . not back then. Back then, I was just a little girl dreaming about collected words—thoughts yet unreleased in the previous eight-ninths of my life. Back then, I didn’t know a thing about blogging; I just dove in one day, swimming in the thought of it all, and here I am, five years later still paddling my arms and drifting with the current wherever it carries me.

I never thought it would last this long. Never. Honestly, I never had a plan. I’ve just kept at it, one word at a time. Looking back, I’ve crammed a lot of life into these past five years and chronicled it accordingly. A recorded history of messy faith wrestled out in front of an audience.

Interesting then, that I should I come across a passage of scripture this week, undetected by me in the entirety of the nine-ninths known as my journey on planet earth.

“Here are the stages in the journey of the Israelites when they came out of Egypt by divisions under the leadership of Moses and Aaron. At the Lord’s command Moses recorded the stages of their journey. This is their journey in stages:” (Numbers 33:1-3, NIV)

A journey in stages. Forty years. Forty stops along the way. Chronicled at the command of the Lord. A recorded history of messy faith wrestled out in front of an audience—us.

Why? Because maybe, somewhere in the Israelites’ stages—those “starting places” according to the New American Standard Version of the Bible—we find ourselves, and we collect God’s strength for the journey ahead.

Our path to Canaan is not unlike the one the Israelites traveled. There are many stages along the way. Pauses that shape us; pauses that launch us. Starting places, not ending ones. No, never ending ones, not yet. The Lord hasn’t set us on this course to finish us here. Our finish comes later—in a stage just beyond this one. Until then, we mark our course, and we leave a trail of faith so that those who step behind us won’t have to wonder where we’re headed.

I suppose that’s the sum total of what’s been done over these past five years—this one-ninth of my recorded history. Stages and starting points of a messy, unglamorous faith. In it all, I hope that I’ve written more truth than fiction, more faith than doubt. Most importantly, I pray that these posts serve as sign-posts–not so much in regards to where I’ve been, but even more so to where I’m heading.

Thank you for walking alongside me, readers, and for allowing me to join you in your journeys of faith these past five years. It’s been a beautiful stage of grace, a starting point for many deep, enduring friendships. It’s hard for me to imagine another five years’ worth of words at this cyber address, so I won’t go there . . . won’t plan a moment of it. Instead, I’ll walk on in faith and with gratefulness for every seed of grace that’s grown in this place.

This is my journey in stages.

I walk it with Peace.

walk on . . .

“As long as you move, everything’s good.”

I welcome her encouragement, this guru of walking-at-home. Leslie Sansone has been a part of my life for many years now. And while I’m not completely convinced about her claims to Walk Away the Pounds or Walk Slim, I am convinced regarding her encouragement:

“As long as you move, everything’s good.”

I put this encouragement to the test a few weeks ago. With the onset of a new year, I decided to move in a new direction. High hopes accompanied me as I launched into a one-on-one session with Jillian Michaels and her 30 Day Shred. My hopes were summarily dashed within a couple of workouts. The only shredding that took place was inside my left knee; I’ve spent the last two weeks in a Futuro knee brace, nursing my pain along with my (uhh-hmm) . . . pride. Jillian and I have parted company, and Leslie has welcomed me back with open arms. At least with her, I’m able to keep moving forward rather than staying immobilized by a plan that will never move me farther than my couch.

Don’t misunderstand me. Not all pain is bad. Pain can be a strong motivator toward good. But when pain cripples the hope—when pain stops forward progression—it’s time to re-evaluate the plan. Time to dial it back a notch, look at the overall goal, and keep in stride with a battle strategy that makes good sense and that reinstates hope.

“As long as you move, everything’s good.”

I want to keep moving forward, and I desperately long for the good attached to that movement. Unfortunately, there are times in my life when my visioning jumps in front of reasonable capabilities. Times when I ignore my limitations and forge ahead of good sense. Instead of relying on proven, trustworthy methods for gaining optimal heart-health, I rely on lofty notions that (in the end) prove to me what I already know to be true . . .

Some plans aren’t meant for me. Some of them cripple me instead of developing me. Too much jumping and bending and straining in the wrong direction will limit me rather than improve me. Sometimes, the healthiest thing I can do for my body and, ultimately for my soul, is to anchor my will and my “want to” in what I know to be true.

“As long as you move, everything’s good.”

And so it goes. I walk on. One step at a time, one day at a time, keeping my pace steady and certain, knowing that movement wins and believing that as long as I’m giving my body, soul, and sweat to the task of heart-health, everything’s good, even when I can’t measure it.

Maybe today you’re jumping in the wrong direction; maybe your straining has landed you on the couch—an unexpected detour in your plans for a better you. You meant well, thought it was the right move, but instead of tangible gain, you’re left holding the shreds of disappointment. What you had hoped to accomplish is, instead, simmering as failure in and around your spirit. You’ve lost your “want to”, and the funny thing is you can’t even pinpoint where it all went wrong, especially because you meant for it all to finish very right.

I’m sorry, friend. Truly I am. I know this present pain of body, soul, and spirit. And so today, might I offer you (even as I am offering myself) a tender hug as well as a gentle encouragement?

“As long as you move, everything’s good.” Ditch what’s crippling you and, as an alternative, walk back to what’s reliable. Walk back to what’s proven in order to walk forward with what’s true. Don’t be sidelined by your pain; instead, keep moving. Move with the One who brought you, and surely his goodness and mercy will follow you–carry and strengthen you–all the days your life. And we’ll all dwell in the house of the Lord forever!

Movement wins. I promise. Keep to it. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

on finding what’s lost . . .

Every now and again, you find something you weren’t looking for—a surprise tucked into routine. Sometimes the discovery proffers pain; sometimes promise. Today I straddle the fence between both of them, pain and promise. Let me explain.

For over a week now, we’ve been scouring the nooks and crannies of our home looking for a misplaced video camera. We haven’t seen it since our moving here nearly three years ago, with little to no distress regarding its absence. Why the urgency now? Well, my son would like an IPod, and we wanted to make this happen as cheaply as possible. Accordingly, a trade-in at the local pawn shop seemed in order—a rarely used camcorder for a gently used IPod. Thus, the search began.

Yesterday, after piecing through every single box in our attic, under our beds, and in our closets (to no avail), I sat down in the den, staring at the television in the corner of the room. Slowly, a thought emerged: Maybe it’s in there (“there” being the antique trunk that serves as the entertainment center beneath our television). Figures. The forgotten treasure was right in front of me all along; I just didn’t have the eyes or the inclination to see it.

The like-new camcorder was found, along with the original box and accessories. Delighted with the discovery, my husband began the delicate process of repackaging it for resale; I had a further thought: Maybe there’s some footage on that camera that needs to be erased before its relocation. Maybe there’s a forgotten story or two that we pushed aside in an earlier season, leaving it to marinate and simmer on a 4GB scan disk for later retrieval.

To my surprise, there was some forgotten footage—two stories; one in particular that struck my heart with both pain and promise—a video clip in 2009 of a speaking engagement at Little River UMC. I spoke twice that day, a morning and afternoon session. In hindsight, I recall uploading the afternoon talk to my computer and tweaking it for promotional purposes, but I never did anything with the first session . . . until now, nearly four years later.

What makes that day significant for me (and the many weeks of prep work leading up to it), is that my focus for the event was the underpinning for the manuscript I would write over the next several months entitled On Walkabout with the King. I finished that work with firm and good intentions of getting it into the hands of publishers. But then, life happened—a ministry move, cancer, the writing of Beyond Cancer’s Scars, and homeschooling. So, I shoved it aside, a purple binder filled with 50,000 words about my struggle to make peace between my “Faith” and my “Elaine” (for those of you who don’t know, my name is Faith Elaine).

And just last night, I struggled with it all over again. I listened to the passion and purpose in my heart from 2009, and I wept over and wondered about the woman talking back at me—the one with hair, a slimmer frame, and well, a couple of other things.

Is she still here? Does the flame still burn as vibrantly as it once did?

Tough questions. Ones with which I’m willing to wrestle. And so, I give you this clip this morning, even as I give it to myself—a few words about faith, solidly anchored in the faith of our spiritual ancestors as chronicled in the great Hebrews’ “Hall of Faith.” Indeed . . . every now and again, you find something you weren’t looking for—a surprise tucked into routine. Sometimes the discovery proffers pain; sometimes promise. Today I straddle the fence between both of them, pain and promise.

If you’re so inclined, I invite you to pull up a chair, grab a cup of your preference, and open up God’s Word to Hebrews 11. Maybe, just maybe, there is a forgotten story you tucked away in an earlier season that needs remembering. Maybe it’s in there, hiding and simmering deep within you, waiting for re-discovery. Today, I join you at the table, and I promise to keep you close in my heart as we wrestle the thing out. You are never far from my thoughts.

PS: Congrats to Leah! She is the winner of the audio CD of Alicia Chole’s Anonymous.

Main . . .

I gently reached down and touched her chapped hands. Tenderly they rested on the pew in front of us as we chorused our way through five verses of “We Three Kings.” Her hands have grown over the years, no longer balled into tiny fists; no longer reaching outward to explore a rattler or a peg board. Time has shaped her hands in accordance with the calendar, but I will always recognize them. No matter the weathering that life may bring to them, my daughter’s hands are forever burned into memory. As I stood alongside my Amelia and bravely sang the stanzas, I pondered this heart truth from my friend, Alicia:

This is“main” (Anonymous, pp. 18 – 21). “Main is not behind us. Nor is main way out ahead of us.” (Anonymous, p. 21) Yes! This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Not tomorrow’s soon-to-be; not yesterday’s once-was. No, those moments aren’t here for me to hold. This one is. This is main. And this is enough.

I spent a lot of my earlier years striving for the main of my tomorrows. It would be easy for me to conclude (in these my latter years) that main has already been . . . that at forty-six, I’ve had my main moments. The rest of them, what’s left? Perhaps the crumbs or the last scrape of batter from the cake bowl. That’s what the world would have me to believe, the enemy as well. But God’s belief system takes a grand departure from the ordinary. God has something more to say about my main.

“I tell you, now is the time of God’s favor, now is the day of salvation.” (2 Cor. 6:2)

Now. Not yesterday; not tomorrow. Now salvation. Now deliverance. Now preservation. Now safety.

Now . . . Jesus.

There’s no greater main than Jesus. Hold him—touch his weathered hands while chorusing his weathered journey—and all moments become sacredly main.

Less looking back at a past hard to remember. Less staring into a future not easily predicted. Instead, more . . .  beautifully more, gazing into the moment right in front of me. In a pew; at the kitchen sink; sitting in traffic; under the covers; while conversing with a good book, a good friend, even with a blank computer screen. Wherever I am and whatever my hands find to do, these are all main because God is there with me. To delight in him and with him, even in the seemingly mundane, makes all of life a grand and glorious celebration. I’m not there yet, but I’m not far from taking hold of it.

“Glorious now behold Him arise,

King and God and Sacrifice;

Alleluia, Alleluia!

Earth to heaven replies.

O star of wonder, star of night,

Star with royal beauty bright;

Westward leading, still proceeding,

Guide us to thy perfect light.”

His star still leads me, and the earthly in me still cries out to the heavenly in him . . .

“Guide me, precious Jesus, to your perfect light.”

Today is main, no matter the moments in front of us, friends. Receive them sacredly, grasp them tenderly, and protect them fiercely. God’s light shines in them all. As always . . .

Peace for the journey,

PS: Today I have the privilege of making available to one of you, the audio version of Anonymous: Jesus’ Hidden Years and Yours by Alicia Chole. Leave a comment today, sharing with me about living your main in the mundane. Where have you found Jesus today? I’ll draw a winner with my next post. Shalom.

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