rest | Elaine Olsen

Come, Tarry, Go

December 1, 2008

“‘If you keep your feet from breaking the Sabbath and from doing as you please on my holy day, if you call the Sabbath a delight and the LORD’s holy day honorable, and if you honor it by not going your own way and not doing as you please or speaking idle words, then you will find your joy in the LORD, and I will cause you to ride on the heights of the land and to feast on the inheritance of your father Jacob.’ The mouth of the LORD has spoken.” (Isaiah 58:13-14).

I remember the moment … as vividly as it breathed when I was five. I leaned over to my mother and asked her to read me the words that were beyond my articulation—three little words etched at the base of the stained-glass cross which adorned the front of our sanctuary.

“Come. Tarry. Go,” she replied. “It means you come, you stay awhile, and then you leave.”

I feel the warmth of her breath in this moment of recall. Those words and that cross have shadowed my steps ever since. I felt them profoundly today, as I participated in a doing I’ve been doing for my entire life. A doing that has carved me … etched me … filled me with the significance of my sacred worth. A doing that sometimes requires …

faith over feeling.
mind over matter.
willingness over weariness.

Today, my feet pilgrimed to God’s house for a Sabbath observance. Not because I felt like it; my feelings would have left me as I was—in bed and nursing a cough and sore throat that, perhaps, warranted my absence. No, this morning’s arrival at my church had nothing to do with my flesh and everything to do with my feet’s submission to a heart’s obedience.

Today, I walked to Jesus. Intentionally and dressed in my best simply because he is worthy. Any other half-hearted attempt at honoring him would be just that—half-hearted and less than and a whole lot like the world’s painting of a Sunday’s worth. A worth that levels toward self-soothing and doing as one pleases, rather than regarding the better necessary–that which leads a heart to worship.

And therein lies the seeding of my nearly four decades’ worth of faith.

What pleases me is doing what pleases God. And what pleases God is my honoring of him. My recognizing of his relevant and extravagant grace and how far it has traveled on my behalf. To a cross where he willingly came, sacrificially tarried, and resolutely departed once love’s redeeming work had walked its course.

His pause at Calvary means everything to me. The longer I walk with Jesus, the more I understand the depth of his gift. I didn’t understand it at five years old. I’m not sure I fully understand it now, but lingering in the shadow of the cross compels me to make the journey. Not because it needs my reverence, but rather because I need its reminder.

Thus, I come to the cross on Sundays. I tarry beneath its lavish grace that allows me my remembrance and that fuels my going forth in the week that lies ahead.

It’s not overly profound, and to some, it might seem rather perfunctory. Rather routine and packed with obligation, but when I consider what’s been wrought on my behalf, how foolish would I be to act to the contrary? To choose my pleasing over God’s pleasure? To walk as if my honor is worthy of more homage than his?

Doing life with Jesus has always been my privilege. It’s been yours too, but all too often, our gratitude walks in stark contrast to grace’s dispensation. Instead of finding our footing at Christ’s feet, we allow our flesh the wisdom to walk its intelligence. The problem with fleshly “wisdom” is that is will always choose self over the sacred—my pleasing over God’s.

And when a Sabbath day begins to look like every other day, when we refuse to give a moment’s tarry to the One who tarried long and deliberate in our stead, then we have not only forsaken our first love, but we have robbed ourselves of the rightful inheritance that is ours as children of the living God.

Jesus Christ.

He is our lasting and very great reward (Genesis 15:1). Spending time with him in intentional and deliberate worship is never wasted. It’s life-giving and heart-changing and moves our faith into a deeper place of obedience and understanding. Coming to the cross and tarrying with our Father in his truth, enables our go—our moving on and our moving out to spread the witness of his love. Without such pause, our lives breathe void of the power that comes from contemplated remembrance.

Today I remembered. I walked to God’s house, alongside my family, and took time to hear my mother’s words ringing in my ears even as they did in my long ago and far away. They still sing true. They still whisper fresh. They still and will forever be the remembrance of grace that shadows my steps until I reach the throne of heaven and sit at my Father’s feet for always.

Come. Tarry. Go.

A worthy obedience. A worthy Reward. Thus I pray…

Thank you, Father, for a Sabbath’s pause that allows me your gracious remembrance. Forgive me when I deem “my pleasing” as more substantial than yours. Yours fuels my forever with the only truth that seeds everlasting. May my coming and my tarrying always reflect the deep grace that I have known, and may my going always reflect my attending therein. Thank you for the cross, for love’s redeeming work, and for your Son’s obedience to both. And thank you for parents who took me to church, who filled my heart with the witness of your love, and who spoke the truth of a stained glass cross with every stepped submission of their journey. You graced me much when you gave me their arms. Amen.

Copyright © November 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved

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Raising Faith (part twelve): Embracing Your Rest

October 12, 2008

“Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken. My salvation and my honor depend on him, for God is our refuge. Lowborn men are but a breath, the highborn are but a lie; if weighed on a balance, they are nothing; together they are only a breath.” (Psalm 62:5-9).

“Momma, I’m glad we’re going home.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I need to stop the fun for awhile because I am so tired.”

“I understand, honey; mommy’s tired too.”

Those were her words today while driving home from grandma and grandpa’s. Two days of non-stop entertainment with the full attention of grandparents has a way of wearing out the most willing of participants. Like us, I am sure they are resting well tonight, in the comfort of quiet and with their routine returning to usual. My daughter and son love visits with their grandparents. Why?

Because of the attention. Because of the intentional effort put into their visits. Because sometimes, grandmas and grandpas better understand the value of time and the giving of it therein.

They’re not too busy, too bothered, or too bogged down with the world’s agenda so as to neglect their gift of influence upon another generation. They are on the backside of some valuable lessons that have taught them to appreciate the simple joy of investing in our Father’s most precious commodity—human life.

But investing, both in the lives of children and in adults, comes with a price tag. It often invests tired and weary and with the aches and pains of knees that prefer the couch rather than the floor or the baseball field in the backyard. It requires that the will supersedes the flesh, especially when the flesh is crying out for some quiet amidst the invasion of words that so adequately flow from an endless supply of questions and needs that refuse their silence. It requires an open mind and welcoming arms, even when ideas don’t match and visions don’t level the same.

Investing in people is hard work. But it is God’s work for each one of us. Our holy requirement as participants in the Great Commission … as priests in the household of believers. He means for it to cost us something. Not because he relishes our slavery to the task, but rather because he delights in the lives of his creation and in giving each one of us the privilege of savoring accordingly. Simply put,

We don’t have to invest in people. We are given the delightful freedom to do so.

That being said, Jesus understands our weary. He spent his earthly pilgrimage investing in the lives of people. On many occasions, his need for solace would require his absence from people. He wasn’t afraid to tend to this need. Many places in Scripture record him pulling away from the crowds to find his soul’s peace with his Father in private (Matthew 14:13; Mark 1:35; Mark 6:31-32; Luke 4:42; Luke 5:15-16).

Just like my daughter’s need to rest from the joy of relational output, Jesus, too, needed his rest from the crowds. Time with his Father in quiet solitude was like going home for Jesus. Why?

Because of the attention his Father gave him. Because of the intentional efforts of renewal afforded him in the pause. Because God better understands the kingdom value of what time with him will seed:

Rest.
Renewal.
Rebirth.
Refocus.

Further investment in the stuff that really matters.

I understand my daughter’s need for the journey home. The excitement that surrounded her departure from our routine and our very scheduled life was matched by her enthusiasm to return to the same. She loves coming home to rest, and so do I. We are a people who need our Father’s rest. But in between the going and the coming?

Lots of fun. Relationships that count. Love that grows and hearts that better understand how kingdom investing really breathes.

I don’t know how this strikes you today. We all, every last one of us, are heading home. This life is but a breath, whether we are “highborn” or of lowly estate. The clock is ticking and our weary will soon be laid to rest at the gates of heaven. What we do here matters for all of eternity. The privilege of sacred investment is a gift to us from our Father. What we choose to do with such influence is left to our discretion. He will never force us to seed his grace and love into the lives of others.

But he wants us to. Not because our crowns will boast heavier and more bedazzled with the jewels of his favor, but rather because he has seeded his grace and love into our hearts through the unimaginable gift of Calvary’s cross. And that kind of investment, my friends, should shake our complacency and force our knees to the floor in gratitude and toward the intentional sowing of Godly influence into the hearts of others, especially our children.

Perhaps, like my daughter, you are in need of some rest this day. You’ve played hard and loved real. You’re routine has been blessed with the interruption of relationship, and you are weary from the doing. Your Father is calling you home for some solace and some attention. He understands your requirement, and he is ready to touch your tired with the sacred salve of his perfect intention. Come home to Jesus, and find your soul’s peace. He is waiting to invest his love into you. Thus, I pray…

Give us the wisdom, Father, to know when we are in need of your rest. You, alone, are our rock and our fortress and the seeding of our strengthened hope. Forgive me when I fail to come and when I falter in loving others because I have neglected my time with you. My life is but a breath, but for as long as I am breathing its measure, I want to spend it wisely and with your perfect intention guiding my steps and blessing my obedience. Thank you for the privilege of investing your love into the lives of others and for the privilege of sitting at your feet to receive the same. May Sabbath rest be my portion this day. Amen.

Pressing In

September 29, 2008

“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do; Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:12-14).

It’s an old truck that has been in the family for over fifteen years now, passed down through the hands of a father to his son, to his daughter, to her son, and then to another one of her sons. Four generations of a family have sat behind the wheel of this ’93 Chevy pick-up truck.

The world would level its worth as little more than scrap metal—old and washed up and one step away from a junk yard’s grave. But to my family, well, we level its worth a bit higher. Not because of its beauty, but rather because of its bloodlines. This truck originated with my Grandpa Al. He would only drive it a year before he passed away. My father then took ownership of it for several years until my eldest son was eligible to drive.

It seemed reasonable that he be allowed this “junker” to serve as his training ground for better things … better rides down the road. It did and has now been passed onto his younger brother who has given our treasured piece of family history a good and steady workout. Through all generations, the truck has been faithful to render its services whenever and wherever needed.

So what does one do with this faithful servant who’s been…

driven hard,
regularly neglected,
taken for granted,
looked upon with little regard,

until finally an accident causes its bumper to be pried away from the frame? What does one do with a fifteen year old vehicle that’s logged in over 100,000 miles, whose air-condition no longer works, and who hardly seems worthy of an expensive repair?

What do you do with an old faithful truck that’s in need of some servicing, even though the bank account dictates otherwise? I’ll tell you what you do.

You press it into an old faithful tree—one that can absorb the shock and that can realign the bumper back alongside its original frame.

It may not be picture perfect, but the tree coupled with the willing obedience to “press in”, yields a drivable vehicle that will service this family for a season longer, perhaps even a generation somewhere down the road.

As it is with our truck, so it is with me; perhaps, even with you.

What do we do when our frames begin to show the weary of a hard drive? A regular neglect? A taking for granted? A little regard for our necessary when so much more is needed?

What do we do when an accident pries our hearts away from the original frame—the Author of our frames? How do we respond when we know that a heart’s servicing is necessary, but when the bank account levels empty and incapable of such a transaction?

I tell you what I did.

I pressed into an old faithful tree—one that absorbed the shock on my behalf over 2000 years ago and Who is more than capable of my realignment every time that I am willing press into a necessary obedience.

It may not yield a full perfection at this time. But it’s coming. If not here, then there. And the time lived in between the two—my now and my next—I’m pressing in and I’m pressing on to take hold of everything for which Christ Jesus has taken hold of me. I am not sure what my “everything” looks like; in fact, I am fairly confident that God means for much of it to remain veiled. Why?

Because that which remains unseen is that which grows my faith.

When I cannot see beyond the fog that surrounds me, tree pressing becomes my required necessary. When my plans cannot be managed or manipulated by my well-intentioned will, God presses the issue by urging me toward an intentional pause and by asking me to trust him with a fast from the world’s noisy insistence.

There is strength to found in the silence, my friends. Deeply rooted strength that comes with spending time at the foot of God’s tree. I’ve found his strength again this past week, as I have waited before him in silence. It’s never been absent or unavailable to me. But I have been.

Absent and unavailable.

In part, because my priorities have been derailed. But mostly, in part, because I have traded in the sweet sound of his voice for the resounding gongs and clanging cymbals of the world’s shout.

It sometimes takes a fast to recognize the difference. And by pressing into God’s tree this week, I have witnessed the profound extreme between the two. I am no longer willing to make that trade because the melody that I recovered in this time is the sacred chorus that claimed my heart as a child. It has kept my singing for nearly four decades now and will keep me drivable—in good working order—and will service this heart for a season longer, perhaps even for the generation that is soon to follow.

I don’t know how your truck is driving this week, but if you are feeling a bit old and worn and pried away from your sacred frame, let my lesson be yours. If God is urging you toward an intentional pause, press into his tree and then press in some more until he re-aligns your heart with his. He can absorb our pain; this has always been the intention of the Calvary tree that he planted on our behalf over 2000 years ago.

Press in, child of God. Press on. Move on and take hold of all of that for which Christ Jesus has taken hold of you. Glorious perfection. Yours and mine, and thus I pray…

Pause me in silence, Father, each and every day for the sweet revelation of your voice. When I allow the world’s noise to drown out your melody, shut me down and bring me to surrender at the foot of your cross. Strengthen my frame for holy submission and press into my flesh the splintered reminder of the price you paid for my re-alignment. May I never lose the wonder of your cross and the glorious participation of your presence in my life. Never again, Father. Never again. So be it. Amen.

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

~elaine

It’s so good to be back with you; that being said, you can expect that I come back with some new parameters for blogging. You can expect to see me here twice a week, unless I have a spectacular urging from God that refuses my silence! I will be over to see you too, but with a much more reasonable approach. Thanks for your prayers. God’s been so faithful. You are all wecome here, and I value your presence in my life! Shalom.

An Intentional Pause

September 22, 2008

“‘I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.’” (John 15:5-8).

Rest. Renewal. Remaining in relationship.

We all need it. We all crave it, but rarely do we ever take the necessary steps to receive it. If not guarded and carefully tended to, our soul’s can crack with the dry and withered weary from our well-intentioned doing.

I’m there, friends. And my necessary and much needed portion requires that I step away from the computer in intentional pause to find some…

peace…

for my journey.

What good would I be to God or to you if I didn’t heed the urging that he’s been scripting into my soul for over two weeks now? What hypocrisy would be lived in me if I urged you toward peace in your journey but refused the steps to find my own?

I want my talk to match my walk, and so for the next week or so, I will be selectively guarding my time and tending to my “remaining” and my “attachment” to the Vine. It’s not that I don’t want to be here with you; it’s simply and profoundly because my desire to be with Him is greater. Some days, those desires coincide and weave together in beautiful measure. These are times of wonderful fruit bearing; but when the fruit bears less, it’s time to step back.

To re-evaluate and to refresh.

Seven months ago, I began this blogging journey; I couldn’t have imagined then what it would birth inside of me. The growth I have known on a personal level has yielded an orchard! It’s been fun to watch, and even greater to write. From its earliest inception, Peace for the Journey, has always breathed with the intention of allowing readers to pause from the ordinary and to partake of the Extraordinary—a relationship with Jesus Christ.

Jesus is our Peace, and the only way we will ever walk in his peace, is to tend to our souls. Keeping our lives on the journey toward peace means keeping to Jesus. The easiest way that I have found to do this, is to be in his Word. Daily. Learning and striving to implement his Word at a deeper level that roots rather than blows away with the first sign of conflict and confusion.

I’ll be honest. It would be easier to write about other things on this blog. I could rant and rave about a great many things (from the mundane to the complex), but one more voice simply adds to the noise, and quite frankly, nothing from my kitchen or my chaotic life would warrant your need to take notes. The world is noisy enough, and my life is simply not that exciting. Writing about it would put me to sleep.

It would be easier…require less of me…but friends, I’ve spent the better part of my 42 years walking my easy and my less. I am no longer content to do so. Does it make me popular in blog land? Perhaps not. But blog land is not my end. Jesus is, and I am done making apologies for my trying to lead you toward his end.

Thus, when I return, you can expect more of the same. My focus will not change. My parameters—my boundaries for doing this thing called “blogging”—have to change. It’s become too important to me, and it has consumed far too much of my time. That being said, I will be back. As my dear friend, Judith told me the other day on the phone…

Elaine, you write to live! I celebrate that God-given gift and will continue to honor it via my words for as long as my Father allows me the pen.

I want to personally take a moment to thank my friends who have taken some time this week to speak words of life over my weary spirit. Lisa, Judith, Joy, and Pastor Guillermo (aka: “preacher Billy”; further aka: “my man”) you have been the breath of Jesus to me, and I am forever grateful for being able to share my journey with people who aren’t afraid to reach beyond blogging and to get their hands “dirty” with the likes of me. God bless you each with a rich sense of purpose as you continue to minister to others on the journey. He’s allowed you some fruit bearing upon the soil of my heart this week.

One final thought, readers (I feel like a mother getting ready for a vacation—leaving you a “checklist” in my absence)…

Never fear tending to your soul. Never worry about what might be required of you. Your temporary sacrifice is worth the forever gain that comes with seeking Jesus. Don’t be afraid to step away from the table and to get down to the business of your heart. God’s never been after your performance. He’s after your personal.

Your rest. Your renewal. Your remaining in relationship with Him. All of which can be cultivated and found as we pause to embrace his Peace…

for the journey. Yours and mine.

I will see you soon. In the meantime, for those of you who are willing, I would appreciate your prayers on my behalf as I seek my Father’s face and his intentions for my “next.” As always…

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Packing Up a Vacation…Punctuating a Week

June 29, 2008

“You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.” (Isaiah 55:12).

I was ready to come home. Sort of. Vacation is always a mixed bag of everything for me. Good, along with the bad, and a whole lot of other that rests in between.

I was tired going into our trip. I am even more tired coming out of it, and even now I can barely muster the strength for a complete thought. But there is a lingering thought…one final memory of our time in Gatlinburg, that I find worthy of my pen this night.

Trees.

I spent some time with them yesterday afternoon. A storm was brewing—the kind of storm that smells before it swells. I knew that my moments of outdoor devotion would be brief. I am not a storm girl. They frighten me, but yesterday I found my strength in their embrace. I grabbed my Bible and headed out to the deck of our mountain loft. The hot and humid of a June afternoon gave way to the cool and breeze of a better wind.

And through my cluttered and chaotic, God used his trees to teach me a few things about clutter free living. Things like…

Trees are rooted for the wind. Rarely, if never, do they break with the wind’s embrace.

Trees are the instruments of the wind. When the force of a wind caresses the limbs of its instrument, the melody is magical.

Trees rhythm with the wind. They don’t bobble and bumble their way through the song. They sway in step with their conductor.

Trees bend with the wind. For the touching forth and the falling back and the rebounding to center.

Trees are content to share the stage with the wind’s choice of companions. Rarely is its song a solo act.

Trees sing regardless of the wind. Each and every spring they burst onto the scene, budded for new life. Each and every fall, they take to their hiddenness with the barren embrace of a winter’s calling. In season and out, trees are steadfast and true. They do not worry about a spring’s budding or a fall’s stripping. They simply are. They trust God for the song.

Trees have longevity, despite the wind. They’ve been around for a long time. They were the pronounced goodness of a Father’s third day extravaganza. They will follow us all the way to heaven.

Trees submit to the wind. Not begrudgingly, but with the bending and blending of voices that sing in perfect song to the God who made them for his renown because…

Trees understand that their voice sings because of the wind. Left in stillness, their song remains as silent.

Trees and wind. A sometimes unwelcomed coupling.

To the novice—to those untrained in the melodies of creation—a tree’s rustling sounds like little more than the approach of an oncoming storm. But to me, a lover of creation and one in search of the sacred song, the rhythm of the trees sounds like the chorus of heaven.

And in the pause of a yesterday’s shower, I was reminded that there is song that exists apart from me. A song that is sung, sometimes, in spite of me. A song that will continue to sing, not because of me, but because of the One who commissioned its voice for such adoration.

Trees do not sing for man’s approval. They simply sing because our Father has given them the voice to praise. And on the eve of a vacation’s ending, I stepped away from my usual—my crazy and my chaos—to participate in the chorus of the unusual.

It is a song that never grows old. A song that always sings pure. A song that fully and most assuredly breathes grace. And even though I’m home now, if I listen closely…close my eyes and focus tightly…

I can hear the rustled melody of my Father’s kingdom chorus as I walk my way to sleep.

What a perfectly, satisfying way to pack up my vacation and to punctuate my week. And so I pray…

Thank you, Father, for the chorus of your creation that bursts onto my scene everyday and begs for my notice. Open my eyes to see the beauty of your handiwork. Open my ears to hear the chorus of you melody. Open my mouth to taste of your goodness. Open my senses to feel and to smell the splendor of your creative genius, and open my heart to receive the fullness your presence. And when I forget to sing your praises, Lord, stir your trees in my absence. Let all creation voice the truth of who you are. You, alone, are worthy of all my praise. Amen.

Category Archives: rest