theology | Elaine Olsen

"Who Touched Me?": a bleeding issue

August 7, 2008

“As Jesus was on his way, the crowds almost crushed him. And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years, but no one could heal her. She came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped. ‘Who touched me?’ Jesus asked. When they all denied it, Peter said, ‘Master, the people are crowding and pressing against you.’ But Jesus said, ‘Someone touched me; I know that power has gone out of me.’” (Luke 8:42-46).

She had an “issue.“

I have mine. You have yours.

Hers was blood. Ours are other things—blacks and blues and hues of all manner of issues. Regardless of their color, they still bleed red. And if not tended to by the Healer, they will continue their hemorrhage toward eventual destruction.

I know. I suffer with an “issue” right now. And in the midst of my flowing pain, I walked a story tonight that spoke a tender portion of healing truth over my wounds.

The stage?

None other than the Vacation Bible School drama room.

The story?

The woman with the “issue” of blood.

The actors?

Me and Jesus, where the only “issue” that mattered was the one going on within my heart.

In all my decades of doing VBS, no other night has been more profound than this one. Somewhere in the middle of narrating the drama and acting as the lead participant, God dealt with my heart in pure measure. I told the children about my issue of bleeding. About my unclean status and poverty of soul. About my shame and embarrassment over a wound that refused to find its healing. About the man named Jesus who was rumored to be a healer…a water walker…a feeder of 5000.

About how I wished for his notice. His touch. His time and his healing. About the crowds and about a man named Jairus whose needs rated higher than mine. About my diminishing expectations for a miracle as I watched this Jesus pass me by.

He did pass me by, and then I did something I thought I would never have the courage to do.

I reached. I took hold of the hem of his garment. Some call this “him” Preacher Billy. But in that moment, the robe that I held in my hands belonged to Jesus. I gripped tightly, even as the word in the original Greek, haptomai, indicates (“to fasten oneself to; adhere to, cling to.”).

This was no casual hold. This was a grasping of the divine, believing that with the hold comes healing.

Tears poured down my cheeks as I clung to the hem of my husband’s dressing. Children were stunned. Some chuckled, perhaps thinking I had played my part to the tee. The older children—those adults who have come to VBS this week to offer their willing participation as chaperones—well, they knew better. They know me better. Kingdom work was at hand. If not in the hearts of the children, then certainly in the heart of this grown woman.

And for a few brief moments, I caught a glimpse of an eternal teaching that is meant for each one of us tonight. It comes in the form of question. A divine invitation for all of God’s children to join him in sacred dialogue.

Who touched me?

These three simple words hold the answer for our healing. Jesus’ question embodies his theology of faith…of believing that what is required for our wholeness resides at the end of our arms.

Our grasp.

Our healing from Jesus comes with initiative. With our asking. With our faith-filled approach to the Son of God, even when the current chaos competes for his attention. With our crawling, if need be, to get to his feet. With the thrust of a hand through the tangle of robes, believing that a garment’s edge is more than enough to garner the favor and blessing of God.

Who touched me?

The who in Jesus’ question is each one of us. The me in the question is him. And the word in between—touched—is the bridge that connects all things temporal to the eternal healing of heaven.

We must be willing to reach in order to receive. As Oswald Chamber so eloquently states, “Our reach must exceed our grasp.” We’ve got to move beyond our tight-fisted clenching and our childish thinking that keeps us on the sidelines self medicating our wounds because the reach seems too risky. Too vulnerable. Too trusting for an “issue” that has become our constant shadow. Maybe for years. Maybe even for twelve. Perhaps, even for more than we care to number.

We’ve grown accustomed to our constant until we no longer believe in the prospect of change. Our faith is buried deeply beneath our wounds so that when Jesus passes by for the grasping, he rarely garners our notice.

Let it not be so, my friends. Let us never get so caught up in our pain that we fail to see our Jesus when he walks our way. Let’s not wait for our faith to be big before we reach. Let’s reach now…even in our little. Let’s strip away the intrigue and the mystery of our need, and let’s take hold of his hem while we can. Even when bloody and barren and broken, let us boldly stretch these arms through the pressing of the crowds so that we, too, can know the power of a Father’s healing touch.

Who touched me?

How would you answer? How long has it been since you activated your faith by stretching forth your hand and taking hold of Him…even when it was hard and heavy and seemingly hopeless? Your answer to Christ’s question embodies your theology of faith.

You will never be able to respond to his inquiry until you have actually touched him, tasted him, and held the power of his resurrecting grace as your own.

Being able to answer the question requires a previous action on your part. And with that action, dear ones, you hold the keys to the kingdom. You hold the living Christ as your own.

I’ve held Him tonight. I want the same for you, and so I pray…

Give us the strength, Father, for the reach. We struggle with our many issues, and our faith seems small and unwilling to move past our wounding. Come to us Jesus. Bring your hem close enough for our touch. Tend to our wounds and speak healing to our hurts. And when it feels too hard and the heaviness threatens to keep us in a corner, give us the boldness of our sister from so long ago who had faith enough to believe and who had courage enough to grasp. I long for a grasping faith, Lord. Grow me toward this sacred end. Amen.

Concluding Exhortations

June 29, 2008

“Let love of the brethren continue.” (Hebrews 13:1).

Concluding exhortations.

That was the topic of this morning’s adult Sunday school class. I am not on the circuit of regular teachers for this group of mature seniors, but I have been attending their class for nearly three years. I dearly love them, both collectively as a group and as individuals. Their words drip with wisdom, and their love breathes as genuine. They’ve lived long enough to find their compass—to anchor their hearts within a centered peace and an abiding faith that are not easily shaken.

So when I was asked to offer my voice as their leader, I welcomed the opportunity. Problem was…the invitation was issued a few months back, and in the busy of my past two weeks (i.e. vacation in Gatlinburg), I neglected its remembrance. Mid-week of my mountain retreat, I remembered and was tempted to bail. After all, I had left my curriculum guide at home and was weary with my lazy.

God gently reminded me that no curriculum was necessary. The truth of his Word, alone, was enough to carry me through. Thus, I contacted one of the class members to retrieve the scripture.

Hebrews 13:1-16.

A to-do list of sorts. Some final thoughts to punctuate the previous twelve chapters detailing the supremacy and sufficiency of Jesus Christ.

Loving one another.
Entertaining strangers.
Remembering those in prison.
Keeping sexual purity at a premium.
Keeping a love for money at a minimum.
Finding contentment in the “have”, realizing that the “have”—Jesus Christ—is all we’ll ever need.
Receiving the truth of that “have” as changeless—yesterday, today and forever.
Imitating the faith of the saints.
Guarding the Gospel as the truth.
Bearing the reproach of Christ.
Offering the praise of sacrifice.
Doing good and sharing that goodness with others.

Indeed. Some final, heavy thoughts, packed into sixteen verses of scripture duly categorized by modern-day translators as some…

Concluding exhortations.

And for all of the ways I could have taken the lesson this morning, sticking with the theme of this one phrase was the right way to go. Even though these words of organization are not included in the original manuscript, they are rich in their application, especially as it pertains to the contents of Hebrews 13.

I asked the class to consider their concluding exhortations. Exhortation, as found in Hebrews 13:22, is the Greek word paraklesis. It is a word meaning “encouragement, entreaty, consolation, admonition, importation, refreshment, and persuasive discourse.”[i] Thus, I challenged my pupils (whose wisdom and maturity surpass me by at least three decades) to pause and to consider what they might like to say as a concluding word of encouragement to those whom they love and to a world who desperately needs the exhortation of such Godly influence.

It is a tough question to ask, especially to souls who are aging and who, undoubtedly, live with some memories and pains and regrets that have shadowed them into these golden years of living. But tough is not always wrong, and this morning, tough was very right and became the tender soil of God’s plowing. I witnessed my students’ tears of understanding as we marshaled our way through sixteen verses of “forget-me-nots.”

They laced the discussion with their laughter, with their memories, with their truth and with God’s. And as quickly as the ten o’clock hour arrived, it left, and I was stunned by the provision of God’s grace and presence who arrived on the scene to partake in our discussion.

It is his promise to us, straight out of Hebrews 13:5-6.

“Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.’ So we say with confidence, ‘The LORD is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?’”

Indeed, if there is one exhortation that breathes from the hearts of the Friendship Sunday School class, it is this simple truth. For all of the years traversed upon this earthly sod, there is God who has journeyed it with them. Fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, and almost ninety year’s worth of walking it through with the LORD, Covenant God. Helper and Sustainer of life.

Man has already done his doing over their lives–years worth of doing that have left some scars. But the fear, well it is mostly gone now, for they have learned the secret of being of content. In little and in much. In sorrow and in joy. In sickness and in health. In the present and in the tomorrow yet to come, for with each day comes Jesus. And they have all reached the conclusion that Jesus is, in fact, worth their living.

This is why they were there this morning, present and accounted for in a “doing” that they’ve been doing for a long season. This is why I was there this morning and will continue to attend the senior-adult Sunday school class at my church. The class members live and breathe a concluding exhortation worthy of my pause…worthy of my embrace. They warrant my time and my preparation, for they are my brethren, and my love for them and their love for me…continues.

Deeper. Stronger. And more fully with every conversation that we share. We are a Hebrews 13:1, loving kind of people. We’re working on the other verses, but this love thing?

We are living it, and it is my great joy and privilege to be living it alongside them. And so I pray…

Make me like them, Lord. Let my life breathe a concluding exhortation that includes love as its anchor. Keep me close to the wisdom of these saints, even closer to your truth, so that we may grow as one body in the unity and grace given to each one of us through your cross. Give me ears to listen, a heart to receive, and a hand to serve these precious friends of mine. Give them, each one, the strength to find their voice and the praise to find their lips so that their final chorus sings with a faith that will melody throughout the generations to come. Thank you for the privilege of their companionship along the road. They have been your grace to me, and I am the better for having them in my life. Amen.

[i] http://studylight.org/desk/?l=en&query=Hebrews+13%3A22&section=0&translation=nsn&oq=&sr=1

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God has been stirring my thoughts for another mini-study to begin in the near future. Stay tuned for further details. Shalom.

A Sacred Replacement

June 19, 2008

“Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good.” (Romans 12:9).

What do you do with evil?

What do you do with a story that breathes so heinous that it rocks you to core and forces you to utter words of vengeful wrath and retribution?

What do you do with a God who allows a thirteen year-old boy to die at the hands of his parents because they deemed him punishable—worthy of being tied to a tree for nearly two days in sweltering temperatures until he breathed his last? Until his wounds could no longer bleed. Until his cries for help could no longer be voiced. Until his weary soul finally succumbed to a death that, more than likely, was a welcome relief for this one who had suffered so long at the hands of those who were supposed to cradle and shape him for adulthood.

What do you do with this kind of evil?

I tell you what I did. I cried my soul dry. I got right down on my bedroom floor and pounded my fists, all the while asking my God some hard questions. I asked him why. I asked him about the possible good in the matter. I asked him for vengeance—for a tree tying to be the consequence for two adults who should have loved better. For retribution to be swift and to be hard. For a full measure of remorseful realization to become their portion. For their sleepless nights and for their tortured remembrances.

I am mad, and I don’t know what to do with these feelings. I am frustrated by them because there is little I can do to change the situation. No amount of my wishing and imagining can paint the scene as pretty. This simply is the ugly side of living, and it seems huge and uncontrollable and too big for my management. I have come to my brick wall in the matter, when turning to the right or the left yields a similar outcome—overwhelming sadness.

Neat and tidy living. That is what I’m after. Peace and love and joy and promise. A people created in God’s image through whom God’s image is easily detected. A people who get it right and who walk in the light and truth of Jesus Christ. Not a people who are hard to love and who are seemingly devoid of anything sacred.

When evil roams and rears its ugly swath of color, my dissonance finds its voice. I don’t like these challenges to my faith…to the truth that embodies a good God, despite the evil that persists. Still and yet, evil does persist, and I am forced to grapple with its insistence. God is OK with my questions and my frustrations, but if I am to grow in my perfection toward him, then I must come to some conclusions in the matter. I must move closer in my understanding of how to deal with evil’s prevalent presence.

And just last night, after my pounding and weeping and anger found their rest, I opened up God’s Word to the bookmarked section that would serve as my daily reading. Romans, chapter twelve.

God’s Word is an accomplishing Word. I choose to live the truth of Isaiah 55:10-11. No matter my frame of mind…no matter the circumstances that surround my current, I have learned to go to Scripture in my everyday. I may not always understand what I read or how it applies to my life, but I believe in the power of its effectual work. Last night stood as a relevant witness to this truth, especially as it pertained to my anger and to this world’s proclivity toward evil. In particular, the last verse of Romans 12.

“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

What am I to do with evil?

I am to overcome it with its contrast—with God’s good.

This is what my Father is calling me to do with the anger that persists in my heart and with the evil that insists its voice within this world.

To overcome evil’s ill effects…to conquer and to carry off the victory in behalf of my King…I must sow goodness into the soil that boasts my current. Period. That’s it. This is what I can do to soothe the ache of the story that has rocked me to the core. And while I wasn’t able to untie the hands of an innocent child prior to his death, I can, in part, untie the hands of evil by putting my hands to the task of planting God’s good seed while I am yet alive.

Of doing some good things today and tomorrow that will supplant the enemy’s intention for evil with God’s truthful intention for all things good.

Thus, I planted a little good this day.

I prayed some prayers on behalf of innocent children everywhere and asked God for his timely return to earth so that others would be spared the anguish of a tree-tying.

I baked some brownies for a summer feeding program that our church sponsors on Wednesday evenings.

I wrote some notes of thanks that needed writing.

I bought a book that needed sending.

I played a game that needed playing.

And in the midst of all my sowing, a friend came by to tender a little goodness in my direction.

Thanks, Beverly, for a Farmer’s Market treasure!!!

Yes, I think that God is onto something, for my day is coming to an end and somewhere within the course of my planting, my anger has subsided and the enemy’s got a portion of his due. Do my simple acts of goodness replace the heinous sins committed against the innocent? Absolutely not. But they do soothe the ache of my soul and lead me closer to a grasping of a sincere and sacred love for humanity.

I hate evil. Therefore, I will cling to God’s good. And for some reason that I cannot begin to understand, my Father allows me the privilege of diffusing evil’s grip through the sowing of his sacred seed via this flesh. I want to do my part, and so I pray…

Use my heart and my hands to plant your good, Father. Make me mindful of all the ways to sow accordingly. Let me not grow weary in the doing, for in time, you’ve promised a harvest of untold measure. Protect us from evil, Lord. Protect the innocent from the schemes of the enemy. And when the hurt grows too painful to bear, remind me that evil is not my end. You are my end, Father, and you hold the final word in the matter. And thus, my hearts says, come quickly, Lord Jesus, and speak you final peace. Amen.

In regards to buying that book that needed sending, I decided to sow some good on your behalf. I numbered the comments from my “Raising Faith” six-part series, and drew a number out. #49 is the winner of my newest read, The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. Connie over at Littlerad is #49. Congratulations Connie! I can’t tell you how much I cherish this man’s poetic embrace of his terminal illness. Please send me your snail mail via my e-mail on the side bar, and I’ll get you your book ASAP!

Also, I am headed to She Speaks/She Writes this weekend in Charlotte, so I will be absent for a few days. My family is on vacation next week, and I will try and post from the road. Be blessed in all your doings this weekend. Sow some goodness for God’s sake and for evil’s defeat. Shalom!

A Second Ladle of Grace from Amelia’s Wishing Well

May 28, 2008

“Jesus answered, ‘Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.’” (John 4:13-14).

She couldn’t have known what her time at the well would mean for her in the days to come. Truth had come to meet her at the point of her deepest need. And when Truth arrives,

Truth transforms and transcends. He reveals and he requires. He invites and he instructs. He confronts and he commissions. He loves and he lasts.

What she decided to do with that Truth would count for always. Rather than run from Truth, she drank deeply from his sacred ladle to know a lasting grace that would follow her into her always. It was an always that would soon transpire into a second ladle of grace, portioned out upon the soil of her past.

“Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, ‘He told me everything I ever did.’ So when the Samaritans came to him, they urged him to stay with them, and he stayed two days. And because of his words many more became believers. They said to the woman, ‘We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world.’” (John 4:39-42).

Can you trace the power of a journey’s thirst that leads one to pause at a well? A pause that stops along the way to cast a penny’s hope into the sacred waters that stir with the breath of a Father’s intent? The Samaritan woman came with her emptiness. She left with a spring of water welling up within her to eternal life.

Eternity for her. Eternity for those who witnessed her transformation.

That is the way of sacred wishing and sacred waters. One cannot experience a taste of the Truth and leave as unchanged. God’s grace extended beyond her single ladle of refreshment to become a second helping of grace for those who knew her best. As it was for this Samaritan woman and her community so long ago, so it was for my household this past weekend.

I didn’t know there would be a P.S. added to A Penny’s Worth of Wishing—a second ladle of grace dipped from the same fountain that cradled my daughter’s wish for her Father to come and to reveal himself to her. One ladle was almost more than this mother’s heart could handle.

Almost.

But God is like that. He is a more than God. And when the well of Living Water touches the life of one, it ripples outward to touch the life of another. In this case, another named Jadon. Another I call son.

I would be remiss if I didn’t take time to script this P.S., for its worth far exceeds a penny’s throw. Its worth measures eternal.

My son has been walking around his sister’s salvation story for a couple of months now. She asked Jesus into her heart on Good Friday, and I chronicled her moment in a post entitled A Cradled Surrender. At that time, Jadon made some mumblings about a similar wanting, but because my son is prone to following…to impulsivity rather than conscious decision…I confess that I gave little credence to his words.

My heart was tender to his thoughts, but I wanted Jadon to come to his own conclusion in the matter of faith…to come into a saving relationship with Jesus Christ in his own time, in his own way, rather than riding on the coattails of his sister’s experience. That moment has come, and just yesterday, while sitting on the back porch steps with my son, he told me a story that is worthy of my pen.

Jadon told me about his moments at the wishing well. He had accompanied us on our field trip to find a well that would cradle our pennies’ worth of dreams, and while my attention was solely focused on Amelia making her wish, my little boy was making one of his own.

“Mommy, I asked God into my heart at the wishing well the other day.”

“What does that mean to you, son?”

“I know he is here in my heart. All four pennies were worth everything.”

Brief words. Powerful in their impact.

Enough said. Enough time for him to come to his own conclusion in the matter. Enough words to silence this mother’s misgivings and to finally embrace the tender declaration of a son’s wish.

We talked further, and then we prayed a prayer of firm commitment.

How could I have known that a trip to a wishing well would mean one thing to one child, and then, in turn, would mean everything for another child? That is the power of a journey’s thirst that leads a soul to the ladling from God’s sacred well. A drink from the fountain of Living Water always exceeds the parameters of a single wish. It spills forth onto everyone within range.

Sacred ladling…

Reveals Truth. Reshapes hearts. Renews perspective. Revives the dying. Rewrites forever.

First and second helpings. Thirds and fourths and beyond. One P.S. after another until all the world has been given the opportunity to drink. You and I, even Jadon and Amelia, host the eternal waters of our living God as he churns within our frame. He is meant for the overflow. He is meant for the spilling. We all have been given the sacred trust of carrying his ladle to our near and to our far…to our moments that exist ahead of this one.

To cast his life’s wish into the fountain of humanity so that all people can fully know and boldly proclaim that he really is…

the Savior of the world who readily receives our four pennies worth of wishing and showers us, in return, with the gift of everything.

And so I pray…

Thank you, Father, for a second ladling of grace… for the times when your working exceeds my visioning. Thank you for the ladles that will come to others through my life and through the lives of my children. Keep our quenching to the eternal waters of your filling. Let our taste for the world drink bitter while our taste for You drinks sweet. You, alone, are worthy of every wish of my heart. May your name be glorified and lifted up because of our time spent at your well this week. Amen.

A Penny’s Worth of Wishing

May 27, 2008

“After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight. They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. ‘Men of Galilee,’ they said, ‘why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.’” (Acts 1:9-11).

“Mommy, someday if we see a wishing well, could I throw a coin in?”

“Yes, baby. What would you wish for?”

“I’d wish that Jesus was down here on earth so that I could see him.”

“What would you say to him?”

“I’d tell him that I love him.”

“I think you just did.”

A deep conversation between mother and daughter, packed within a stop-light’s pause. A moment worthy of a pen and some scrap paper—actually the back of a large manila envelope containing, yet, another rejection notice from a publisher.
My mind really wasn’t on the road. It should have been, but my heart was otherwise inclined to its wandering. My trailing thoughts were interrupted by her words. They were words meant for my ears, for they scripted the similar penchant of my heart.

Words that spoke of wishing wells and pennies and a throw that just might bring a heart’s desire to fruition. Words of invitation, asking for the Father to reveal himself in the flesh.

Amelia wanted to see the Jesus that lives in her heart, for with the seeing, faith becomes a little more real. And this mother and her little girl are all about our Jesus being real to us.

Indeed…this was a penny’s worth of some sacred thinking. Hopes and dreams. Mine. Hers. Yours. And the dearest wish of those who stood in the presence of the risen Lord just moments prior to his departure.

I wonder how many wishing wells the disciples passed that day on their way back to Jerusalem. Back to their waiting for the promised gift of God’s Spirit. Back to their uncertainty. Back to life in their new usual, for their old usual had been interrupted by the unusual, unexplainable, and unimaginable presence of the Divine.

Life would never be as it once was. That is the way of a sacred journey that has encountered the truth of Jesus Christ. Truth transforms and transcends. He reveals and he requires. He invites and he instructs. He confronts and he commissions. He loves and he lasts. What we do with that Truth—how we choose to walk in or to walk away from that Truth—is a choice allowed its lingering within the well of our will.

From that well, we either draw out a ladle of obedience or a portion of defiance. Both choices are laced with the wet of the living Water because once Christ crashes onto the scene of our current, we cannot leave as unchanged. We can ignore. We can pretend that He never happened. We can push him under the rug of our routine, but at the end of the day…at the end of a life,

All ignoring and pretending and pushing aside drains our cups to empty, while leaving the rim salted with the savor of the Sacred. We can no longer swallow life without swallowing him first.

It’s a bitter swallow for some, but for my daughter and me…

He’s the sweetest taste of our souls.

Perhaps this is reason behind her wish this day…her desire to throw a penny’s wish in hopes of seeing her Lord. A life span of almost six years has been more than enough time for her to begin in her understanding of her Savior’s love over her precious life. A young heart wrapped around this kind of truth, is a heart marked for kingdom living.

Miss Amelia has begun her quest toward her eternal. She reminds me of someone I once knew. And just today, that someone fell in love with her Savior all over again. At a stop light’s pause. Through a child’s words. In a penny’s wish for a Father to come and to be present, so that she could simply voice her love to him.

Face to face. Heart to heart. Child to Father. Sinner to Savior.

I don’t know the wish of your heart this day. We spend a lifetime wishing and wanting for more. More stuff. More money. More health. More purpose. More wisdom. More love. More time. More joy. More _______________.

I wonder what would happen if we would simply pause long enough to cease from our wanting “more” and to, instead, throw our penny’s wish into the one well that always ladles sacred. That always serves satisfaction. That always fills to overflow…to more…to beyond the portion that we could ever ask for or imagine.

I wonder.

And it is this wondering part of me—the childlike portion that remains tender to the possibility of a penny’s wish—that led me to find a few coppers and to navigate my van to a well not far from our home.

For all of the things we could have wished for in those moments before the fountain (we had a lot of pennies…), we first wished for Jesus to come. Then, we wished for other things, like telescopes and surprises and a publisher and some peace. And as we smiled and walked around the water’s edge, somewhere in the trickle of its cascade I could have sworn that I heard the whisper of my Father echoing from deep within…

Behold, dearly beloved child. I am coming soon! And I am bringing my reward with me. And my reward belongs to you and to your daughter and to everyone whose heart’s hope is scripted with my name. I am coming to take you home to the place that I have prepared for you. A place that exceeds your wish. Where faith becomes sight. Where forever becomes final. (Rev. 22:12; John 14:1-4; 1 Cor. 2:9, 1 Cor. 13:12).

And so I pray,

Come quickly, Lord Jesus, to the well of my hope. Today I throw my pennies…my life…in your regard and ask that you make yourself real to me. Split the sky and stand upon my current. How I long to see you face to face and to throw these arms around the arms the hung in surrender for me. You are my wish, for you are my beginning. My end. And my middle. Everything else…everyone else…is just filler. Keep my faith at a child’s understanding, so that pennies and wishes and wells become my portion, as my skepticism and doubting fade to black. Amen.

Category Archives: theology