trust | Elaine Olsen

the "exactly-why-we-need-Easter" post…

April 1, 2010

Would that I could escape the sin of this world.

I would, but I can’t. It surrounds me, invites me, terrorizes me, and reminds me of everything that is wrong about this world. Read about it in the headlines, see it on the television, hear it in the Wal-Mart, wherever we live and move and have our being, sin is the order of the day. A blatant and firm reminder of exactly why Jesus and his cross are needed, not just 2000 years ago, but today.

Today.

My heart is a tangled-up, jumbled-up mess this morning. I went to bed a mess; woke up a mess all because of a single headline that has, yet again, gripped my emotions with all the fury and fuss of hell’s intention. A seven-year-old girl has fallen prey to the sadistic schemes of the enemy, brought about through the hands of her step-sister and several young men intent on satisfying their sinful lusts via her innocence. I’ll spare you the details. They’re enough to turn your stomach, and if you’re stomach remains upright and unturned by them, then your heart has grown cold, calloused and unmoved by the sin-sick condition of this world.

This isn’t my happy Easter post; friends. Would that it could be. This is my exactly-why-we-need-Easter post. It would be nice if Easter dresses and egg hunts were the focal point of my heart this day, but they aren’t. Instead, I’m thinking about the unsanitized version of Easter—the one that’s ugly, repugnant to the senses, and that steps all over our need to keep Easter lovely and between the lines of our religious décor. As Christians, we are sometimes tempted to skip over the fuss and fury of Friday’s hell in order to arrive at Sunday’s conclusion.

I understand. I’m a Sunday-conclusion kind of gal. It’s how I like to live my faith, in victory and full of the conquering truth of the resurrection. But to arrive there without taking ample pause to reflect on what our Jesus went through in order to allow us sweet victory, is to keep sin’s ugliness separated from grace’s beauty. And that simply cannot be done. They come as a package deal, sin and grace, grace and sin. Without one, there is no need for the other. Life could simply live as it lives with no consequences, no rules, no guidelines except the one that says, “If it feels good, do it and let the chips fall where they may.” Apparently what felt good for at least seven men this past Sunday was a seven-year-old girl, and the chips? Well, they’ve fallen on tender soil—the broken soil of a young life—the consequences of which will be staggering in the end.

We don’t live in a world free from sin and the need for grace therein. As Christians, we sometimes forget our need for grace; the world has certainly forgotten its need for grace, but God has never been neglectful with his remembrance. He knows what we need, even as he knew it 2000 years ago, even as he planned for it pre-Eden on the front side of Genesis.

It’s hard for me to think about God and the “all-knowing” part of his nature—if he saw this past Sunday coming, even from the very beginning, then why did he allow it? Why make her pay for the sins of others? Why should she (the least of the least) harbor the fullness of carnality when she didn’t ask for it? Someone should have loved her better, watched over her better, made sure her “better” was of paramount importance. But “better” she didn’t receive, and now she is left to mourn what’s been lost.

I don’t have perfect answers for my questions, but I serve a perfect God, and by faith, I’m choosing to believe in those answers. I may not receive them on this side of eternity, but if I didn’t believe they’d one day be available to me, then I’d given up on faith a long time ago. Why? Because my almost forty-four years have afforded me plenty of occasions for questions and for the sacred mystery attached to their answers. There are simply some wrestlings of the heart that exceed my understanding at this point. Perhaps with spiritual maturity, I’ll grow in my understanding, but for now, all I can do is concede truth to Jesus and to look toward Sunday.

For Sunday is coming.

Soon.

Resurrection is upon us, closer now than it has ever been.

A Sunday conclusion that reads sinless, sanitized, saved by grace and grace alone.

Grace for all, even them—those seven, Lord—the exact reason why you could not skip over the hell of Friday to get to the hallelujah of Sunday. Oh the depths of where you’ve been for me, for them, for her, for the world. I cannot explain that kind of love and grace. I can only receive it, and in turn, Lord, out of that receiving… give it.

Even to them.

This is the conquering truth of Sunday’s conclusion.

Forgiveness.

Not as the world gives, Father, but as you give.

Even so, make my heart a conduit of yours.

So be it.

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the kindness of God

March 10, 2010

They kept asking, “What does he mean by ‘a little while’? We don’t understand what he is saying.” Jesus saw that they wanted to ask him about this, so he said to them, “Are you asking one another what I meant when I said ‘In a little while you will see me no more, and then after a little while you will see me’? I tell you the truth… ” (John 16:18-20)

I saw something this morning, something I’ve missed a hundred times before while reading this passage of Scripture. I didn’t mean to come across it; it simply came across me—my heart and my thinking, and I am deeply moved by what I discovered. This morning in my reading, I saw the kindness of God displayed in a way I’d not seen it before; not just once but twice.

First in his astute observation of the situation. Secondly, with his answer to the situation.

Let me explain. It would be so much easier for me to tell you this via a video, even as I told my Bible study group this evening, but alas, videos take a ton of time to upload, and I’m afraid my energy reserves are at an all-time low. Thus, this is my quick attempt at sharing some truth with you that personally means so very much to me this night. I believe that someone needs the witness of the Word, even as I have needed it.

Our Jesus is kind. He tends to our needs, our questions, and our pains as they come to him; sometimes even before they move from our lips to his ears in the form of a prayer. Did you catch that here? Did you read that even in the midst of the disciples’ tremendous grief and confusion regarding Christ’s soon and certain departure, Jesus interrupted their pain with his answer? He didn’t wait for them to get around to asking the question—about what he meant when he said “in a little while.” He saw, in advance, the troubled nature of their hearts and interjected his witness into the mix. This is a tender, first kindness from Jesus to the children he loved back then… the children he loves still.

The second kindness he offered them was one of words. Five seemingly insignificant words that, when spoken by the Creator, have the capacity to change the direction of all hearts in a single pause.

“I tell you the truth…”.

It really doesn’t much matter the answer that follows. Well, it does to a degree. Christ clearly interpreted the meaning behind his words for his followers that day. But the truth is, when Jesus says, “I tell you the truth…”, you and I can take whatever words that follow to the spiritual bank. His truth is the lavish gift of all heaven; it keeps us, moves us, emboldens us, and points us in the right and good direction. This is a loving, second kindness from Jesus to the children he loved back then… the children he loves still.

Oh would you, Father, tell us the truth? For we are a people surrounded by temporal lies that are eating us alive. Everywhere we turn, every road we travel, everything we see, is littered with a scheme from the enemy to keep us as we are—confused, tormented, consumed by tragedy, blanketed in pain. We are up to our necks with the world’s version of “truth,” and we are drowning in its deception.

Are there any greater two kindnesses we could receive from our God today?

One—his intervention of an answer to our questions even before they are asked, and…
Two—the witness of his truth?

I wish so very much that I could sit with you in contemplation of our Father’s kindness. Something tells me he would be well pleased with the conversation, for where two are three are gathered in his name, he promises to come alongside and interject his thoughts into the mix. When God is the topic of our many words, he bends low to listen; he moves in to make sure we get it right. Get him right.

God is right, and he is kind, and his love for us extends reason and limits. It extends all the way from a moment 2000 years ago to right now, this day, when the truth of his Word still stands as the truth for all seasons. How I love God for interrupting my day with the witness of his kindness! May his kindness reach you this day as well. As always…

peace for the journey,

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Breakfast on the Beach with Jesus (part four): bringing what we have

February 26, 2010

“When they landed, they saw a fire of burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread. Jesus said to them, ‘Bring some of the fish you have just caught.’” (John 21:9-10).

One of the greatest joys we will ever know as believers in Jesus Christ is the moment when his provision finds its way into our nets, and we are able to hold it as our own—to know that our obedience played a role in the “capture” of fish—the catching of men and women. As we are faithful to cast our nets in a right and good direction, God is faithful to work that obedience into his kingdom plan for abundance. Sometimes we’re eye witnesses to that abundance; sometimes we see through a glass dimly. But if we continue to yield our nets to the call of the Master, eventually we’ll understand the joy of what it means to be holy fishermen and fisherwomen for Jesus.

Scripture is clear that when the disciples made it to shore that morning, there was already a breakfast cooking to completion over the fire. But rather than Jesus offering the disciples his food in isolation, Jesus instructed his followers to bring a portion of their night’s catch and to add it to the flames. It’s an important mention, and one that I’m glad John included with the story as he was carried along by the Holy Spirit while writing it.

Jesus didn’t ask them for more fish because he necessarily needed more fish. Jesus asked them for more fish because in doing so, he was able to share in the joy of their prior obedience. It is the same with us. When we obey God and out of that obedience our nets begin to fill with abundance, we have the sacred responsibility and holy privilege of bringing that abundance to the heart of the Father so that he might receive the glory due him. Our catch doesn’t arrive at our initiative. It arrives at our Father’s, and when we forget to remember his hand in the matter—when we take the credit for the catch because, quite honestly, fishermen and women are all about bragging rights—we miss out on one of the sweetest aspects of divine fellowship with our God—

The beauty of sacred cooperation between his heart and ours. God invites us to come alongside him and to work with him to bring about a kingdom agenda that doesn’t have to include us, but because of his great love for us and grace over us, allows us a portion of deeded influence. He trusts us with the net; the best we can do is to trust him with the catch—to give back to him what belongs to him and to remember that we are as dust without him.

If I’ve said it before, I’ve said it at least 43 times (that’s one a year for those counting birthdays): If there’s anything good in me, it’s not because of me, it’s because of Jesus. I didn’t always think this; I used to think that I was pretty good all on my own. But then grace humbled me. I walked a prodigal road, and I thought some prodigal thoughts. I lived some prodigal sin, until my prodigal days caught up with me, and I realized my growing depravation and corresponding hunger. It was then that grace finally took hold of my heart, and I realized that I was not as good as I had previously thought. God was better, and if my life was ever going to amount for anything good, I would have to wear his grace openly and without reserve—owning my wretchedness while acknowledging his holiness.

Since that time, God has blessed me with abundance. My net has been full on more than one occasion; I wish that I could say I’m always faithful to quickly acknowledge his hand in the matter. Thankfully, with each obedience comes further understanding. I’m beginning to see the correlation between my submission to his directives and the bounty of my net. And when I do, when I realize that the provision I am holding really doesn’t belong in my hands but belongs in his, I’m quick to surrender it to the fire so that he might receive all the glory and share in the bounty of my night’s catch.

I don’t think many things please the heart of our Father more than when we “bring what we have” and place it before him for the partaking. His hunger for relationship exceeds ours, and when we offer him a “taste” from our nets, we open up our hearts for lavish, intimate fellowship with our God.

The beauty of sacred cooperation—of him bringing what he has and us bringing what we have to the table of grace with the purpose of growing the kingdom.

It’s a mystery, friends. I cannot get my mind around God’s allowing me any measure of influence regarding his agenda. He’s entrusted this mystery to each of us—to the holding of it and the dispensing of it therein. Some days we serve that purpose better than others. Some days we come close to understanding how it all works and other days all we can do is throw our hearts up in faith, surrendering the details and particulars to his perfect understanding.

I’ve stood in both places this week—understanding and faithful confusion. But as long as I’m standing with Jesus, it matters not the level of my perception. What matters is He who is with me in my deliberations over breakfast—him sharing his fish with me, me sharing mine with him.

Sacred cooperation. Mutual joy. Intimate relationship.

Where I want to be this day. I want the same for you. Enjoy your time on the beach with Jesus this weekend. I’ll see you on the other side of breakfast. As always…

peace for the journey,
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disclaimers…

February 23, 2010

“Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’” (John 14:6)

I heard my husband snorting from the living room last evening. Yes, snorting. The kind of “snort, snort” that goes along with laughter. His laughing always draws my attention; I hate to miss out on a good snort. Our hilarity is well-matched. What he finds funny, I do as well. Last night, the source of his laughter was rooted in an advertisement for a new miracle drug, whose front-side claims for success were dampened by the long list of disclaimers that follow on the backside of the commercial.

Disclaimers. Those pesky little addendums attached to products to protect said manufacture from assuming any liability should something go wrong. If you’ve watched any television lately or listened to the radio, I’m sure you could recite many of them from memory.

Do not take this medication if you are pregnant or nursing or if you plan on being pregnant, or if you have four kids and any of them are pregnant, or if you know someone who is pregnant;

Stop taking this medication if you should experience any of the following side effects: dizziness, vomiting, dry mouth, sleeplessness, hallucinations, have thoughts of harming others or letting your kids play in traffic, your big toe turns green, or you find your right eye hanging on by a thread.

Hmm, yes… give me some of that one, please. Is it any wonder that any of us are well after having to navigate the possible, negative side-effects of a drug in order to find some healing? Which leads me to this thought—not an original one but one I’ve thought about from time-to-time in recent days.

Worldly solutions to physical ailments are not enough to fix our problems. They band-aid our aches with temporary solutions, but never will they solve our issues completely. They can treat our symptoms, but even then, our physical, emotional, and most importantly, our spiritual maladies remain. Nothing the doctor can prescribe, the talk shows can purport, the best-selling self-help books can outline, the “gods” can offer (hmm… Buddha comes to mind), will fix the condition of the human heart. They may lengthen our time on earth, but they cannot determine our future beyond the grave.

Only Jesus can.

There aren’t multiple routes to permanent healing—to that place where each of us can finally voice “it is well with my soul.” There is only one way to that kind of peace, and his name is Jesus Christ. He comes with no disclaimers. He doesn’t need to protect himself from liability in case something should go wrong. There aren’t any addendums of “possible, negative side-effects” with the Son of God. His healing isn’t exclusive, nor does it matter if you are…

Pregnant or nursing.
Single or married.
Divorced and divorced again.
An alcoholic.
A criminal.
A person with a past.
An abuser.
The abused.
A prostitute.
Someone suffering from all manner of addictions.
A prodigal child.
A prodigal adult.
A sinner.
A saint.
A porn star, rock star, silver-screen star, sport’s star.
Poor.
Hungry.
Alone.
Desperate.
________________.

Regardless of the current condition of your heart and life, Jesus is the answer. The only possible side-effect of your liberally, ingesting of him is peace—more peace than you had yesterday, more that will come to you as you are faithful to take him down off of the shelf and drink deeply from his healing tonic. Does that mean your issues will evaporate with a dose of Jesus? No. As long as you and I are tethered to the flesh, issues attach themselves to our lives. But a coating of God’s medicine down our throats and into our hearts keeps those issues manageable and more easily tolerated because, as we confront them, we do so with the companioned presence of Jesus Christ. We carry his elixir with us as we go, and anywhere Jesus goes is good ground for a lasting remedy.

How thankful I am for a Savior who comes to me without disclaimers. I can trust in him—his grace and his cross—without worrying and wondering if my trust is well-placed. God does not fail his children. His promises are true. His word is faithful. His heart is pure. His love is genuine. But don’t take my word for it; take his. Pull your Bible down off the shelf, open it up, and drink deeply from the living Word who has a special word for your woundedness today.

Kind of sounds like a commercial, does it not? Oh, friends, if I’m going to boast about anything, let me boast in Jesus and on the side of his kingdom cross. He makes my life worth doing, and I plan on serving as his “PR” gal for the rest of my days. Won’t you join me in spreading the word about the Word?

Love you; mean it; happy, glorious Tuesday to you, my beloved friends! As always…

peace for the journey,

~elaine

the next 1283 words…

February 17, 2010

I have a confession to make… I’m having trouble writing a book along with writing meaty blog posts. Thus, today I’m handing over my next 1283 words in my current WIP. It ought to be enough to keep you busy for a few days so that I can walk ever closer to the finish line of my manuscript. Keep in mind, this is my look at the “ancients” of Hebrews 11, something I explain in greater detail in my recent video blog post. I hesitate putting this reflection here by itself because it doesn’t “read” in isolation. It’s part of the bigger picture, but God has prompted me to release it to you this day, believing that somebody needs its relevance now, not later.

I’ll be back soon, but not before I make some further headway with pen. Shalom!

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faith shuts the mouth of the lion {Daniel}

“Now when Daniel learned that the decree had been published, he went home to his upstairs room where the windows opened toward Jerusalem. Three times a day he got down on his knees and prayed, giving thanks to his God, just as he had done before.”
–Daniel 6:10

My spirit is restless today. There are a great many things weighing on my mind. I’ve been here before—a moment in time when the splintered fragments of a busy life merge together to seed dissonance within my spirit. My right response to the discord is not always immediate; sometimes it takes some time to come around to practicing the one habit that I know will bring me peace—prayer. Thankfully, today I came to a swifter conclusion in the matter of my chaos. Today, I spread out my prayer quilt on the floor and pled my heart before God’s. He met me there and was faithful to his promise to replace my anxious thoughts with his better thinking.

Prayer is always the right response to our heart cries. Things happen when we pray that otherwise go undone should we neglect such sacred privilege. God means for prayer to be our habit, our default mode, our tendency rather than our last resort. To get to the place where prayer is our common practice is to live in faith as the ancients of Hebrews 11 lived. When coming to our knees in prayerful pause is the natural inclination of our hearts, then we, like the ancients, anchor our hopes for resolution in the One who is more than capable of bringing about a good and solid conclusion. With prayer, we release our hold on chaos and place all matters back into the hands of God. He has made our mess his business and will untangle the chaotic wires so that we may rest in peace.

Daniel understood this principle. He lived the habit of prayer. Three times a day and with windows opened toward Jerusalem, he bowed his knee and his will to the will of the Father. His practice of prayer earned him a trip to the lion’s den, a veiled mention in the Hebrews’ Hall of Faith (see Hebrews 11:33), and a miraculous conclusion that still speaks a faithful witness to those of us who stand at the crossroads looking for a similar finale.

“… just as he had done before.”

When was the last time the same could be said of you? When did you last face a threat from the enemy—one directly linked to your faith—only to enact that faith more vigorously via a window left open for public viewing? When has your trust in God extended past your doubt? Your faith superseded your fear?

We live in a culture unfamiliar with physical threats attached to faith’s affection. Most of us openly practice our belief in God without fear of retribution. The religious freedoms we enjoy today were hard fought by those who stood on the front side of liberty. Our spiritual ancestors lived their faith most rigorously; we live ours a bit differently. Gone are the days of lions’ dens, at least in eastern North Carolina; come are the days of quieter threats, veiled assaults, casually dressed and appropriately masked attempts by the enemy at having us relinquish our faith. And while our faith isn’t currently threatened with an ancient edict of vicious reprisal, from time to time our contemporary faith is given a rigorous work-out by an ancient enemy whose motives remain the same as they did in Daniel’s day—to steal, to kill, to destroy.

God allows us seasons of testing—times when our faith skims through the refining fires of his holy purification. Those allowances sometimes feel like a night’s wrestling with some hungry lions. If our faith is in tact—on fire and ready for the evening engagement—then we, like Daniel, emerge in the morning without fleshly wounding. If, however, we’re ill-prepared—if we approach the lions’ den with our fear and unresolved doubt regarding a Father’s best intentions for our lives—then the chances of our faith waking to morning’s light without personal injury are severely reduced.

Faith shuts the mouth of the lion because faith has been preparing for his savage hunger long before it is served on a platter as the main course. Faith doesn’t wait until it is thrown into the lion’s den to exercise its witness. Instead, faith spends a lifetime living its witness so that when a night with the lion approaches, faith isn’t surprised by its arrival. Rather, faith is duly prepared for the assault.

Alicia Chole speaks to this truth in her book Anonymous: Jesus’ Hidden Years and Yours (Integrity Publishers, 2006, pg.15). In one of her mentoring moments she offers her readers some wisdom regarding times of trials and testing:

“… trials tell us less about our future than they do about our past. Why? Because the decisions we make in difficult places today are greatly the product of decisions we made in the unseen places of our yesterdays.”

Read that again slowly, and consider how Alicia’s wisdom applies to Daniel’s habit of prayer, to yours as well. More than likely, you and I will face the lion’s den a few times in our journey of faith. When we arrive there, our responses to the threat say more about our prior walk of faith than our current moment of crisis. If prayer has been our practice, if tending to our relationship with God has been our daily obedience, then we are better able to engage with the lion’s hungering roar.

Daniel’s “… just as he had done before” was his saving grace, his companioned peace, his settled confidence in a certain God who would ordain for him a night’s rest with the lions rather than a life’s slaughter. God is calling us to our own “… just as he had done before.” He means for prayer to be our habit and for us to practice our faith in a daily way so that when the enemy threatens us with his schemes, we can walk in freedom from his intended outcome.

We can face the lion today because faith has been the holy habit of our yesterdays. Faith is the way we live. It’s what we believe. It’s where we look. It’s the steps we walk. It’s how we’ll finish.

Forward. One step at a time, until our feet crossover the edge of Canaan, and we finally lay claim to the unseen country of our dreams. Our stories will find their conclusions with the grand punctuation from our Father’s pen, and we will be with him… no longer praying our prayers through an open window in the direction of Jerusalem, but, instead, living the fruition of those prayers, face-to-face with the Author and Perfecter of our faith. It’s just as certain and real and glorious as all that, and almost more than my heart can hold this day. Thus, I pray…

Keep me to the habit of my faith and my prayers, Father, to daily placing my thoughts and concerns into your hands believing that with their release comes your promised peace. Dissolve my fears with the truth of your presence, and replace my doubts with the certainty of your Word. You have made my mess your business; only you are worthy and capable of untangling my wires and weaving them into sacred significance. I yield them to you this day; keep me in a yielded posture so that when the lion offers his roar in my direction, I can offer yours back in response. Amen.

~elaine

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