Category Archives: trust

Living Stones from Brokenness…

Living Stones from Brokenness…

“But as you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by men but chosen by God, and precious to him—you, also, like living stones are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices to God acceptable to him through Jesus Christ.” (1 Peter 2:4-5).

 

Last night, I had the consecrated privilege of being with the women of Kenansville Baptist Church and of bringing them the night’s “entertainment” for their annual ladies’ banquet. I had no idea what was “on” the menu, and I’m certain that they could have said the same regarding my contribution to the evening.

Each year, they gather in rich fellowship to enjoy a delicious meal served to them by the men of their church—men donned in their crisp white linen and bow ties and with the gentility to rival any star five maitre’d. The tables were themed and decorated according to individual liking—an unspoken contest of sorts. Some with the rich decadence of roses and gold and textured linen. Some with the more casual of camping and family memories and snowmen. All tables were immaculately laid with the finest love and care of heaven.

Kenansville, NC. Perhaps not the place that the casual passerby would peg for fine dining; still and yet, the place of its happening last night, and I felt so honored to simply be the recipient of such a lavish consideration.

During the savoring of delectable cheesecakes and while the coffee was sipping hot, I was asked to share the “word” that God had laid upon my heart. It was a hard fought word for me … one that had been working its way in and out of me for the better part of three months as I prepared for our evening together.

It is a word that has confronted me, challenged me, and forced me to a deeper point of understanding as it pertains to my place within the grand scheme of God’s breathing and extraordinary kingdom.

Becoming a “living stone from brokenness.”

To articulate the depth of what that “phrase” has meant to me over the past several years would take too long. Still and yet, I tried, at least for the better part of forty-five minutes. I imagine its truth to be a “word” that will continue its shaping over me in the days and seasons to come.

Why?

Because I, like you, live in a broken world where pain and grief and all manner of sufferings will occasionally be our portion. If not in our own flesh, then most certainly in the lives of those who share our tables and our pews. And while I’ve not had a bad life, I’ve had a broken one at times; I bet that you could voice the same.

The true measure of a difficult season’s worth doesn’t always shine forth in the immediate. That’s the way of brokenness. It buries. It works us and sometimes wearies us to the point of no longer believing that our lives were meant for anything more than simply “holding on” and “getting through.” I know. I’ve lived it, and I’m not so far along in my life with Jesus to occasionally revisit that view and hold it as my own. But here’s the truth of the matter—God’s truth, not the truth according to me and my weary worn flesh.

Living stones are the way and life of a resurrected heart. To be the contrast—to walk and ruminate in the death and dying of a rubbled estate—is not to take Jesus and his suffering for what it was … for what it continues to be.

Our ticket to freedom.

Not freedom from the carrying of our own cross. The cross is the way of the crucified life. But the freedom in knowing that it can be done, through us and most days, in spite of us because within us is the pulsing and breathing witness of the One who enables us to rise and live above the truth of our broken estate.

No one has ever known and will ever know the full measure of the brokenness that our Savior willingly took upon himself on our behalf. If anyone had a reason to balk at the weight and the carry of some heavy stones, it was our Lord. But he didn’t, and he doesn’t, and for us to think that Calvary didn’t matter—that it was all for nothing because somehow we’re still considerably burdened and wearied by the load that we shoulder—well, that is to miss the mystery and the truth of a living stone’s surrender.

When we bring them all—the broken and the battered stones of our past … of our now—when we surrender them to the foot of the cross and release them to the hands of the One who earned the privilege of holding them as his own, then we, like the living Stone, become the makings of an eternal kingdom that is meant to last.

Your broken … my broken, cemented and rooted within the brokenness of the cross, stands as a living witness and monument to the truth of God’s magnificent grace.

It doesn’t make sense, but it sure paints lovely. More than the eyes can see, more than the ears can hear, and more than the mind can imagine. An incomparable glory that shines with the fingerprints of God as he works our broken into his portrait called forever.

Living stones from brokenness. Our gift to God’s “kingdom come.” Our surrender to God’s “kingdom now.”

What a honor to offer Him my everything. What a humbling to be allowed to write it and to join alongside Him in nights like last night, when I am given the platform to speak it. May I never get over and beyond my awe of such moments. Thus, I pray…

Thank you, Father, for the gift of brokenness. For the truth of what it means to you as you work it into your kingdom plans and your living witness. I don’t have much to offer you beyond what I have lived, and what I have lived has not always been my best; still and yet, you ask for it, and your asking is enough to warrant my surrender in the matter. Make me a living stone, Lord; one like You that breathes with the story of Calvary’s grace and that sings with the melody of heaven’s love. Humbly I bow before your throne and thank you for the consecrated privilege of sacred participation in your kingdom. Amen.

~elaine

 

Bench Time

Bench Time

We’re not going to win a single game this season. I don’t have to imagine otherwise. It’s just one of those years. The forecast came about mid-way through our first game. After fifteen years of doing this “thing” called rec sports, youth sports, middle school and high school sports, I can tell early on how things are going to pan out. I’ve logged enough time on the bleachers and driven enough miles to warrant my badge of expertise.

Thus, very little enthusiasm accompanied me yesterday morning as I traveled to my youngest son’s basketball game. Per usual, I had very low expectations going in, but by the time the game was finished, I exited with something quite different. Something more than my usual thankfulness for the final buzzer.

I left with some perspective.

Watching my older two sons play basketball over the years has been a delight for me. Partly because my younger years provided me with more energy for the “doing,” but mostly because of their strong determination and agility for playing the game. I never had to wonder if I was going to get a “show” from my boys. They’ve excelled at life, both on and off the court. They understand the game and have the tenacious drive to ramp up the scoreboard. Whenever they lace up their shoes, you can be sure that they are playing to win.

I don’t see that drive in my younger son. And while he loves playing the game, he’s less concerned about his stats and more interested in simply playing his position on the court … in cheering for his teammates and in his “thumbs up” accordingly. Jadon’s instincts for the game are different than his bigger brothers, and just yesterday, while watching my son as he stood fastened to his spot, I had a thought.

A question or two for myself, especially as it pertains to my personality and my instincts for playing this game called life.

Am I more interested in my stats—in my taking the charge toward raising the score? Or, am I content in my role as a team player … a thumb’s upper … an attaboy and attagirl cheerer? Do I see myself as a lone ranger in the game or as an integral part of a process that calls for my participation rather than my sole determination? Where is my comfortable fit?

For those of you who know me, you don’t have to linger very long with that question. My instincts for the game fall in line with those of my older sons. I have a tenacious and persistent resolve for driving up the scoreboard. I feel the tremendous need to walk a victory at every turn, and quite honestly, am often disappointed if I’m not part of the reason behind the win. If it’s going to be, I’ve got this idea that it’s always going to be up to me.

And while I am confident that God appreciates my willingness to dig in and drive hard to the basket for a score, yesterday He gave me the gift of a contrasting option. An option that allows for “passing the ball” on occasion rather than feeling the need to carry the load of the victory in selfish isolation.

Some days are meant for my full throttle run up and down the length of the court. Some days are meant for my obligatory thumbs up to my teammates as I park it on the bench and watch them raise the score. All days lend themselves to my participation, but not all of them need my frontline stats to bring a victory home for the team.

True in theory; more difficult to live in the everyday. But I need to … live it, even as I preach it.

Not all occasions call for my leadership and my perfection therein. I’ve spent a lifetime pursuing that option, and quite frankly, it’s exhausting some days. And while I always want to put my best foot forward, both in life and in spirit, I think, perhaps, that God is deepening my outlook in the matter.

Today, He’s asking of me a hard question, the answer of which speaks the truth about how I am choosing to “play” this life that I’ve been given. Simply put…

Do you trust me with your bench time, elaine?

Deeper still…

Are you willing to go there, elaine, … to step aside and offer up your support while your teammates have their go at running up the scoreboard?

Further still…

Is it enough, elaine, to simply be on the team or do you prefer to single handedly be the team?

Good questions; a painful wrestling and just exactly the pondering that I was left with as I watched my son leave the court at the conclusion of his game, no worse for the wear and completely at peace about his level of participation in the matter.

Could it be that after 42 years of doing life, the time has finally come for a shift in my thinking about my participation in the matter? Could it be that after over fifteen years of watching my children play sports, I’ve finally come across a child who more fully understands the art of team play and who is willing to log bench time as well as court time because he knows that all of his time belongs to a plan intended to bring about a good and final conclusion?

Yesterday’s conclusion may not have been the conclusion that I wanted. After all, I’m after a win. But as I enveloped my son in my arms after the buzzer blew, and as I listened to him describe the game in as much vivid detail as his eight-year-old mind could articulate, I’m not so sure that we didn’t get a win.

For Jadon, all of life is pretty much a win, whether on the bench or whether staying glued to his position on the court. Either way, he enjoys the gift of participation. And that, my friends, is a contrasting option that I need to receive as my own.

Thus, I am going to spend a few days on the bench this week watching you run up the scoreboard, all the while offering up my thumbs and my hearty cheers on your behalf.

I am not running this race alone; if “it’s” going to be, then “it’s” going to be up to all of us to see it through to conclusion. Sometimes from the bench. Sometimes sweating it out on the court, but all of the time, loving the game because I’ve been allowed to play it with you by my side.


I can’t think of a finer group of teammates with whom to pass the ball. Consider it passed, sweet friends. Play well. Play hard, and do it all for the love and glory of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I’ll see you on the other side of my bench time. As always,

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Running Above Our Average

Running Above Our Average

“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. (1 Corinthians 9:24).


I didn’t mean to find them.

They were hidden there amidst the accolades of my former season: diplomas, caps and gowns, tassels and cords, a Master’s Thesis, my first diary, my first attempts at creative writing neatly organized in a bright yellow folder. A banker’s box worth of yesterdays was crammed at the back of my attic and the purposeful intention behind my husband’s search a few nights ago.

I was looking for a high school photograph of myself. What I found, instead, was a treasure trove of memories. All of them precious. All except one.

I don’t know why I saved it. Of all the many gracious and tender mementos that I had packed away for future viewing, I’m at a loss as to why I kept this one.

A battered blue pocket folder filled with eleven papers that I had written for my Advanced Composition Class during my freshman year at college. All typed on onion skin paper. All amply marked with “red,” and all of them, every last one of them, crowned with the academic genius of a “C.”

Average papers, friends. The problem? I wasn’t an average student. “C’s” were not my portion. At least not in the academic realm. Life, perhaps a different matter, but when it came to grades, I made the grade. Needless to say, when I pulled out that memory, my heart skipped a beat as I recalled the disappointment that I had felt when receiving those grades over twenty years ago. And while my husband and senior son provided their good humored ribbing alongside their accompanying shock, I quietly nursed some old wounds that reared their ugly in vivid detail.

It’s been happening to me a lot lately … this retrieval of old and sometimes painful memories. I’m not sure as to the exact reason why, but I think that it has something to do with an upcoming talk that I will be presenting about becoming “a living stone from brokenness”—my life of almost forty-three years presented in a forty-five minute nutshell. And friends, that’s a whole lot of broken crammed into a very small window of opportunity.

I have my outline and pages of corresponding back-up material ready to go. There is even a scripturally based “formula” prepared for taking my listeners, even as I have taken myself, from a state of brokenness toward a state of repair. But for all of the words that I have planned in advance, for all of the preparations that I have put into this one event, none have touched me so deeply as the ones that have presented themselves to me in vivid and living color over the past few weeks.

Real people. Real situations. Real memories. Real brokenness.

And here’s what I think, especially as it pertains to those of us who are endeavoring to humbly walk our accompanying talk.

Whatever God is “working on” in us, whatever he is refining and tweaking in us toward his good purposes and our perfected end, this is the very thing that he allows to confront us in raw and unedited ways. At unsuspecting times and, yet, in perfectly determined measure.

I’ve come to expect God’s unexpected; thus, when it arrives, I have a choice to make. I can bury it, or I can run with it to see where Father God will lead. And since burying usually leaves me as I am, I am prone to choosing the latter because I’ve finally come to the conclusion that running with God is his intended adventure for this heart of mine.

Accordingly, I ran with my battered blue folder all the way to my computer on a prompt from my son.

“Let’s Google this guy and see if we can find him, mom.”

Within seconds, I had access to this professor who was responsible for the blight on my academic record and for my former status as “average.” On a whim, I emailed him, reminding him of my presence in his classroom and about the amount of red ink that he so willingly expended on my behalf. Our families were acquainted with one another. Growing up in a small town and attending the corresponding college dictates a familiarity between the “locals” that is rarely gleaned in a larger arena.

Consequently, I was fairly confident that he would make the connection. He did, and the next morning a beautiful and humble response was waiting for me in my “inbox.” He acknowledged his “fussiness” over his grading in the past and went on to thank me for introducing him to the second half of my life. He’s added “peace for the journey” to his favorites list and also shared with me about some of the personal pain that he is currently experiencing in his own life.

In return, I thanked him for his gracious reply and for the privilege of praying on behalf of his family. I did pray, and I will continue to do so. Why?

Because God intends for me to run with him wherever the wind blows. And just this week, it blew me backward and then forward again to land me in a better place of understanding—a holier place of perception that breathes with the living pulse of an eternal Father who promises to work all of my “things” … all of your things … toward his good and perfect end.

And that end, dear ones, is anything but average. It rates much higher than a “C”, and for the record, it carries the red marks of a Savior’s love who isn’t content to leave us as we are, but who bled all over the pages of our manuscripts so that we could carry him as the most treasured memory of our always.

Unexpected moments—the real and raw and perfectly timed occasions of doing life with Jesus. I’m ready to run. I hope that your heart cries out for the same. Thus I pray…

Keep us to our run, Father, and to our willingness to embrace your wind beneath our feet as it blows. Let not the brokenness from our yesterdays prevent us from our healing in our today. Instead, use them as your building blocks for our tomorrows—for the seasons that are waiting to breathe in fullness because we’ve entrusted our past into your faithful and tender care. Take it all, Lord, and use it for your glory—my history and my now. Humbly I offer them both for your gracious and completed end. Amen.

Copyright © February 2009 – Elaine Olsen

~elaine

PS: Just in case you’re wondering, Mr. Professor’s red ink was warranted. After reading some of those papers…

Have mercy! Shalom.

Sought After

“You will be a crown of splendor in the LORD’s hand, a royal diadem in the hand of your God. No longer will they call you Deserted, or name your land Desolate. But you will be called Hephzibah, and your land Beulah; for the LORD will take delight in you, and your land will be married. (Isaiah 62:3-4).

High school and I were an awkward fit. In fact, I hated most every minute of the three years that I spent walking its hallways and trying my best to make sense of the nonsense. I wasn’t popular. I wasn’t stunning. I wasn’t a cheerleader. I wasn’t asked out on dates. In fact, to me it seemed as if I wasn’t much of anything, except…

forgotten … deserted.

The friends of my younger days had long since traded me in for a newer model, and my teachers? Well, there were a few who noticed my worth, but a majority of them never even knew my name. Thus, it was no surprise to me that when I graduated a year early, it came and went with little fanfare.

For me, my high school years were a detrimental season of living—shaping years that, unfortunately, left my already fragile self-esteem in further ruin. Accordingly, I couldn’t wait to break free.

Starting college at seventeen was a good decision. I chose to attend a school in my hometown, and from the moment that my feet hit the campus of Asbury College, I knew that my heart had finally found its home.

College was the fertile soil of my becoming—of my beginning to break free from the chains that had followed me down those painful hallways of high school. I fit, and for the first time in my life, I began to see myself as someone more than the scared little girl who had always felt deserted.

I had friends and dates and professors who, not only called me by name, but who also came to expect my leadership in the classroom. After a first semester of academic adjustment, my grades soared toward excellence and landed me with honors by the time graduation rolled around. In addition to my cherished diploma, I had an engagement ring on my finger.

I was on my way to becoming a preacher’s wife and an elementary school teacher in short order. No more painful high school hallways for me. Being deserted was no longer my issue … at least not for a season. But as all issues go, unless dealt with by the illuminating and healing presence of God’s love, they tend to resurface at unsuspecting times.

Mine would reappear on occasion and became more frequent as my marriage began to unravel. After seven years of being a wife and a mother to two young sons, my feelings of worthlessness barked their insistence over my soul, and I found myself, once again, returning to the familiar hallways of my adolescence.

It would take a long season of painful recollection and deliberate intention to free me from my feelings of being forgotten. Thankfully at age forty-two, I’m finally getting close.

(ages 17, 21, 42)
God in his mercy and through his far-reaching love has kept me on the path of recovery and rediscovery. My identity is no longer shaped by the hallways of my youth or by the divorce that forced me to grapple with my worthiness as it pertains to God and his kingdom agenda. Today I walk in the grace that was mandated for me long before my sin required its covering.

Accordingly, I know longer feel deserted; my Father and the cross of his Son made sure of that.

“The LORD has made a proclamation to the ends of the earth; ‘Say to the Daughter of Zion, “See, his reward is with him, and his recompense accompanies him.”’ They will be called the Holy People, the Redeemed of the LORD; and you will be called Sought After, the City No Longer Deserted.” (Isaiah 62:11-12).

Today, I walk in the freedom of a new name. Many still know me as elaine. But my Father? Well, he knows me by a few others.

*Sought After.
*City No Longer Deserted.
*Hephzibah meaning “my delight.”
*Beulah meaning “married.”

Not a bad trade for the deserted and desolate of my youth?

I don’t know how this strikes you today. I’m not even quite sure as to the reason for the penning of my words. But I have a thought that, perhaps, there is someone out there who needs the truth of a new name this night. Maybe the hallways of your adolescence … maybe even those of your most recent … are plaguing your thoughts with feelings of being forgotten, unloved and unnecessary. I understand.

I’m not so far along in my faith journey that I don’t occasionally revisit those names. The enemy would like nothing more than to keep us trapped in the lie of such an identification. But the truth is…

Our Jesus didn’t go all the way to hell and back to leave us as we are. Instead, He made the journey in order to bring us home as his bride. We are the sought after delight of our God. Never forgotten. Never deserted. Never unloved and never unnecessary. And that, sweet friends, has always been and will continue to be the most sacred and deliberate intention of our Father’s heart—

to be the Lover of ours.

Won’t you allow him his turn to bathe you in the truth of what you’ve always meant to him? He is so worthy of your pause. Mine, too. Thus I pray…

Show me, Father, your love. Teach me what it means to be your bride … your delight … your sought after and prized possession. My youthful shapings and my adult rebellions have kept me from knowing the full depth of my identity in You. Replace the sting of feeling deserted with the truth of your deliberate pursuit of my heart. Thank you for holding onto my fragile estate all of these years and for continuing to remind me of my sacred worth in You. And when I am tempted to revisit those hallways of my long ago and faraway, turn my thoughts toward my “soon to be” and my “ever so close.” I love you, Father. Thank you for taking me as your bride. Amen.

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My God is my Oath

My God is my Oath

Update on Beth…
The doctors were able to remove a large portion of the tumor growing on one of Beth’s vertebra. Follow up radiation treatment will begin after she’s had a brief period of recovery. She is in a tremendous amount of pain and had a very restless night of sleep. Thank you, my blogging friends, for being the body of Christ to her and her family in the past 24 hours. They remain in need of our prayerful petitions. Let’s also remember our friend, Joy, as she has received word of her father’s similar diagnosis only yesterday. I know that she would appreciate a note of encouragement. Our God is our Oath. Shalom.
Beth & grandson

This is a day of need.

In my life, in yours, and in the lives of those we love.

We are a needy people, and without the cross of Christ to guide us through our wanton estate, all hope is lost. Period.

I just received one of the most sacred pleas for help I’ve ever read. My friend has emailed me from the confines of her hospital room, and she is afraid. She’s facing an immediate and necessary surgery this afternoon because of a cancerous tumor that has wrapped itself around the top of her spine. She’s been battling cancer for six years now; I’ve not known her beyond her cancer years. She landed in my lap when we landed here as her parsonage family.

The first Sunday we met, she had on her pink, and I remember her telling me to “sit down” on the couch outside the fellowship hall so that she could get to know me better. I immediately resonated with her “take charge, no nonsense” kind of personality. We’re a bit like-minded in that way.

Since that time, Beth has walked with me through ten Bible studies and been my friend despite my many foibles along the way. She is genuine, raw and real, and as authentic as they come. You never have to guess where you stand with Beth, and I like that. She lives out loud, and she lavishly loves the life that she lives.

And friends, she wants some more of this life to live.

Hers has not been an easy road. Some of her journey mirrors mine. Still and yet, her faith continually roots her … returns and restores her to the only God who perfectly loves her. I have quietly watched her walk her cancer. We’ve buried two of our Bible study friends in the five years we’ve been doing life together for similar reasons. It’s not an easy walk and one that I am sure is more difficult for her to step than me.

She lives with her disease. I don’t, at least not physically. But she has graciously given me a window into the life of her suffering, and I consider it a privilege to be a carrier of her pain. Thank God for the embrace of another’s pain. Without it, we become removed … cold and distant and separated from the call of Jesus Christ to be his body to the broken.

Beth is broken today. I bet that there are some of you who feel the same; if not you, then someone you love. Thus, our Father asks of us—those of us who are able bodied and spirit-filled willing—

What will you do with the pain?

I tell you what I did and will continue to do throughout the day and in the weeks to come. I bring it before the throne room of heaven and pray believing that my God is able to supply all of my needs … all of Beth’s needs … according to his riches in glory.

Not his leftovers. Not his cast-offs. Second-rate doesn’t fit with our King. There’s nothing random or haphazard about his approach to our lives. Rather our Father longs for his riches to be our portion. Riches from his storeroom of goodness that are ready and willing to explode upon the scenes of our lives simply because we believe that our God is eager to do so and because we are wise enough to ask.

Why sit on our “hopes” today? Why not speak them to the One who is able to deliver?

This is the day of need. Not tomorrow. Not next week, or even next year. Today is the only day we’ve been given. All other days will take care of themselves accordingly.

And today, my friend needs my prayers. I imagine that she would be blessed to receive a few of yours too. You don’t know her, but I do and that is enough to warrant our pause before the King. I know that your list is already a mile long. But if you wouldn’t mind, could you simply speak her name to Jesus today?

Beth. She whose name means “my God is my oath.” May the faith of her name be the faith of her heart this day. May it be yours also. If our God is anything (and I happen to think that He IS everything), he is the God of promise … of covenant … of oath.

Let’s take him at his Word in this moment.

As always,

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