Category Archives: trust

a greater thing…

 
I’ve been stuck recently. Hung up on and hunkered down in a thought or two regarding a particular spoken word from Jesus. A promise. One that doesn’t compute with my internal, spiritual compass. One that has always confused me, challenged me, asked me to consider just exactly what he meant by his saying it. Perhaps it’s brought you reason for pause in your personal, exploration with God.
 
“I tell you the truth, anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing. He will do even greater things than these because I am going to the Father. And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father.” 
{John 14:12-13}
 
Doing what Jesus did. Even greater things. Almost seems treacherous typing it, much less laying claim to it as part of my personal identity. Surely he didn’t mean it as it sounds. Surely he isn’t saying what it seems as if he is saying. That I, that you, sinners saved solely by the grace of the cross, could walk in his similar shoes, dispensing a similar grace on similar occasions with similar results.
 
Surely not. Such a gift feels too weighty. Too much sacred privilege given to human flesh. Too much trust. Too much kindness. Too much royalty. Too much inheritance.  Too much glory for any one person to handle with any measure of Godly humility. Too big of a theology for a pint-sized brain like mine and an even weaker flesh to absorb in this moment.
 
I am in a diminished state. My thoughts aren’t always what I want them to be. Medications and course of treatment force my limits. My thinking is sometimes scattered, and I labor to have it make sense. Accordingly, when it comes to the weightiness of the Word of God and all its intricacies—the mystery and marvel of words that breathe as fresh breath from his lips today even as they were spoken in yesterday—I don’t always get it right. I’m no scholar; no theologian deeply steeped in study and adorned with degrees from the most prestigious religious institutions.
 
 
  Yes, my daddy is a preacher and served as a professor of preaching at one of the finest seminaries in the country. I spent years running its hallways and sitting under some of the richest preaching and teaching offered to formative young minds. As a youth, I was mentored by one of the most deeply committed, well-known youth leaders in the country who made it his solid commitment to make sure that the pulse of my heart would eventually catch up with my over-grown head. Indeed, I was offered the best when it came to my spiritual shaping. But even with all of that tutelage back then and with all of what I’ve come to know since that season…
 
I still get stuck sometimes. And I wonder about God and his promises to me and what he means for me to do with such knowledge. How do I take what he says, apply it to my heart, and then live it out most courageously before his watchful gaze in hopes that I do him some justice… bring him some glory? What could I do in this season of my life that would even come close to matching the sentiment of his heart as spoken in John 14? How can I, sick as I am, stand where I am, as a representative of the I AM and do even greater things?
 
It doesn’t compute, but then again, neither does grace. And just the other morning while others (perhaps even you) were catching sleep granted humans via the natural cycle of life, I was clutching my cross, and I had a thought regarding my “greater thing.” It arrived in the form of few words from God’s Word. Silently, they crept in without notice, transferring me from the dark of my bedroom to the dark of a sea. A night some 2000 years ago, steeped in chaos, waves, and despair. A fourth watch where disciples, not unlike me, took to the waters in hopes of reaching the other side without incident. A night when fear roared its opposition in the face of truth and when faith was shaken to its core. A night when those who were closest to the Master needed the witness of his eternal hold.
 
A night scare that required a night God and the witness of a night Word that would carry them through to the morning’s light:
“Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.” {Matthew 14:27}    
 
And with those eight words, I become less stuck in my previous ruminations. For with Christ’s mandate in that moment—an event in history separated from his promise in John 14—I begin in my understanding of what Christ might mean by my “greater thing.” That I, feeble in flesh yet strong in Spirit, might be a someone who could make that night walk on behalf of the fearful. That God in his infinite mercy and willing cooperation might so endow me with the gift of his Spirit so that I could cross waves and cut through currents to become a hand’s extension. Heaven’s extension. A sacred bridge linking the dying, fear-filled soul to the living, faithful God.
 
That I, a single pilgrim on this journey of faith, might know the power of an interceding Jesus. And that because of his Holy Spirit, I might be filled to overflow with Him so that I would be able to withstand the fear of the night’s storm in order to walk in peaceful pause to extend the courage of Christ to others.  
 
That, my friends, is a greater thing… a greater work. To be one extension amidst millions of other faith-filled extensions who are well-supplied and well-equipped to dispense the King’s courage. Not because of anything we have done, but rather because of everything he chose to do. He chose to make me and you a part of his rich inheritance. We stand alongside him as co-heirs to an undeserved kingdom. On paper and in our minds, such grace will never compute. We’ll never be able to make sense of the “greater things” he has in mind for us to do. But every now and again, when we really take hold of all of what that might mean for us, we catch a glimpse of perfect understanding.
And we find our place… our sacred responsibility and our reason for moving forward with our faith in this world.
 
We are here for God’s greater thing. I don’t know what that will look like for you in the week ahead, but I do know where the fearful live in my little corner of the world. They cloister together less than a mile from my front door, in chairs hooked up to the deathblows and life-giving vein named chemotherapy. Many are stuck in the fourth watch. Many have yet to know that God is the Master of their fourth watch. That his courage and his hands are available to them, and that just maybe, those hands might come to them through a weakened vessel named Faith Elaine. Hands wrinkled by years. Hands drying by drugs. Hands weathered by understanding.
Hands extended in love. Hands speaking the truth in love…
“Take courage; It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
Words rightly and humbly spoken by a daughter of the King. A greater thing, indeed. What a marvelous, treasured gift with which to be entrusted. Live your greater thing like you mean it, friends, and never underestimate your worthiness in the kingdom of God. He has called us, each one, to a greater understanding of the greater gift we’ve been allowed. Use it all, do it all, love them all with his greater end in mind. As always…
Peace for the journey,
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tomorrow…

tomorrow…

 

God is huge… really huge; so huge that it would be impossible for me to shrink him down and cram him into my pint-sized capacity for understanding. Still and yet, there are days when he breaks himself down for me so that my “pint-sized brain” can experience a measure of what it is to know him more fully, more intimately. These past few days have been some of those days for me.

God has tenderly knelt beside me, met me eye-level, and cradled me close to his beating heart. There has been more laughter than tears, more joy than sadness, more hope than despair, more faith than unbelief. I am grateful for my “more” that has anchored in sacred soil rather than in the tainted, diminished earthen sod that cradles my temporal steps. I’ve also been surprised by it… been overwhelmed by the gracious, sustaining hand of my Father who has not only made this cancer diagnosis bearable for me, but even more so, understandable.

I cannot explain the rational, reasonable response of my heart; whereas even a month ago I would have told you that I couldn’t possibly “do cancer,” I’m doing it today. I’m living with my diagnosis, with the stresses and strains of having to make some difficult decisions because of that diagnosis, and with the reality that I’m still a mom and wife with laundry to fold, bills to pay, and homework to be managed. That kind of “living with” can only be filtered through the lens of peace.

God’s peace—Jesus Christ. Not as the world gives (thank you God), but as he so determines. The world’s offering of peace is limited, is budgeted according to fleshly understanding and carnal appetites. God’s peace, however, is limitless and is budgeted according to kingdom standards and based on holier appetites—soul cravings that issue forth from a deep hunger to get more of our huge God crammed into our pint-sized understanding.

I’ve been living in kingdom peace these past weeks, and the cravings of my soul have been amply fed by the hand of the King who bends low to listen to the heart cries of his children… who stoops low to “raise the poor from the dust and lift the needy from the ash heap” (Ps. 113:6-7). I am exceedingly grateful for the gift of his sustaining presence and his willingness to be heavily invested in the story of my cancer.

God is so very willing to be part of all of our stories, friends. All he is waiting on is our invitation to him to start writing his memoir through us. You may not think your life particularly fantastic or worthy of print, but when you hand our Father the pen, he scripts authenticity into your story—every chapter, every line, every word, every letter. Every year, every month, every day, every hour. When God is given the publishing rights to our manuscripts, he promises to make everything count—the good, the bad, and all the mess that resides in between these extremes.

I’m taking him at his word; I’m believing him to make my cancer count—not for my sake, but for his. To get to the end of it all, regardless of where that “end” resides, and to have lived it selfishly and without regard to God’s greater understanding is to waste this precious time. I choose not to “live” there. I choose to live better. By doing so, I pray I learn more about my Father… about an intimacy, perhaps, that might have never been shared between us had I not been allowed this road.

I don’t want to waste my cancer. I want to embrace it, and in doing so, become more of the woman that God desires for me to be. If that can be said of me down the road—that in fact I’m further along in my faith journey because of my cancer—then it will have been worth it. If not—if I become a lesser woman of faith because of my cancer—then it will have been wasted.

Pray it’s not wasted. Pray, instead, that it will be my continuing perfection. I love you all and will be thinking of you in this next week as I will be off-line in order to take the next step in this journey.

After consulting with my oncologist yesterday regarding my MRI, we’ve decided to proceed with a mastectomy of both breasts. The surgery will be tomorrow at 1:00 PM. After a time of healing, a chemo/radiation plan will be put into place. Thankfully, those treatments will happen very close to home. I will have an overnight stay at the Surgery Center (can you believe that a mastectomy is considered out-patient surgery… I’m not kidding?!) before coming home. This was an unexpected “gift” to me and has gone a long way to relieve my initial concerns about learning how to care for myself before going home. Post-surgery, I am limited in the use of my arms, and my husband has vowed to make sure that I comply. Accordingly, I won’t be posting, but I’ll make sure that my husband updates you regarding my progress.

Through it all, I am humbled by the overwhelming support you’ve given to all of us, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve not been granted some extra favor from God because of your prayers. I don’t think God and his angels have ever heard my name more clearly than in the past week. I like to think of your prayers simmering there before God’s throne. You, good friends, make me want to be a better intercessor for others. You’re living a good faith on my behalf, and I am blessed by your generosity.

Take good care of your heart in this season. Tend to it; till it, and plant some good seed. The harvest will be good—God’s kind of good—and we will all share in the feasting together! As always…

Peace for the journey,

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the broken road of faith…

Photo courtesy of Susan Hood

“Faith moves forward… faith anchors itself in the unseen. Faith doesn’t base its hope in emotion but in the truth.”

That was my answer this morning to the question that was raised in Sunday school regarding the definition of faith. I spoke it rather mechanically, almost as if rehearsed over and over again prior to its departure from my lips. I suppose I’ve been practicing it for a while now, not just with words, but in my spirit as well.

It’s a good thing… this rehearsing of faith in an earlier, seemingly unchallenged season. Why? Because when uncertainties arise to challenge that faith, we need the advantage of a previously rehearsed faith. We need the anchor of truthful words when feelings pull us in the opposite direction.

I’ve been challenged lately… been hoping for some tangible validation to my deeply-held spiritual convictions. It’s not that God’s been unwilling to validate my inward pulse; no, instead, it’s been a great deal about my unwillingness to take the time to listen to his. Life and busyness and stress have shouted their insistence, almost to the point of sweeping me under the rug of doubt. I’ve caved many times, succumbed to my tears and frustration and feelings of numbness.

It’s hard to continue an old life in a new place. On the front side of my ellipsis nearly three weeks ago, I imagined this transition would be easier. I naively placed the enemy at bay, believing that my faith was unshakeable, unbendable, unwavering and steadfast. But naivety has little, if any, place in the life of a believer… especially one who is intent on the ongoing pilgrimage of faith’s perfection. Troubling times are sure to come, and while my “troubling” might categorize as insignificant to those who are troubled with a seemingly far worse scenario, it ranks pretty noteworthy for me.

“Whatever trips you up.”

This is what I’ve always told my Bible study gals (if you’re one of them, I miss you tremendously and am sending a heart full of love to you this night). We all have our triggers, and we can be sure that the enemy knows them full well and is ready to exploit them every chance he’s given. I suppose I’ve been more prone to opening up the door to his advances in recent days. Exhaustion has set in, and whenever we’re physically and emotionally tired—when the pavement beneath our feet feels more like rubble rather than smoothness—we’re prone for a misstep along these lines.

That being said, a “trip up” isn’t the end of a heart’s faith. A good faith acknowledges the imbalance early on. A good faith pauses to recognize the incongruencies between what is true and what is purported as truth. A good faith doesn’t linger too long in the rubble; instead a good faith picks itself up and moves forward, doing what it has always done.

Believing further. Looking higher. Walking onward.

Faith keeps going, and faith keeps speaking the truth, even when feelings lag behind.

That is what I did this morning. I spoke my faith despite my feelings, and as I did… something broke in me. Tears began to water my cheeks, and for the first time in a long while, God’s Spirit resonated tenderly with mine. I felt him nearby, and my heart was renewed for the journey ahead.

Sometimes, friends, we need to live our faith out loud and in living color, even when unfamiliar faces serve as our audience. I cannot pretend to be otherwise. Sometimes, my faith isn’t pretty or commendable. Sometimes it lags behind the expectations of others. But always, it lives out loud, and I just have to believe that somewhere in the living and telling of my story, someone else will benefit from the honesty.

There is no set of blueprints that perfectly defines how your faith and mine faith will cadence through until the end. We cannot predict on the front end (nor would we want to) of our ellipses all the “rough and tumble” of our tomorrows. But of this one thing we can be certain…

No matter the stones that present themselves on the path of faith, no matter the potholes and the gravel that serve as precursors to a personal fall, the One who stands at the end of the road is worth it. God is what keeps me going. I may be bloodied from the fall and the wounds may run deep, but you can be sure that I will rise again to a new day’s journey until my feet and my faith have landed me safely home. That is what I told my new friends this morning when the teacher (perhaps stunned and uncomfortable with my tears) thanked me for staying the course of faith.

“He is so worth it. God is the real deal; the only thing I’ve got going on.”

Perhaps this day some of you, like me, boast the bloody knees of a recent fall. Let not your hearts be completely troubled by the stumble; instead, believe further, look higher, walk onward. Remember the truth of your yesterday’s faith, and allow it to be the underpinning that moves you forward this week. Don’t linger too long in your guilt; let God’s forgiveness and love for you be the foundational truth from which you monitor your progress this week. You can never stumble so far as to miss the reach of God. You can never fall too far from his heart so as not to be pulled back into his loving embrace. The enemy would have you think otherwise, but the enemy is a liar. Tell him so, and then keep going. Keep speaking the truth out loud and on purpose, even when your feelings lag behind.

Faith comes through hearing, and hearing through the Word of God (Romans 10:17).

Be careful to listen to his voice this week; be willing to speak it all the more. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: I heard God’s voice this past week through the 32 Killian family members that gathered on the shores of SC for a family reunion, but no time more profoundly then the final night when we gathered for a family sing. I pray it blesses your heart as it did mine. Be sure and hang on for the final song by our beloved, Joni… our own Sandi Patty! Shalom.

running my neighborhood…

{arriving home…}

Not long ago, my friend, Melanie, asked me a few questions regarding my “running” life. She has recently started a new blog for running moms and graciously allowed me a post all my own. You can read it here. One of her questions centered on my running route—the place I best liked to run. My answer?

The neighborhood behind my house.

When responding to her questions, I still lived there… on a busy highway that prevented my running endeavors. Accordingly, most days I opted for the brief walk through a field behind my house in order to secure a safe running path in the neighborhood that bumped up against my backyard fence. For nearly six years, it was my path. It no longer is my path. Instead, my path has led me to a new neighborhood… one with tree-lined streets and landscaped yards and the sounds of sprinklers and lawn mowers and birds desperately trying to make peace with the scorching summer temperatures. I took to those streets a couple of days ago… paying close attention to landmarks and being careful to notice my surroundings.

I had a good run; I was relieved to get it behind me. There’s a bit of mystery attached to this unknown path. Taking to it rather than retreating from it has been a good approach for me as I navigate this continuing journey of faith. It doesn’t serve the kingdom or my fears to stay isolated within my four walls. Hibernating… hiding only prolongs the process of my becoming, and for those of you who know me at any level, I’m all about my becoming. I cannot abide a stagnant heart and life. Staying stuck in yesterday isn’t an option for me, even though there are moments when I long for the safety of its embrace. Thus, I took to the streets of my new community, and I thought about Melanie’s question and what it means for me as I begin to turn the pages of this new chapter in my journey.

Running the neighborhood.

We all have one, you know… a neighborhood. A place given to us by God for the generous dispensation of our hearts and his kingdom seed. He doesn’t intend for us to stay isolated in our lives, removed from the world and safely entrenched in personal confinement. Instead, God means for us to lace up our shoes and to hit the streets with the witness of our willing faith. To put pavement beneath our feet because, in doing so, we move our faith forward rather than keeping it buried in our ellipses.

{my new neighborhood… Christ UMC}

Your neighborhood may not look like mine. Yours might be altogether different from mine. I will never “live” there with you, and you will never “live” here with me, but all of us share a common interest—a single connection that requires us to move past the fear in order to take hold of a rich faith. To see beyond the old that has kept us and to embrace the new that God has parceled out before us.

For most of us, that’s a scary prospect. Living with the unknown is a difficult abiding for those who enjoy reading the last page of the novel over taking the necessary pains to get there, one page at a time. Some would rather skip the mystery and live the sure reality that precludes any measure of uncertainty, any growth in personal faith. This has been my temptation in recent days, but when I bow my head before the Father, when I engage his heart in the matter, I see a Jesus who didn’t skip the mystery but who was, instead, deeply invested into every page of the story… not just the conclusion.

Jesus didn’t miss anything in his earthly tenure. Jesus laced up his sandals and took to the streets of his neighborhood, paying very close attention to the landmarks and giving special attention to his surroundings. He didn’t miss a thing… not one moment, not one person. Wherever he walked, he lived. Whatever he saw, he touched. No day in the life of Jesus was wasted. He was never “not” in the mood to be Jesus. He didn’t forsake the journey of faith for fear of his making a mistake. He simply did what he came to do… to run the streets of his neighborhood and to elevate his heart rate in accordance with his Father’s.

That’s neighborhood running, friends. That’s what it means to be a kingdom runner, regardless of the soil that claims the soles of your feet… the soul of your heart.

I don’t have clue what this means for me in the days to come; I only know and fully believe that I can run my “neighborhood” because there is One who has gone before me and given me a perfect example of how I might more perfectly and deliberately live my faith on the pavement of real life. I will not let my fear keep me bound within these four walls. I will, instead, let my fear drive me to my knees and to my Father who has promised to run my neighborhood with me and to make sure that I don’t miss a thing.

Oh for the eyes and faith to see and to live like my Jesus! That is the prayer of my heart this night; the prayer I hold for you as well. Keep to the road, friends. Run your neighborhoods and live your faith in the strength and grace of your Jesus who has promised you his courage and perspective for the road ahead. In the midst of all the changes that are going on in my life, I am thankful that my blogging address remains the same—

a good and loving neighborhood to run with you in this season. Thank you for loving me as you do and for allowing me a few moments of gracious entry in and around the streets surrounding your home. You are a landmark worthy of my notice… worthy of our Father’s as well. I love you each one and will endeavor to jog past your place sometime this week. As always…

Peace for the journey,

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on holding the suitcase…

on holding the suitcase…

“You hold the flowers, Elaine, I’ll handle the suitcase.”

This is what God wants me to know this day, nearly a year after he impressed it into my soul. It was the statement that led to this…


Most everything about the front cover of my book was intentionally planned.

The ripe wheat.
The evening sky.
The path with a bend in the road.
Trees in the distance, framing the scene.
Enough blue heaven to hold the title.
The kids… my kids.
The similar nature of their clothing.
The shadows they cast.
The holding of hands.
The look between them.
The beat-up suitcase.
My son carrying that suitcase.
The Gerber daisies.
My daughter carrying those daisies.

What I didn’t plan on back then was the outcome… the completed look… the finished product… the culminating portrait that paints a message all its own. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then this cover releases the witness of at least a million or so; not because I had anything to do with it, but rather because God did. Long before the fifty-two reflections made their way into the interior, God had been working on the exterior. Only God can paint the eternal witness of a single moment. From his vantage point, he sees the bigger picture—the end result—and without hesitation, he picks up the paintbrush and works his truth into the mix.

I have no idea what God intends to do with this cover or with the written contents that reside within. I only know that the impression he put into my soul a year ago, is one that remains this day. It will remain for my children and their children, on down the line for generations to come. A worthy word for them and for all of us who are treading this earthly sod with a healthy respect for the temporal nature of the soil beneath our feet and for the season that lies ahead… the one just beyond the bend in our “down the road.”

“You hold the flowers, child, I’ll handle the suitcase.”

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light (Matt. 11:28-20).

I’ll handle the suitcase; you take charge of the flowers.

It’s all that God has assigned to us this day… the picking and the holding of his generous grace.

He can handle the wholly… holy… rest of it.


You’ve got a bigger picture, friends, and our Father can be trusted with the paintbrush. Believe him for it today, and thanks, Sheri, for the prompt. I needed it. As always…

peace for the journey,

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