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#14 – “God Will Take You Across the River”

November 14, 2010

An excerpt from Beyond the Scars  (pp. 153-155) to mark the 14th anniversary of my survivorship.

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As I near the end of this writing project, there is a lump in my throat, my heart as well. I’ve been saving this particular writing for a few weeks now, reserving if for a time such as this – an almost-ending time. This thought seared through to my heart one evening while I was out taking a walk with my daughter. It is a heart truth that simply and profoundly says,

“God will take you across the river.”

Let me explain. 

As our walks go, my nine-year–old daughter rides her bike while I pitifully endeavor to keep up with her pace. She’s usually far ahead of me; I’m mostly fine with her taking the lead as long as she follows this one, simple rule: she must wait for me before “crossing the river.”

The river – that’s the term we use to describe the intersections of streets in our neighborhood, including the corners and the stopping points where we “look both ways before crossing the street.” She isn’t allowed to move forward with that crossing until I give her the go-ahead.

“Wait for me, Amelia, before crossing the river.”

She’s always faithful to wait, always eager to move ahead, but willing to linger for her mother’s official word. Funny thing: she constantly arrives at the crossings before I do, at least until a few weeks ago, when I beat her. She had stopped her forward motion to remove a pebble from her shoe; I kept moving while she did surgery. I could hear her saying, “Wait for me!” as I moved along. Her words didn’t stop me, but then she said something that did.

“Mommy, please wait for me before crossing the river. You can’t cross the river without me.”

Like a bolt of lightning from God’s heart to mine, I was struck by the profundity of her words. I couldn’t move. Instead, I just cried, and when she arrived at my side and inquired about the reason behind my tears, I spoke some truth over her precious young heart. “There may come a day, sweet one, when you’ll have to cross this river without me. But rest assured, God will walk it with you. He’s gone ahead of us both, and he’ll make sure that we land safely on the other side.”

It seemed enough of a reason to quell her curiosity in that moment, although I’m certain she didn’t feel the ground beneath her feet shaking in the same way I felt it quaking. Her heart’s not quite ready to undertake the weightiness of such truth. Nevertheless, I spoke it, and today I write it, believing that somewhere down the road, she’ll retrieve this memory from my pen and better understand the fullness of what I’m saying – how I’m trying to live my life faith forward, with not a single crumb of doubt left in my wake.

Whenever that day comes for me – my crossing-over day – I don’t want there to be any lingering questions as to what I believed and where I’m headed. Mind you, I’m not in much of a hurry to take on the Jordan River, not yet. My heart is still closely attached to the promises I’m living on this side of Canaan. The life I share with my husband and my four children is a good life to live. It is a life worth fighting for, and then, as God so chooses, a life to lay down in favor of the greener pastures and perfect promises of the land just beyond this one – a home across the river.

Until then, I want to fully live each day as it arrives. I want to give my children some years, some more time to get grown and get established in their faith. I want to be part of that shaping process. In addition, I am committed to the earthly tenure I’ve been given. Life is a precious gift and worth preserving. God created me with a purpose in mind, and for as long as I have breath, I am wholly devoted to that purpose – to know God more with each passing day and then, out of that knowing, to lead others to know the same. Kingdom truth can march on without me, but it feels right and good and sacred to be part of the story – the telling of it and living it therein.

Yes, I still have some earthly attachments. Life on this side of the river has been a good landscape in which to grow my kingdom heart. I’ll keep walking the streets with my daughter and crossing the rivers with her for as long as I’m given the privilege. But I’ll always do so with an eye fixed on forever. I’ll keep telling her about Canaan, keep reminding her about home and about the God who has crossed all rivers in front of her, making certain of her safe arrival on the other side. It’s what I must do. It’s all I know to do. It’s how I must live – fully committed to the journey at large.

I don’t know where you are today. Maybe you’re standing on the edge of your Jordan, preparing your heart for a difficult crossing. Maybe you’re far away from the water’s edge, riding your bike and keeping pace with limited understanding. Maybe, like I am, you’re somewhere in between, approaching the river, yet still far enough away that you have time for further conversations – important living words that impart God’s kingdom seed into the soil of a future generation. Wherever you are, today is still today, and there is still time to take the hand of Jesus and trust him with the crossing that’s ahead.

God will take you across the river. No one else can. No one else deserves the privilege because no one else can land you safely on the other side. I cannot carry you there any more than I can carry my daughter with me as I go. I can only point you to the one who can. The one who has walked it before us and whose name is written on the deed to Canaan. Only God can offer such glorious hope to our wounded, fearful, and often discouraged hearts. Canaan is God’s Promised Land to give. And because of his Son’s surrender to a cross, we all have a share in that inheritance.

Today’s a good day to take a walk with someone you love. Take the lead, or fall in step behind, but as you arrive at the “rivers” along your path, take a hand. Cross the river together, and remember the hand and heart of the one who has crossed it before you.

God will take you across the river, readers. And should we never meet on this side of the Jordan, I’ll be standing on the shores of Canaan, awaiting your arrival. Safe passage. Keep to the road of faith. Thus, I pray…

To stand at the Jordan and look over to Canaan, Lord, is a glorious revelation of grace. Thank  you for all the reminders of promise that come to us; they help us move forward with perspective. Canaan seems so far in coming, yet we know it’s but a moment from now. Thank you for crossing the river ahead of us, for making our path straight, and for securing our safe passage prior to our departure. Father, our attachments to our earthly tenures are strong. Sometimes we’re unwilling to let go of them because of the pain attached to the release. Temper the pain with the truth of what awaits us, and gladden our hearts with expectation for the forever the we will share together. Amen. 

©F. Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved. 

Storyteller

God is the Master Storyteller.

He writes good lines, thinks long-term, and fills up our books with chapters unimaginable to us on the front side of their unfolding.

Don’t believe me? Well, let me tell you a story…

There is a memory I am holding today. It’s a bit shadowy around the edges as I was only 5 or 6 years old, but with clarity I recall the scene; in particular, I remember the person – a boy named “K.” K and I attended the same church with our parents and often found ourselves around a table in a Sunday School classroom.

On this particular Sunday morning, I met K for the first time. He was energetic, happy and full of joy. I sensed that he was somehow different from the rest of us, but no one seemed to mind. I would grow in my understanding of K over the years regarding his uniqueness as well as his challenges. As we grew older, I saw him less, understanding that his life and mine would never walk the same path forward – that our childhood connection would remain solidly fixed in my memories with an occasional present-day rumination about his current whereabouts.

I wonder what ever happened to K?

Well, I know what happened to K.

Fast forward through fifty years of living. Through moves – nine relocations in three states. Through marriages. Through babies. Through graduations. Through college drop offs. Through two extraordinary daughters-in-law. Through grandkids. Through disease. Through the trauma of almost losing a child – a son named Jadon. All the way through to this moment, to today.

This is where I hit the pause button, because it is now when the lines of God’s story get really interesting.

Tonight, my son Jadon will walk to K’s house, sit around his table for an evening, break bread with him and begin a journey as companions – a friendship (once removed) that began 50 years ago with K and I in a Sunday school classroom, dancing around in circles.

Six months ago, Billy and I took Jadon to Wilmore, KY, and dropped him off to begin his seminary training at Asbury. Our hearts remain tender with the separation. Our hearts also overflow with joy knowing that Jadon is where he needs to be to continue his journey in a place that holds everlasting significance for me.

My dad was a professor at Asbury Seminary, beginning in 1970 and continuing for over 40 years. My mother? The registrar at Asbury Seminary. My husband? A graduate of Asbury Seminary. I cut my spiritual teeth running the hallways of that hallowed institution, along with the hallways of the Wilmore United Methodist Church (the church where Jadon is now the youth pastor). What was sown and grown inside of me in that season is a history that continues to write the lines of my present-day story. Deeply so.

Not long ago, a college friend who is closely connected to K’s family reached out to me about Jadon’s possible interest in working with K. Throughout the years, she and I have kept in touch through social media; she closely followed along with Jadon’s miraculous recovery from a 2018 traumatic brain injury. After a few conversations with her, an initial meeting with K and some further training, Jadon begins in his new role this evening.

And I am caught in the moment, in the magic and mystery of God’s story-telling skills.

Fifty years ago, I danced around a Sunday school classroom with K. And God looked on. I wondered if he smiled and thought…

Just wait, Elaine, about fifty years from now. Have I got a story to tell you!

Funny how our lives write the witness of God’s faithfulness … glorious really. How what we cannot see now … imagine now … is but the heavenly word bank from which the Master Storyteller chooses the words to write an eternal, best-seller.

God is faithful. He will not leave our stories unfinished without a witness. He’s watching from a far, maybe even smiling because…

He knows what he is doing. He knows how to weave our past into our future in beautiful measure. Maybe there’s strength in that truth for you tonight. Keep rehearsing your history with God and looking for all the ways that your former steps inform your current ones.

Rest alongside the Storyteller. He who began a very good work in you is faithful to complete it. Trust Him for the finish.

Word has it that endings are his specialty. As always…

Peace for the journey,

A Silver Celebration

I like growing old alongside Billy.

That’s what I told a friend not long ago. I’ve not always thought about our life together with such sentimentality. Twenty-five years ago, growing old wasn’t on my radar. I was just a bride walking down the aisle toward the man and toward a future that could not be predicted, only lived out with the belief that marriage was, in fact, a good decision for me and my two sons.

Of course, there were plenty of folks in the room validating our choice – a cacophony of voices rooting for us from the sidelines, along with Dr. Ellsworth Kalas awaiting our arrival at the end of the aisle. What a gift he gave us that day, validating our budding love by reminding us of a wedding in Cana where the best wine was saved for last! But there were other voices as well in that season … a few who dared to share their concerns. There was the well-meaning friend who stopped by my office one afternoon and likened our courtship to a combination of peanut butter and cheese, an odd coupling. And then there was the well-respected professor who refused to counsel us because he had already decided that Billy and I, as a couple, were not marriage material.

Twenty-five years of marriage have a way of dulling the naysayers. Today we laugh at the memory. I confess, though, that in those beginning days of solidifying our union, I probably gave those well-meaning voices too much rental space in my mind. At times, Billy and I were an odd coupling, struggling to build a life together on nothing more than the firm covenant we had made to one another, to God, and to our boys on that sultry July afternoon at the altar of First Methodist Church in Lexington, KY.

Emotions weren’t enough to carry us through to this moment – a silver wedding anniversary. Covenant-keeping was.

And today, twenty-five years down the road, Billy and I are growing old together in a most beautiful way – a well-respected love tethered by a long season of deliberate choices that have weathered us, tested us and, ultimately, elevated us to a place of surety, strength, and safety. My gut tells me we’re going to lean heavily into that strength in the season to come; seems like a few clouds might be gathering on the horizon. 

Come what may, one of the things I hold most certain and close in my heart (perhaps the benefit of twenty-five years of covenant-keeping) – for as long as I am allowed, I will walk forward with my hand in Billy’s. He is my home. For better or worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and health, for as long as we both shall live.

We’re a team, Billy Olsen, and I am honored and blessed to be your aging bride.

I really do like growing old alongside you.

Happy Anniversary,

Background Music by Bebo Norman – “A Page is Turned” 

What Worked For Us (how advanced planning helped my family) – UPDATED

UPDATED INFORMATION (1.9.2022)

Since I first wrote this post in September 2021 – there have been many newsworthy updates regarding all things COVID related. I will add some of those updates here.

To see the latest information from Dr. Peter McCullough  – please click on following video link posted January 9th. Dr. McCullough was presenting at the Health and Liberty Alliance Conference. CLICK HERE TO WATCH.

Dr. McCullough’s now patented protocol can be downloaded by CLICKING HERE.

Peace to you, friends. I pray that you are well. Spiritually. Physically. Mentally. In all the ways that truly matter.

Your well-being matters to me. Accordingly, tonight I feel led to go somewhere that I’ve been somewhat hesitant to go in recent days. I won’t go into the reasons for my hesitancy. You know them already. One doesn’t have to go looking to find division in this season. Division, instead, finds us.

The soil beneath our feet is ripe for discord.

And so, I tread lightly and tenderly on this patch of dirt I am about to unearth.

On February 28th of this year, Jadon tested positive for C19. On July 30, 2021, Billy tested positive. Three days later, Amelia tested positive.

Over the course of their illnesses (each one with varying degrees of symptoms – Billy being the worst), I masked up and tended to their multiple needs while following a carefully researched course of protocol developed by Dr. Peter McCullough. Months before, I had pre-emptively prepared for such a time as this. Through the help of Dr. McCullough and America’s Frontline Doctors, I had both the protocol and the meds on hand to treat this virus at home. The goal was to keep all of us out of the hospital.

Thankfully, that goal was achieved.

In the last week, with the rise of the new variant related to C19, I know of many people who have also received a positive diagnosis. Folks who have previously been hesitant to speak with me about all things pertaining to C19 have now begun asking questions. A lot of those inquiries pertain to the protocol we used as a family.

As the lone hold-out in our household for not having been diagnosed with C19, I continue to daily follow the protocol prophylactically.

And so, I give you this information as a way of coming alongside you in this time of great flux. I am not a medical doctor, but Dr. Peter McCullough is one of the most peer-reviewed, published doctors on the topic of C19. I won’t load you down with his credentials. You should do the research yourself. That’s what any responsible person would do in a situation as serious as this one. Personally, I think he should be nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize, but that is my bias. History will write the witness of just exactly how valuable and noble his efforts to treat this virus have been.

Incalculable is the word that comes to mind.

There are literally dozens of current videos featuring Dr. McCullough. I’m posting his most recent one, in which he adds a new recommendation to his nutraceutical bundle – povidone iodine to cleanse the pharyngeal passages.

To download your own copy of Dr. McCullough’s treatment protocol, visit the website Truth for Health by clicking here.

To view his recent interview with Dr. Peter Breggin, click here.

Dr. McCullough’s protocol, along with a similar protocol by Dr. Zelenko, have been used effectively by countless patients across the globe for early treatment of C19. Three of those patients I call family – Billy, Jadon, and Amelia. I am eternally grateful for the mission and work of these frontline heroes. Perhaps their knowledge may be of some benefit to you and your family going forward. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: Comments are closed on this post. If you’d like to be in touch, please send me an email. 

Main Street USA

I saw a man today. Actually, I heard him before I saw him.

That happens when you work on Main Street USA … you hear things. The loud squeal of breaks as a semi stops for the red light. Laughter of the ladies passing by on their way to the dress shop. Not so private phone calls of folks who’ve forgotten there’s only a pane of glass between them and me. An occasional solitary soul conversing loudly with herself. The gregarious shop owner across the street who greets her customers as friends.

Yes, life is noisy on Main Street USA, and for the past nine months, I’ve collected a lot of town secrets. I’m tempted to say I’ve heard it all. At least I thought I had …

Until today. Until he walked by.

He had on a feed sack, cinched at the waist. Long hair tucked haphazardly beneath a toboggan. He carried a megaphone. Greater still, he carried a burden.

“Repent for the kingdom of heaven is near.”

He followed it up with scripture and other words, but it was these that stuck with me.

Quietly I collected the tears in my hands while whispering, “Just like the prophets of old … like John at the Jordan.” Instead of thinking him daft, I thought of him with wonder … with wishing that I could be brave, could stop what I was doing and join him on the road of repentance. To come alongside him in his grief. To cry out for a nation that has clearly lost its way. On his return trip down the opposite side of Main Street USA, I snapped a picture and heard him exclaim to the curious,

“I love my country. I care about what’s happening in our country. Repent for the kingdom of heaven is near.”

And I was broken into pieces for I, too, love my country and deeply feel its fracture tonight.

I don’t know how to fix it; I’m not even certain that I want to take on such burden. But what I do know is that, for a few hours today, my heart was completely willing to trade in my khakis and soft sweater for the scratchiness of sackcloth.

It seems the best course of action for the rancor on Main Street USA this evening.

Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near.

Surely it won’t be long in coming … the kingdom.

Repentance is our only way forward; it’s the only way home.

May God in his mercy give us enough time to get it right.

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