words | Elaine Olsen

on writing words…

December 7, 2010

Words.

I don’t have many of them these days, at least not the written kind. If you were here in person, I’d have plenty to say, but as it pertains to my writing them, I’m struggling. I don’t know if the chemo is to blame or the busyness of the season, but safe to say, either one of those might be reason enough to warrant a dry spell as far as my pen is concerned.

I hate that; there’s nothing worse for a writer than to be void of words. Certainly, I have plenty of good thoughts that come my way—inclinations that, in seasons previous, would have easily written into worthy prose. But now, as quickly as they come, they seem to vanish. By the time I arrive at my computer screen, I get confused and messed up all over again… frustrated by this new reality.

So, rather than writing nothing, I thought I’d write about my frustration, thus allowing me a moment or two of connection with you this week. I wish I had something more profound to say, something that would leave you breathless and wanting more of your Jesus. He’s certainly worthy of the chase, and it has always been my endeavor to lead you in the pursuit. And for all the things that I could tell you this morning (that currently have vacated my thought coffers), I will remind you of this one thing that I remember most prominently…

Regardless of how you and I might be feeling in this moment, regardless of life situations and difficulties, no matter the ills and aches of the flesh or the problems that land at the doors of our faith, our God is still faithful to deliver a word of hope and comfort to us via his Word every time we’re faithful to open it up for a read. Unlike my many words, or lack therein, God’s Word is never void of purpose, never lacking in pointedness or punctuation. God’s Word wasn’t written out of frustration or from a drying ink well.

When and where God had thoughts, man had inspiration. His computer screen (a.k.a. parchment or stone tablets) was never empty. Even before man put God’s divinely inspired thoughts to paper, the Word was there from the very beginning. He hovered over the dark and the deep, contemplating the many words to come. Never was he confused or messed up or frustrated by the reality of what was to be written. There was order to his thoughts, his plans, his actions; no chemo brain or busyness to impede the flow of his thought processes. Only a sanctioned progression of thinking until an accumulation of those thoughts became words that spoke light and sky, land and sea, stars and moon, plants and animals, man and woman into creation.

We didn’t arrive here, nor do we hold the things that we hold this day, because God had writer’s block and couldn’t think of anything else about which to speak. No, we are here at his determination, and I am thankful for the daily reminder of that gift—for the various Bibles that line my bookshelf and for the one that lies open within arm’s reach. I don’t have to travel very far in order to fill my heart with perfect truth. All I have to do is to make room for it; take time for it; prefer it over other activity. In doing so, I open up my thoughts toward heaven and allow Jesus to lead me in my pursuit of all things his… all things sacred. And that, my friends, is the one thing I could write you about today that leaves me breathless and wanting for more.

Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, dwelling amongst us for a season; living within us for always.

Truly, is there anything else I could pen that would be more pertinent, more potent for your faith journey? When we stray even a step or two away from that reality with our thinking, then our words (whether written or spoken) become vacant of great purpose, leaving recipients void of anything more lasting than a momentary fill of the temporal. Heaven knows, there’s plenty of that floating around this time of year. Accordingly, we must be all the more intentional about our pursuit of the lasting Truth, about choosing our words carefully (those we read; those we speak; those we write).

I don’t ever want you to leave my blog feeling that you hold less of Jesus than when you arrived. I don’t ever want you to come here looking just for me, alone, without Jesus. I want my words to be about the journey we walk together, Jesus and me. And when they don’t, when words fail me and I am tempted to make it all about me, then I implore my Heavenly Father for a holy hush to take up residence here. Why? Because you don’t need any more filler in your life; you certainly don’t need more of me and my endless blah, blah, blah. What you need is Jesus… the Way, the Truth, the Life. He is your pathway home; I’m only required to serve as one lamppost along the way.

Thus, I will endeavor to keep doing what I’ve been doing for nearly three years now—writing a few words of witness in keeping with my kingdom conferment. Forgive me for the times when they write less; grant me grace for the occasions when they fill you temporarily. My flesh isn’t always the best conduit for faith’s dispersion. Even so, I get to try, and with God’s pulse living inside of me, there are a few occasions when I come close to getting it right. Thus, I offer this simple prayer in accordance with the pulse of my heart…

Even so, Lord Jesus, let the further words of my mouth, the continuing meditations of my heart, be found acceptable in your sight. I want to honor you with my pen in this place. I want to honor the pulse you placed within my heart so long ago. Guard me against inerrant teaching; keep me from penning anything that would deliberately dishonor the call that you’ve placed upon my life to know you more. You’ve entrusted me with much. May I always be found willing to guard that trust with sacred reverence and to dispense it accordingly. You are the Word behind my many words. Let your truth shine forth through me and through my pen. Amen.

~elaine

PS: My friend, Cindy @ Letters from Mid-life, is a beautiful photographer. Recently, I received some Scripture note cards, displaying her photography. You can get a peek at them by clicking on her etsy link here. I’m giving away two sets (each set contains 5 cards) this week to comments on this post. I love sending cards to others and am always in the market for original work by artists. These would make a great gift for someone’s stocking this year. Please take time to visit her work. Shalom.

her finest hour…

November 6, 2010

I had lunch with the sisters last week. I’ve yet to tell you much about them… these three Southern women connected by birth and each of them hovering toward eighty years of age. I first met them on a Saturday before that Monday (August 23, 2010—a date now chronicled as a beginning diagnosis for my cancer). I was sitting with my family in the local Wendy’s; my mind wasn’t on the food. Instead, my mind wandered to other things… possibilities, my “down the road” and what that might look like for me.

Amelia cradled closely beneath the crook of my arm as she ate her chicken. I just stared and pondered while conversation milled about the table. One of the sisters noticed our bonding, and within a few minutes, made her way to our table.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt, but have we met before?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t think so, but it seems to me that I might need to know you, and those other two sitting with you.”

Thus began the seeding of a friendship between the sisters and me. We haven’t had much occasion to get together since that Saturday. Life happened and change set in. Still and yet, they are good to remember me… call me, bake for me, send notes to me, and occasionally hang with me for lunch at Wendy’s. Last week, provided one such occasion, and the fellowship was rich.

I said something to each one of them during our gathering—an unrehearsed, unplanned kind of something. Words that spring forth from a deep well of emotion. Something I’ve been thinking about for a few weeks now, and something, I think, worthy of sharing with you in this moment.

“Ladies, don’t be surprised if your best days of mothering lie up in front of you; your finest hour of parenting might yet be up ahead, not in those moments that lie behind you.”

They looked at me, eager for an explanation. At eighty years of age, they probably hadn’t given much thought about their parenting in recent days. Grandkids and great-grandkids are mostly fodder for table talk. But parenting? After all these years? How can that be and what could that mean to these sisters whose children probably date me by a few years.

And then I told them.

About her.

And her finest hour.

My mom.

Never in my understanding regarding the life cycle did I imagine her having to care for me as she is doing. She is thirty years my senior. I should be the one caring for her. Instead, she has opened up her heart and her arms again to gently gather me to her breast and to remind me that I am her child, and that no matter the decades between us, I will always be the little girl who arrived into her arms on an Easter morning back in 1966.

Certainly, I could chronicle many of her “shining moments” over the past four decades as a parent. She is the steady anchor in our family tree. Sacrificial in nature, she’s never required the “stage,” which is a really good thing in our family since most of us are continually vying for the spotlight. I asked her once how she and my father wound up together, how they made it work between them. Her response?

“Your dad needed an audience, and I was ready to listen.”

Straight and to the point; never mincing words. Wise beyond her years. When mom speaks, I listen because I know her words are chosen carefully and root from a place of understanding that few others possess. I cherish her influence; I adore her heart; and for all of the ways that she has groomed me, shaped me, taught me, and loved me over the years, I can honestly say that this season in my life has allowed her the one thing that she has often been denied.

The stage. Her shining moment.

It has arrived, friends, and this time we’re all sitting back and watching her speak her lines, take her mark, and watch her as she navigates the spotlight with all the grace and dignity of a queen in her court. She would tell you it’s nothing, that she’s only doing what any mother would do, but I would tell you otherwise. I would tell you that she’s grand and regal and meant for a moment such as this; that this is her season; that I have never needed her more, and that I am willing to be the recipient of her rich love and guidance.

No strings attached; no agenda from my end. Just a little girl caught in a terrible spell of trouble needing the crook of her mother’s arm as she cradles my fragile frame and soothes me with words of truth, comfort, and peace. I think, perhaps, she may not realize this in all the fray and activity of my current chaos. I’m afraid she might downplay her role, and so I wanted to tell you about my mom and extend my thanks to her for her willingness to stand on stage and to live her finest hour so that all may witness its worth.

This is it. And this is enough for me. I hope it is enough for her; she deserves far more than a few meager words of thanks from my heart. Still and yet, even if my words fail to express the emotion I currently feel, they need saying, because words and feelings are a gift we give to one another while there is yet time to release them. We need to “send flowers” while the living are yet amongst us, and we have the occasion to bless them with our sincerity rather than leaving this earthly life without having said much of anything.

I don’t know who’ll make it home to heaven first, me or her. But I know that for as long as God allows us this shared pilgrim road, I’ll keep to her shadows. I’ll bend in closer for a listen every times she speaks, and I’ll make sure to press in for lots of hugs and conversations and tears and love. Why? Because my mom shines like a star these days. She illuminates my world with the light of all heaven, and this is …

her finest hour.

I don’t know how this strikes you today. I want to encourage you as a parent, maybe as a mentor or as a friend to someone in need. Perhaps you think that your finest hour is behind you. That you’ve done all you can do and that there is little hope of you having a further impact on a relationship that’s grown dim or cold or barren of connection. You fear it’s too late for further influence… that your season of persuasion and shaping has exceeded prearranged time limits. That what you think, feel, and want to say won’t have much of an impact on the one who has seemingly lost interest. I’ll tell you the same thing that I told the sisters last week…

“Don’t be surprised if your best days of parenting, mentoring, loving lie in front of you; your finest hour might yet be up ahead, not in those moments that lie behind you.”

God may yet need you to sow some good seed into the hearts of the generation that rests just beneath the crook of your arm. It’s never too late to speak your faith, friends. Never too late to take a chance on loving others and allowing them to be the lavish recipients of God’s great grace via your heart. Never too late to pray a few more prayers, say a few more thoughts, cook a few more meals, hug a few more necks.

There is someone out there who needs the wealth of your years, tenderness, and wisdom. A someone who needs your finest hour. May God grant you, each one, the wisdom to identify that someone, the strength to minister to that someone, and light enough to your stage so that you, like my mother, may be allowed to live a finest hour in keeping with King’s time table.

Oh the beauty of such trust… to be given time by the Father in order to live and to leave a lasting impact upon this generation. Keep to it, friends, keep to the kingdom road, and I will do the same. Shalom and blessed Sabbath rest to you,

Investing…

July 26, 2010

I asked him to repeat his name to me, not because I didn’t hear him but, rather, because I didn’t think I heard him correctly.

Doris. Or Dorrace.

That’s what he said. I “googled” it upon returning home; apparently Doris was a popular name for boys in the 1930’s. Seems in keeping with the age I determined him to be in our moments of exchange. He was hunkered down over his cart while pushing it through the paint aisle at Lowes when he stopped just short of me.

“Ma’am, can I ask you a question?… What color would you paint a bathroom?”

I knew there was more to his question than just paint, but it served as our starting point. Every good conversation starts somewhere (usually with a question), and ours started with paint. He showed me his card of samples; I showed him mine. His included shades of brown. Mine included shades of green. We covered the generic questions in keeping with paint conversation, and then the dialogue moved to a deeper level.

“Haven’t painted the house in years, but I’ve been taking on more projects these days. It’s just me now, so it doesn’t much matter the color I choose. But she’s still with me, you know. I don’t think she’d mind all the changes. I talk to her about it every day.”

“Your wife?”

“Yep. Almost sixty years of living together. She died a year ago, but she’s still with me. She’s on the mantle in the den.”

Another starting point for a more pointed conversation… one that lasted a good thirty minutes. We covered a lot of ground in that time. Mostly I just listened to his lonely heart. Words about extended family members who’d been here for a recent visit. A collection of Hummels his wife had collected over the years. Life in Fayetteville, the traffic, and then a final probing question from my heart to his.

“What about friends, Doris? You’ve lived here so long; you must have some good friends to spend your days with.”

“Oh, I don’t have many friends. I live a pretty lonely life, but I’ve got her with me everyday. Whenever I feel alone, I just talk to her.”

And my heart broke into a thousand pieces as I listened. I reached into my purse, grabbed a piece of paper and wrote my name, along with my husband’s name and phone number, onto it and handed it to Doris.

“You’ve got two friends now, Doris, and when you get that bathroom painted, we’d really love to stop by for a visit and take a look. Everyone needs a few good friends, and I’d like to be yours.”

He said that he’d call; I hope that he does, but I don’t imagine he will. Something tells me he’s not quite ready to let a stranger through the front door. That’s OK with me; I much prefer the access of a back door friend. Back door friends talk about everything… soul things, whether over a cup of coffee at Starbucks or in the paint aisle at Lowes. Perhaps thirty minutes was all that was meant for our paths… his crossing mine and mine crossing his.

Sacred intersections… that’s what I call them. Two roads that collide to further God’s kingdom work. A moment that stands at a crossroads where two hearts connect intentionally, purposefully, non-coincidentally, perfectly timed and orchestrated by God and feeling as natural as the air we breathe. I’ve had a few of them in recent days. Not as many as I would like, but just enough to remind me of what I’m supposed to be doing with my days…

Investing.

In others.

Not just in things, or endeavors, or plans, or goals, but more importantly, investing my time and energies into people. I cannot always pick when that happens, don’t always have the luxury of planning my sacred intersections. I much prefer it that way. Plans can sometimes be full of pretense and projected outcomes. I’d rather let the intersections arrive as they will and along the way. God knows when they’re coming; he sees them from afar and is more than capable of making sure that my heart is prepared for their arrival.

So tonight I think about Doris. I think about the joy I would have missed if his cart had not connected with mine. I think about my big God who sat back and watched the exchange… entered into the exchange, even though his voice deferred to mine in that moment. And I am thankful for the privilege of being his conduit of kingdom dispensation.

He’s trusted me with so much… the mystery and the secrets of the kingdom. He has committed to me the ministry of reconciliation… of being his mouthpiece as though he were making his appeal through me (2 Cor. 5:18-20). I cannot conceive of his choice, his trust and his willingness to allow me any measure of influence upon this earth. Instead, I can only receive it as yet another grace from his heart.

I don’t always get it right, friends, don’t always speak God’s witness as I should. Sometimes I keep my silence; sometimes I say too much, but every now again, a Doris-moment comes along, and I know that it was pretty close to perfect.

His path crossing mine; mine crossing his.

An investment of the richest kind.

I may never stand before a crowd of thousands or see my name in lights on this side of eternity, but you can be certain I’ll wake up every day to have that kind of sacred intersection. Some days it’s all I can do, all that I have to give, all that keeps me going when little else in my life is making sense, and trust me when I tell you that life doesn’t “feel” sensible right now. Even so, I pray the Lord to keep me to all that I can do and all that I have to give and to let my tomorrow be filled with more intersections and investments of the kingdom kind.

The Doris kind.

I pray the same for all of you this week. As always…

Peace for the journey,

~elaine

PS: Thank you for all of the kind comments on “the Goody Bag” and for visiting Judith’s new blog. I made sure to include your name in the drawing, whether you posted a comment here and/or there. Miss Amelia just drew the winner prior to going to bed. Jennifer @ The Spirit of Truth is the winner. Send me your address, Jennifer, via e-mail, and I’ll have your book to you this week. Shalom.

on "burning words"…

May 29, 2010

I burned some words yesterday.

My words.

Three journals worth of words dating back sixteen years to a season in my life that walked wildly and in selfish pursuit of sin. I didn’t call sin, sin back then… didn’t name my thoughts and, consequently, my resulting actions as sin. Instead I named them as “reasonable reactions”—the natural, resulting overflow from a life that was seemingly void of the love that I longed to hold as my own. Rather than going to God with my sin in that season, I went to my “pen” and spent a great deal of my evening hours trying to justify the choices that I was making.

I don’t know who I was writing to back then… journals are kind of open ended in that respect. It’s probably a really good thing that I didn’t have a blog sixteen years ago. Some words… some thoughts of our hearts are better kept as private, between us and God. Not everyone needs to know the “everything” that’s wrestling itself out upon the stages of our hearts and minds, especially those who stand in the direct line of consequence—our families and our friends.

Writing words can be a healthy way of working out our thoughts, feelings, and questions. But when those words serve as our personal justification for sin, well, where’s the merit in that? What can be gained from going public with that kind of nonsense? I suppose we’ll always be able to find someone who is willing to stand in our corners and champion our “reasonable” choices for sin, therefore adding some credibility to our decisions to reveal the inner chambers of our thought life. But the pay off is temporary. Any pats on the back that we receive for our sins are a stumbling block—both for us and for the one who is doing the patting.

When we replace God’s truth with the enemy’s lies, we stunt our spiritual growth. In some cases, we altogether shut it down. That is exactly what I was doing sixteen years ago—making a deliberate choice to disengage from the pursuit of holiness. I didn’t clearly see the egregious nature of my decision back then, but I see it now, and I am sickened by it. I barely recognize the woman behind those words. I recognize the handwriting, but I do not champion the heart behind those words. Nothing written in that season deserves a pat on the back. Nothing. My heart was rotting from the inside out, filled with the sin-sick disease named “self.” But for the grace of God, self nearly killed me.

Nearly.

I don’t know why I’ve held onto these “words” for so long. To be honest with you, I haven’t seen or thought about them in the six years since moving here. I only found the journals yesterday while cleaning out a bottom drawer of my nightstand. I recognized them immediately and bravely allowed myself to go there… one more time. To open up the pages and to relive a bit of that season and the pitiful nonsense that infiltrated my thought processes which, eventually, sent me down a treacherous path of sin. The results were devastating. Sin should never be underestimated. The toll it takes on a soul and on the souls surrounding its witness is far worse than originally billed. I know. I’ve lived that payment; so has my family.

It would take a long season before I willingly looked back over my shoulder to see God’s grace chasing after me… an even longer season before I allowed it to catch up with me, but it did. He did, and my life no longer carries the sin of my words from sixteen years ago… maybe a memory or two along these lines, but I am no longer held in the grip of those memories. Thus, my willing walk with my husband yesterday afternoon to a make-shift fire pit in our backyard.

I’m not a fan of burning words, friends. Our personal words are a precious gift to us from God. They mirror the inward pulse of our hearts. But the words I burned yesterday no longer reflect the pulse of my heart; they only seek to diminish it. They aren’t in keeping with my current pursuit of holiness. The only worthiness that can be found in their existence now is in what remains after their holy burning upon the altar of God’s intention.

Ashes. This is what remains.

Which brings to my remembrance an important word I received from Dr. Steve Seamands regarding my ashes during an Ash Wednesday service that closely followed the penning of those journals some sixteen years ago. You can find the story in its fullness on pages 18-20 in “peace for the journey: in the pleasure of his company”:

“God loves ashes [elaine], because ashes can be blown anywhere by the wind of his Spirit.”

Yesterday, I burned some of my words; today, all that remains of those words is a soft pile of gray which is more than willing to be picked up by the wind of God’s Spirit and to be blown in accordance with his will. Burning our words is sometimes the right thing to do, friends, especially when those words are keeping us separated from God and from his perfect plan for our lives.

Perhaps today, you have some lingering “words” from your past—hidden away thoughts that are buried deeply within the corners of your heart. You’ve almost forgotten them, but every now and again a “move” requires your attention to their presence in your life. Perhaps today, you’re writing some of those words… maybe living them all the more. You’re making a willful choice for sin, justifying your cause and pleading your case before any available ears that are willing to listen. You’ve long since given up on reasonable understanding and have begun to accept the lies that the enemy is sugar coating in your defense. He seems to be on your side, and if you haven’t already taken a bite from the apple, your lips are close to breaking its skin.

I understand where you’re at, because I’ve been there. I made my home there for a long season. The ash heap in my backyard is living proof of that season. Thankfully, I no longer have to carry those “words” with me any more. Long ago I surrendered the sin behind those words to God; yesterday, I surrendered the temporary remnants. Tomorrow? Well, maybe God’s wind will come along, pick them up, and carry the witness of their final defeat into the lives of those who need a similar victory… who need to know that they were meant for more than apples. That they, in fact, we meant for the kingdom of God. That maybe it’s not someone else who needs to know, but that maybe it’s you who needs to know.

The day is fast approaching when our surrendering our sins to the flames of God’s purifying grace will be no more. Many people are counting on that more… believing that more days will follow this one and that tomorrow would be a good day to make good on today’s sin. Make no mistake, friends. We’re living on borrowed time—God’s time. Today is the day of salvation. Today is the day to clean out the drawers of our hearts and minds and to dump the baggage into God’s fire pit. There are no words you can offer to justify the sin of your heart. None. And while there is great grace to be found on the other side of willful sin, there is great grace to be found on the front side of sin’s full invasion upon the soil of your heart.

Take hold of that grace today. Surrender your thoughts, your words, and any precursors to eventual sin to God and allow him to replace the enemy’s apple with a rich portion of his divine, sustaining strength and power that is more than capable of moving you past the apple and onto the heavenly feast that’s been prepared in your honor… in my honor as well. I’ll meet you at the table, friends. And when you get there, don’t be surprised if you smell the lingering scent of smoke on my skin and see a few fragments of gray on my fingers. God loves ashes, and this day (well beyond the days of my sixteen years ago), I’m burning brightly for the King and his kingdom. As always…

Peace for the journey,

my half-lived day…

January 7, 2010

We all woke up this morning with a message written across our hearts, either penned by our hand or by God’s.

What was your message? Mine?

Well, I’m gonna live this day better than yesterday, Lord. Through your strength and by your grace, I’m gonna live this one better.

And I have lived it better. God’s presence has been genuine and his hands gentle to me. It’s only 2:30 in the afternoon. I’ve made my bed, done some laundry, wrote 1,400 words in my WIP, ran four miles, and had a bath. Oh, I almost forgot… I’ve also had numerous e-mail chats with my Kentucky friend, Shirley, who is graciously lending her creative eye and photographs to a project I’m working on. Have you ever stopped by to visit her to read her heart and to see our world through her photographic lens? You’re missing something if you haven’t. She’s as home grown and genuine as they come. I’m not sure how our paths first crossed; perhaps, through Exemplify. Regardless of the prompt, I’m glad it arrived. She is a gracious portion of God’s love on this earth. I am the better for having her life intertwined with mine.

I don’t know how the rest of this day is going to play out. My kids arrive home in swift order. There will be homework to manage. A meal to make… well, to imagine (oh Billy, sweet man of mine, what’s on the menu tonight?). Dishes to clean. Baths to administer. Books to read and perhaps a movie to watch with my older boys before their pilgrimages back to college. Yes, I’ve got an “idea” as to how this day is going to end. Getting there from this moment seems a short leap, but when I do… when I close my eyes on this day, if I don’t do a single thing more than what I’ve currently done up to this point, then today has already been a better day than yesterday.

Today, I woke up to a good message. Tomorrow, I pray to wake accordingly.

What was your message this morning? Cut honestly through to the truth of the matter, and wrestle with your answer. Did you wake up to pain? To heartache? To joy? To expectation? To your “here we go again, Lord” or “I can’t possibly face my life right now.” Your answer tells you a great deal about who is holding the pen.

If your morning message wasn’t what you wanted it to be, then re-write it. Yes, re-write it. Right now. If you could do your 6:30 AM wake-up call all over again, how would you want your message to write?

How thankful I am for a God who allows me re-writes, right smack dab in the middle of my day. I don’t have to wait until tomorrow to start again. Neither do you. God is the Author of our blessed “do it better’s” no matter the time of the day we feel his prompt along these lines. The key to doing it better resides with God’s pen, not ours. So do yourself a favor…

Hand him the pen. Allow God his moments with your heart in order to re-write the rest of your day. It matters not if you’re reading this at 10:00 PM or 10:00 AM or any other hour in between. What matters is the moment you call right now and the message you want attached to your right now.

I value your right now. So does our heavenly Father. May his lavish love and continuing presence be your portion as you march your way through the rest of this day, living the message he’s written onto your heart.

Now, let’s see…

I can add “writing a blog post” to a day that continues to live better than yesterday. I’m on a roll. There is more day left to live. I think I’ll get busy living it. As always…

peace for the journey,

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PS: Leave me a comment about the “message” of your heart this day, and you’ll be entered to win one of Shirley’s latest photo/devotional books, Meditations of an Autumn Heart or Simply Light (your pick). You can preview them by clicking on these links. Also, take time to visit Shirley and her work at Sketches of a Common Life. She’s anything but common, friends. Shalom.

Category Archives: words