writing | Elaine Olsen

a toast to daily grace…

August 3, 2010

Fantastic life stories.

Do you have one? I don’t… at least not when measured by the world’s standards. Let me explain.

By fantastic, I don’t necessarily mean grand, glorious, excellent, superb or a dozen or so other synonyms meaning the same. What I mean is more along the lines of a “brought-back-from-the-ashes” kind of fantastic. You know what I’m talking about. A life-story that includes an extreme, seemingly debilitating circumstance that is eventually overcome by the kindness and grace of God to go on to become a shining witness for all those who happen by for a look, maybe even a best-seller.

I’ve come across a lot of those stories as of late; in particular, this afternoon while perusing the shelves at a local Christian bookstore. Rows and rows of books filled with the latest “triumph over tragedy” life-stories that ask for my attention… my wallet as well. And while I am grateful for God’s extension of grace and healing into the lives of those directly affected by painful, life situations, I’m wondering why the rest of our stories don’t “shelve” alongside these best-sellers. Why doesn’t a “less-fantastic” life get as much press as a “brought-back-from-the-ashes” kind of one?

As a writer, I’ve heard a lot of talk regarding “story”—about needing to have one… about what mine is and why others would want to read it. That kind of talk always leaves me feeling a bit hollow and inferior. Why? Because my life hasn’t lived, necessarily, in accordance with “fantastic.” Don’t misunderstand me. Grace is always fantastic regardless of how it arrives in the lives of God’s children. Every last one of us has experienced a “brought-back-from-the-ashes” kind of fantastic when it comes to God’s grace and all its amazing. What I mean is that not all of us have had to endure the trauma of something horrible prior to grace’s rescue. And just in case you’re wondering, I don’t wish for a Christian witness that’s in keeping with some of the horrors that my brothers and sisters have had to endure in order to receive their “fantastic” witness. I imagine many of them would trade their previous dread for a life lived less dramatically, less needful of an edge-of-the-seat, last minute kind of intervention. Still and yet, that kind of story seems to be what sells, what readers want, what lines the shelves of my local Christian bookstore.

If that’s the case, then I don’t have much of a story, at least not one that would sell. Certainly, I could talk about being the mother of four kids, but that’s not very original. I could talk about being a pastor’s wife, but that’s been done before. I’ve walked through a divorce, but these days that’s nothing new, certainly not headline worthy. I suppose if you’re the one walking through a divorce, it is. Sixteen years ago, it was a big, huge deal for me, but I’m mostly past that now. I don’t want to write about it, anymore than you’d want to read about it. It’s just not that fantastic. Today I live and walk in the grace that’s been afforded to me via the cross and in the spirit and freedom of Romans 8:1-2:

“Therefore, there is now no commendation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death.”

So I’m wondering; perhaps you are as well…

What makes a life a worthy read? Why does one merit more press than another? Why do some stories garner the attention of readers while others get passed over? What if you had to “sell” your story to a publisher? Why would anyone choose to read your “life” over another one that has lived, perhaps, a bit more “fantastically?”

It’s not a fair question, for I happen to believe that all stories of grace are worthy of print. Funny how we get hung up on ranking the witness of God’s grace. Maybe you aren’t that shallow. Maybe you see the bigger picture. Maybe I’m just on a bit of a soap box tonight, but truthfully, I’ve grown a bit weary with it all.

I don’t need a story of “fantastic” grace to buoy me along in my faith journey. Rather, a story of daily grace will do me just fine. A day-in, day-out, walking it through kind of story that has lived a lifetime worth of days within the boundaries of holy living. An everyday life lived in an everyday way because a long time ago the lead character in the story made a decision to live an everyday Jesus in every kind of way. Not fantastically; just daily.

I imagine that’s most of you. Thank God for that… for a life that has lived free from some of the hardships of our brothers and sisters, from some of the prodigal lifestyles chosen by them as well. If today you’re living and breathing the same witness of faith that you lived yesterday… that you lived ten years ago, maybe even fifty years ago, then to God be the glory, and pass me your book please! What makes your story a worthy read (at least in my opinion) is your steadfastness to keep on doing what pleases God, come what may. To never stray too far off the path of grace, thus sparing yourself the need for a dramatic rescue from the heavenlies. To be content to live godly, even though it may never garner you the attention of the world.

Make no mistake… if you’re living godly, you’re being noticed. God is paying attention to your every chapter, even if you or others currently consider them mundane and ordinary. He’s adding the color along the way and as you go, and one day soon, you’ll see the fruition of his “fantastic” spin on your story. When you get home to him, you’ll find your book, shelved there alongside those of the ancients of old. It won’t go unnoticed or unpublished. It won’t be tucked away or forgotten or overshadowed by those whose stories you once deemed more worthy of recognition. No, your story of daily grace will stand front and center… in the very hands of God, and he will call it good and finished and a perfect fit in keeping with his kingdom library.

And that, my friends, is the making of a fantastic life story—one that begins and ends with our Father’s commendation. It may not make the shelves of Borders, but you can be certain it will make the shelves of heaven. I, for one, cannot wait to sit ringside with you and hear our Father read your story aloud for all of creation’s notice. Your life is just that good… just that worthy.

Believe it. Live it all the more. Here’s my toast to your beautiful, noteworthy life lived with God’s daily grace. I love you and thank you for investing good kingdom seed into the soil of my heart. As always…

Peace for the journey,

post signature

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,

the riches of knowing God…

May 17, 2010

{I love my kids… front yard PR!}

“What are you going to do with all your riches, Elaine, now that you’re famous?”

This was the question that assaulted me this morning when I walked through the doors of the church. It was said in jest with good intention, still and yet, it stuck with me.

All my riches.

How do I begin to measure the bounty that I have known at the hand of God, not just over the past couple of weeks, but the entirety of the past forty-four years? It’s an impossible endeavor to be sure, but one I’m trying to work my way through in this season of my life. We should all take time to pause in order to consistently contemplate our riches. It is the “way” of a grateful heart. And so today I’ve taken that occasion… spent some time reflecting and remembering the riches of God.

How well I remember a December day four years ago when my writing dreams were shattered by a publishing company that had held onto my first manuscript for nearly eight months. It was my first attempt at writing a book, a Bible study on the book of Nehemiah. I was certain it would “hit the mark” with publishers and, for a season, all seemed to be clicking along.

Until that day.

I received a courteous but succinct “pass” on my work, and I was crushed. I still remember my young son standing on the other side of a closed bedroom door, listening to my guttural weeping. Before long, I saw his tiny fingers reaching through the crack at the bottom, clutching in his hand two quarters. After opening the door to his generosity, I asked him regarding those two quarters. His reply?

“I’ll buy your book, mommy. Even if no one else wants to read it, I’ll buy it, and when I’m old enough to read, I’ll read it.”

That day was a turning point for me. My son’s two quarters sealed something in my heart… something I’d known for a long season, yet something I hadn’t allowed myself to believe.

My giftedness with the pen is fueled and maintained by my Father’s heart and kindness toward me. His willingness to use my feeble flesh for his kingdom purposes is far beyond my understanding and doesn’t compute with human reasoning. Still and yet, he allows me a measure of influence along these lines and, therefore, I must write for him alone. His approval is the only one that matters to me. Man’s opinion will come and go, mostly based on the bottom dollar and with a “what’s in it for me” attitude, but God’s opinion isn’t fleeting. It doesn’t come with an expiration date. My words leave a lasting impression upon his heart and in his world, and when those words write otherwise—when I am tempted to offer up a “flavoring” in keeping with trends and statistics and with “what’s selling”—then I forfeit a piece of my soul. The world becomes too important to me, and I lose focus of the truly satisfying and singularly focused passion of my heart…

Knowing God.

As a people in search of a meaningful identity, we spend a great deal of time exploring our “passions,” do we not? We invest our energies into discovering God’s calling upon our lives, God’s will for lives, wearing ourselves out with comparing our lives to that of “so and so” and wondering why his or her fruit is harvesting at a seemingly more rapid rate than ours. Why that person seems to be getting all the breaks while we languish in our desire to do something, be something, live something more than what we’re currently living. We make God’s “calling” regarding our lives a difficult embrace (something our market has hit upon as evidenced by the number of books, seminars, Bible studies written on the topic) when all the while, he keeps it pretty simple.

“Now this is eternal life: that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent.” (John 17:3).

Knowing God. It’s what I’m about. He’s my passion. He’s my calling. He’s my meaningful identity, and for the time that remains for me on this earth, my pen will write accordingly… about my knowing God and then from that knowing, leading others to know the same. Therefore, I no longer feel the need to chase after the approval of man. It’s nice when it arrives to validate my heart-felt rendering, like when…

My mother takes my book to Curves (her workout establishment) and witnesses other patrons reading the desk copy she’s left there for promotional purposes. When one of those patrons voices her approval by saying, “This is really good; how can I get a copy?”

Or when…

A friend I’ve never met face-to-face from the opposite side of the country sends me an e-mail to let me know she’s spent some time in the “desert” section of the book and that the reflection entitled “a turn toward the better” was just what she needed to hear… “These are words of life, dear heart. They are something one can weep over because of shared pain: different in specific, similar in cost. But more importantly these are fighting words for me. The journey ahead is unclear, but walk it I will. Not at all in the spirit of my own might but in the spirit of the blood of the resurrection bloom. These are words, unusual words, that excite to love and good works.”

Or when…

Another e-mail arrives from a former college friend telling me that a copy of my book (one that her dad insisted on her purchasing last week) arrived on her doorstep just twenty-four hours before he passed from his earthly pain into final heavenly glory and that her heart’s been stuck on pages 84-86, from the “peace in the suffering” section.

Or when…

A church friend makes her way to my side this morning to tell me that, while she knows she’s supposed to be taking her time to absorb each reflection, she couldn’t help but “read on” because, for her, it was like I was talking to her… like we were having a conversation over coffee.

Moments like that; validation that doesn’t necessarily come with the ratings of a New York Times’ best-seller, but validations that matter for all eternity. It stuns me and buoys me along in the journey of grace and for the continuing cultivation of the driving desire and goal of my heart…

Knowing God.

And so, this night I answer the question that assaulted my sensibilities this morning. What am I going to do with all my riches now that I’m famous?

Make God famous and continue to invest his riches into my heart and life so that my pen might flow freely for his good purposes and for his kingdom gain. All other endeavors of my well-intentioned plans fall prey to this one. Therefore, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart leave a lasting impression upon his heart and within the hearts of his people. To this end, I pray. I pray the same for you. As always…

Peace for the journey,

PS: Thank you, everyone, for your support over the last couple of weeks in regards to the promotion of my book. This week, I’ll be giving away another copy or two of my book to those of you who are willing to support me a bit further by contacting at least five people in your life who’ve yet to hear about “peace for the journey.” Perhaps someone in your e-mail address book, someone in your church, someone in your family, someone in your neighborhood. If you’d be willing to let at least five new people know about my book (and we’re operating on the honor system here), please let me know in the comment section. Please share the video link with your contacts, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qdJDjiHzCQI or a link to this post announcing the book, https://www.peaceforthejourney.com/2010/05/peace-for-journey-in-pleasure-of-his.html. I’d be so very grateful for your kindness toward me and toward God’s kingdom agenda for my life. Shalom.

{to order, click Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Winepress}

basement dreaming…

May 10, 2010

*Note: Just in case you’re the one reader of this blog who hasn’t heard, my book “peace for the journey: in the pleasure of his company” has released. Just in case you missed the book trailer, here it is again (truthfully, I need to keep this out in front for readers, but haven’t a clue as to how I might incorporate it into my header, etc. Help Tekeme friends!).

And just in case you’ve hopped over here to find out the first three winners of an autographed copy of my book… here they are, as drawn by my three kids that are currently home (please e-mail me your snail mail, and I’ll get these to you this week): Amelia drew Danielle @ Sojourner, Jadon drew Cindy @ Letters from Mid-life, and Nick drew Laura @ the Wellspring. Some of you have asked regarding getting an autographed copy from me. I’m willing to send you one, but I cannot offer you free shipping like some of these other venues. The cost of ordering from me is $15 per book and $5 shipping for up to 3 books. Please e-mail me your interest.

With my next post, I hope to address some of the questions/thoughts/kindnesses you’ve had for me over the past week. Truly, you are more than I deserve, and I am grateful for every grace you’ve extended in my direction. There will also be another occasion to win a copy of the book, but for now, I simply wanted to write my “heart” with this post and to “speak in the daylight” what God has “whispered to me in the dark.” Shalom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“‘What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs.'” {Matthew 10:27}

“Mommy, I don’t mind playing by myself in the basement anymore.”

“Why daughter, what led you to change your mind?”

“Because I’ve discovered that the basement is big enough to hold my dreams.”

***

This was the conversation I had with my daughter in the early morning hours, not on the stage of real life but on the stage of my subconscious—a place where dreams have a habit of displaying their truth in a way that sometimes seems so real, I have a hard time separating reality from fantasy. This time, however, there was no mistaking the dream for reality. Why?

For starters, when I awoke I noticed the above conversation scrawled out on the pad of paper that sits on the nightstand by my bed—a good indication that something took place in the night that I wanted to recall with clarity in the day. I’ve learned to keep the pen at the ready, even in sleep. Secondly, we don’t have a basement. Lastly, even if we did have a basement, I’m fairly certain that, at seven years old, my daughter wouldn’t be ready to make such a bold proclamation regarding her fear of the dark and of being alone. I certainly wasn’t ready at her age to tackle the haunt of the basement that accompanied most of my childhood dwellings. I’m not certain I’m ready to tackle it now, but at forty-four I’m walking ever closer to being able to say with all the confidence of a dream walker…

I don’t mind playing in the basement anymore, because I’ve discovered that the basement is big enough to hold my dreams.

The basement. When I was a child it represented a few different things for me:

Isolation.
Darkness.
Mystery.
Quietness.
Hiddenness.
Confinement.

While growing up, the basement really wasn’t the place where my family lived corporately. We did our living upstairs. We ate upstairs, slept upstairs, and talked upstairs, all the while relegating the basement as a place of individual exploration and retreat. As a child, descending the stairs into the basement seemed like more of a punishment to me rather than a place of escape. To their credit, my parents went to great lengths to make our “underneath” a pleasant getaway for my sister and me. We had a playroom filled with toys and an open invitation to come and to live out our imaginations within its borders. I was more inclined to RSVP my acceptance if my friends or sister would choose to join in the fun, but to go it alone? To freely choose my isolation over the corporate adventure that was taking place in the upper chambers of our home?

Not likely.

I was too scared. Too frightened of what I could not clearly see. Too unsure of what might happen while on individual safari in the basement. Too afraid that I might miss out on the excitement of upstairs living. Too uncertain of the silence that surrounded me. Too confident that the silence would soon be replaced with sounds I couldn’t handle… with suspicions I couldn’t manage.

No, back then basement living wasn’t for me. My fear kept me from it, and if I’m not careful in this season of living, my fear might keep me postured accordingly… confined within the safety of the upstairs without ever venturing downward to discover the foundational beauty that resides beneath a well-structured home. A well-fortified heart.

Basements aren’t all bad. As I think about them tonight, some forty years beyond my initial understanding regarding their worthiness, the basement represents a few old things for me with a new twist:

Isolation, moments away from the world in order to be alone with God.
Darkness, not to hide me but to grow me.
Mystery, the secrets of an unseen God that cultivate my trust and replace my fears with faith.
Quietness, permission enough to settle down and settle in on what God has to say.
Hiddenness, permission enough to move away from life’s stage in order to allow God a moment beneath the lights.
Confinement, closing off the world’s crowding so that my heart and thoughts and dreams have room enough to breathe… to formulate and to incubate in a safe place with a good God.

I’ve been to the basement in recent days, friends. Long before “peace for the journey” ever made its entrance onto the stage of Amazon or Barnes & Noble or Winepress, it made its entrance into my dreams. It was a seed that germinated in the “basement” with God—a season in my life when I faced my fears and risked the isolation, darkness, mystery, quietness, hiddenness, and confinement of the downstairs in order to hear the heart of God regarding my dreams… my pen.

What birthed there, births now in living color for you to witness. Nothing about the journey in between those two births has been routine or predictable. This has been the most unpredictable road of faith I’ve walked in forty-four years. I hope to flesh that out a bit more for you in days to come because I think, perhaps, we’re tempted to assume that basement dreaming and the faith building therein always have to work themselves out in predictable measure. That somehow, my journey with my dreams has to resemble yours and vice-versa.

Basement dreaming with God is never without individual color and imagination. In the midst of your isolation and quietness with God, a foundation of faith is built that will best be able to hold and to fortify the dreams of your heart. What is erected there between the two of you will serve as your solid footing for the season to come. Don’t let anyone tell you that your house has to be built according to a structured set of blueprints… that dreaming only comes in one shade of color. Dreams come in kingdom shades of color, and the last time I checked, our Father’s palette was limitless.

You will get there, friends. Perhaps a trip to the basement might be in accordance with your next step of faith. Don’t fear the descent; instead, embrace it knowing that with each step into the darkness, God’s light shines brighter. I don’t imagine it will be long before your time in the basement will take on new meaning for you even as it has for me. Life in the upper chambers will concede some of its worthiness to the lower level, understanding that without the basement’s underpinning, the floors up above could easily disassemble into piles of rubble.

The basement is big enough to hold all of our dreams… is safe enough to grow them… is isolated enough, dark enough, mysterious enough, quiet enough, hidden enough, and confined enough to allow us open access to our Father’s heart. His heart is where our dreaming meets with the reality of his goodness and where our fear is replaced by a simple faith—a settled confidence in the One who authors all faith journeys and who promises to perfect them along the way and as we go.

God is where I want to live. He is where I want to dream. Accordingly, I don’t much mind playing in the basement anymore. It’s a good place to breathe with God, to grow an imagination, and to exist within the sacred possibilities of what he’s imagined on my behalf long before I made my entrance into this world. This week, I invite you to join me in the downward descent to God’s playroom so that his up and coming plans for your life might have a moment or two beneath the spotlight. It’s going to be good, because HE IS GOOD. As always…

peace for the journey,

~elaine

"peace for the journey: in the pleasure of his company"

May 3, 2010

Every now and again, a day lives beyond predictable expectation. Routine is replaced with something different, and ordinary succumbs to the shadows of something extra. Today is one of those days for me. I’ve spent the last five years contemplating its arrival, imagining how it might “live” for me… to finally arrive at this point in my writing journey where my thoughts are gathered together between a front cover and a back one to serve as a collective offering of my heart to Jesus and his world.

Today, my imagination is put to rest, at least temporarily. Today, I experience the fruition of a dream that was embedded into my spirit long before I ever held a pen in my hand. It was a dream given to me at the earliest of ages by my father whose imagination coupled with his love for telling the “story” worked their magic into the fabric of my fragile understanding about how life should live—

With details.
With expression.
With questions.
With emotions.
With the expectation for a good ending.

My daddy never failed to bring about that good ending. In doing so, in giving a good finish to the sometimes wild and fantastic bedtime tales that he created in his mind, he painted for me a rich metaphor about how the “story” will end for me, for all of us who’ve come to know and to love and to trust the Storyteller. God’s finish doesn’t live without punctuation, friends. The blessed “amen” will come for each one of us, and we will be at final rest with our souls.

But until we arrive there, there is a journey to be walked… a story to be lived via our flesh. Along the way and as we go, I don’t imagine much of it will live as we anticipated on the front end of our book’s unfolding. The chapters in our lives have a way of keeping us on the edge of our seats in anticipation of the next page, the next plot twist, the next narrow escape, the next victory—all of which are certain to be part of this odyssey we call the Christian life.

Today’s book release is my next page—not the only page in my journey, just one of them. A day of something “extra.” A day of living a little bit beyond the “routine and normal” that usually fills a twenty-four hour period in my life. I don’t take it for granted; it is a gift of gracious grace offered to me by the Storyteller who has seen fit to allow a small portion of kingdom influence to flow through my pen. What God chooses to do with that portion and where he chooses to take it belongs to him and him alone. I’ve long since given up on trying to manipulate and manage his “story.” It’s simply and profoundly too big for my menial attempts at human administration. Still and yet, God affords me a moment or two of personal witness—of interjecting my “two cents” worth of sacred understanding into the mix—knowing that even the smallest offering of my heart will add to the beauty of a final masterpiece that will one day adorn the throne room of heaven.

And so, without any further words of coaxing regarding that offering, I give to God and to you this book—a little bit of “peace for the journey.” In doing so, I pray and humbly petition the Father that, through this offering of my heart, you will more fully know the Storyteller and what it means to rest “in the pleasure of his company.” He’s been my pleasure for forty-four years. He is my pleasure today. He’ll be my pleasure for all eternity.

To order your copy of “peace for the journey: in the pleasure of his company” visit any of the following websites (please note… some of these venues offer FREE SHIPPING when ordering multiple copies):

WinePress
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
CBD {shipping dates are longer here}

If you live in my area and want a signed copy of the book, please check with me later in the week as I am expecting a shipment of books. Also, I am giving away three copies of my book to readers who leave a comment on this blog post (you do not have to have a blog to leave a comment; simply sign-in as an “anonymous” commenter, leaving me an e-mail address so that I can notify you if you win). In addition, you can increase your odds of winning a copy by promoting the book in the following ways:

1. Announce the book on your facebook status–either linking back to this post or linking the video trailer to your status: video trailer

2. Announce the book by writing your own blog post, linking back to this particular post, adding the video trailer to your post by using the embed code found with the youtube link: (if you don’t know how to do this and want to include it, e-mail me, and I’ll walk you through it… very simple).

If you choose to do either or both of these, make sure that you leave a separate comment on this post informing me of each, thus increasing your odds for a win!

Thanks for helping me out, friends. Truly, you are more than I deserve, and I am grateful for your participation in my life. You make me want to be a better writer, thinker, seeker, and sojourner on the road toward peace—Jesus Christ. As always…

peace for the journey,

PS: A final word of thanks to Shirley and Susan (a.k.a. “runner mom”) for adding their artistic expression to the photographs found in the book trailer and for Susan’s photography found in the book. Your generous hearts have given me “peace” in this journey of publication and have added to the overall beauty of the book. I love you both!

Category Archives: writing