What Does It Mean to Follow Jesus?

What does it mean to follow Jesus?

What does it mean in our daily life?

What does it mean in our finances?  in our relationships?  in our jobs?  in our business dealings?  in our relationships with other Christians?

What does it mean?

Like really mean?

Oh my goodness.  One hundred pat answers come to mind.

Forget all that!

What does it MEAN to lay everything we love and cherish and desire aside to follow HIM.

What does that mean?

Will we always be happy?  Will we always be comfortable?  Will we always be secure?

What does His Faithfulness, His Power, His Mercy, His Love look like?

Does it look like rich pastors flying in jets?

Or does it look like something else?

Does it look like messy, gritty, grimy stuff?

Does it sometimes look like pain?  and doubt?  and struggle?

Does following Jesus mean we are exempt from the weariness of this world?

Or does it mean that we are  prime targets?

Jesus sure garnered praise until he garnered death.

Why are we so selfish?/

Why are we so convinced it's all about us?

Oh, hear me.  I KNOW He loves me.  He gave SO much for me.

But was it so that I could be comfortable, untouchable?  Or was it so I could let others know how deeply THEY are loved as well?

What is my role?

Doesn't it tie intrinsically into what it means to follow Jesus?

Who were His followers when he was  here on earth?  They didn't have much.

And yet.  And yet!  He used them to advance the Kingdom of God

What does it mean to follow Jesus?

Dear Jesus, I want to know!

Weight

How do I put into words the things that are weighing me down?

Time.  Time moves so fast.  The children grow. We continue to age.  Large blocks of time that we thought would yield certain results become a distant memory faster than we can breathe.  

I feel surrounded by chaos.  I crave simplicity. Peace. Quiet.  

I crave special moments with my children.    A house the exudes restfullness.

I don’t want to be cranky, easily irritated.  I want to be present. I want to be effective.  I want to be important.

I want my thoughts, my ideas, my contributions to matter.  

I feel like money is the societal measure of success & worth.  If that’s the case, then my worth is minimal. What I do, what I contribute to this world doesn’t involve making large amounts of money.

It involves refereeing a thousand arguments and angry words - while trying to reign in my own anger.  Hoping, hoping that in my own frailty & failures I’m cultivating spirits of compassion within my children.  That I will raise men who care, who love, who share themselves wholeheartedly.

But, sometimes it just feels like picking up trash that’s carelessly tossed aside, wiping countless smudges of peanut butter, shutting endless cupboard doors left hanging open…..always looking around at the clutter surrounding me knowing it’s not my own, yet knowing somehow it reflects on me.  My failure to teach, to guide, to model.

I feel unable to gain my footing.  Change comes at me faster & faster.  Changes as my family grows. Changes in the world around me.  Changes in the physical landscape of my community. And, each change knocks me a bit.  I feel buffeted continuously with change.

So yeah, things weigh on me.  Things I can hardly even put into words.  It takes the creative to understand the creative.  So, my vague words make no sense to the ones who surround me….the practical, logical, functional ones.  

But perhaps my words resonate with a few.