Thoughts on Discipleship (1): Elisa
This coming Monday I have the joy of teaching a class on Women’s Discipleship at Multnomah. As I’ve been praying, brainstorming, and recollecting, I’ve been blessed remembering the women who have taught me to so much through their lives poured out. My dear friend, Caila Murphy, has shared her thoughts as well, as I asked for her input from her own experience. Over the next few days I’ll post what stands out to me–the stories, the lessons, the pitfalls to avoid. I pray it can be helpful.
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I remember the first time I heard the word disciple used as a verb. I’d grown up in a Christian home, had gone to church all my life, and knew the basic Bible stories and why Jesus died on the cross. I knew that there were Jesus’ disciples, and I knew that as Christians we were in a sense called to be Christ’s disciples. But my freshman year of college, when I finally began to grow in my walk with God and fall in love with HIm as my Lord and Savior, I heard a girl in Bible study mention that she was “discipled” by so-and-so. Hm? Discipled? What does that mean, I thought. I love looking back at my precious freshman faith. I was so eager to grow and learn I was like a sponge. I’d recently broken off a long-term relationship and felt like I was a brand new baby in the Lord: Everything was new. I began reading my Bible constantly, naively talking to drunken frat guys about Jesus (!), and inviting girls in my dorm to the little “Bible study” my roommate and I began (most of the girls who attended probably weren’t even believers…even better!). So, when I heard that there was apparently some sort of “discipling” taking place that I knew nothing about, I wanted to do it too!
I deduced from her explanation that discipling basically meant being mentored in the things of the Lord, being helped along on one’s journey in Christ. That made sense. So, I figured that whoever discipled me (as she called it) should be someone that I wanted to be like, since that’s kind of what mentoring is, right? I mean Jesus’ disciples’ goal was to be like Him. Well after scoping out the possibilities, I decided that Elisa Smith was the one I wanted to be. Amazingly godly, stunningly gorgeous (I know, shallow me), and she loved her husband and three children admirably. Yes, I want to be like her, I thought. I hardly knew her at all, had probably only talked to her once in my life, but I quickly decided to give it a shot. I wrote her a letter that basically went something like this:
Dear Elisa,
I heard about this cool thing called “discipling”. Will you “disciple” me? I’d really appreciate it. Thanks.
Love, Kari.
That was pretty much it. I’m sure she thought I was crazy. But about a week later I received a letter back from her, explaining that she would be honored, blessed, and delighted to “disciple” me, but only under one condition. Only if we would be friends. She wanted to just be my friend, and then see how the discipleship part would play out as God saw fit.
I was stunned. My friend? She wanted to be my friend? Beautiful, godly, mature Elisa wanted to be my friend? Well I’ll be! I was already getting more than I bargained for. I happily wrote her back and said thank you and yes please and oh yes I would do whatever she wanted. Since we lived 1.5 hours away, getting together regularly posed sort of a problem, but again she wasn’t concerned. She said God would work out the details in time. I thought about this. Lesson #1.
Within a few weeks she wrote me a letter, about a five or six page letter, all hand-written, sharing her life-story with me. Once again, I was stunned. She was perfect, right? But her story revealed pain, heartache, struggle, failure. You mean she wasn’t perfect? You mean her story was really just one of God’s amazing redemptive grace? Lesson #2. And she was willing to be honest and humble and vulnerable with me? Already? She was willing to let me see her imperfections, to open her life up to me? She was basically opening her arms, allowing me to step inside the sphere of her life if I wanted. She was inviting me to do the same, to open up my life, to reveal the wounds, the pain, the imperfections. Perhaps, I thought, perhaps God could write such a story with my life too. Perhaps He could. Perhaps He would. Lesson #3.
Love Lures Us Out of Ourselves
This morning I just woke up sour. I had bizarre dreams all night (pregnancy is infuriating like that), and woke up unsure of what was real and what was dreamt. The house was hot, I felt unrested, and then I did the stupidest thing in the world–went in the bathroom and weighed myself (I know, I was asking for trouble). What?! How on earth can I be gaining weight at this rate? I never thought it was possible to gain 2 pounds every single week. Getting dressed made things worse–nothing fits, and since I’m doing this blessed clothing fast 🙂 I don’t have the option to even go get new clothes. My hair is ratty and gross, a zit stands out on my left cheek. So by the time I get downstairs a cheery “Good morning sweetie!” is not about to cross my lips. I opt for silence, which is usually the best choice, and after making breakfast, Jeff comes in for a kiss and good morning. I lean into his chest and mope. I can feel crumbs under my feet (how does one little boy filthy an entire house?) and as I glance out the sliding glass door (which I cleaned yesterday in order to show the house), I see muddy handprints smeared around the 3-foot-high mark. *Sigh*
It’s mornings like these, totally void of real tragedy but full of little downers, that can just be discouraging. But what sticks out to me about this morning was the tenacious grace of my husband. Instead of leaving early as he usually does, he lingered around longer than normal. He got Dutch up, made his oatmeal, and sat with him so I could make myself somewhat more presentable. He read Dutch’s BIble to him, then even got on the floor and played cowboys and indians. Innumerable hugs, encouragment, and insistance that he still thinks I’m hot filled the morning, until he finally left at 9am. He never grew impatient, never lectured me, never preached and told me to shape up. He just loved me. And love is the greatest motivator on earth. Paul said that the love of Christ compelled him. It was the love of Christ that inspired Paul’s service. It was not guilt nor lecturing. Love. ANd it is the love of Jeff this morning that slowly pulled me from my little wallowing pit of self-pity. It is love that lures us out of ourselves. It wasn’t a lecture, or an exhortation to get over myself. It was just quiet attention, extra care, a dose of affection, and unconditional love. I’m thankful for that today. Thanks, hon. You teach me a lot every day.
A Thought
I want to see God do great things. But most of all I just want to see God.
Sunday with My Son
Just a Mommy post:
Today I’ve done something I’ve never done before, said goodbye to my hubby as he left at 7am to be at church for sound and set-up…then rolled over and went back to sleep. 🙂 After a packed weekend of travel for a friend’s wedding, we arrived home late last night and Dutch was exhausted, I felt a sore throat coming on, and since we only have one car (I know, I know, we need to just quit being stubborn and buy another car!), it meant getting Dutch up early and keeping him up through his nap yet another day. So…basically I prayed last night and felt like maybe the best option was for Dutch and me to have a quiet church service at home. I vascillated, Jeff insisted, and the rest is history…we stayed home.
I never could have expected what a sweet morning it would be with my boy. I slept in, stayed in my pjs, then got Dutch up who was still in his wedding clothes from the night before. After we ate a leisurely oatmeal breakfast and took a bath, I explained that today was the day that we normally go and worship God with all the other people, because it is the Lord’s special day, but that today we were going to have a special church service at home, just Dutch and Mommy, and we were going to read our Bibles and pray together. When I said this he ran into the living room and grabbed his little children’s Bible and brought it to me and pointed to our little spot on the floor next to the couch. My heart melted. Really?! Was this actually going to work! We read through about 1/3 of his whole Bible (not many preachers get through a 1/3 of the Bible in one Sunday morning! :-), and then we played a little more. Then I thought I’d really give a challenge and told him now we were going to each sit and read our own Bibles, Dutch with his and Mommy with hers and we were going to sit on the couch and read quietly. To my amazement he crawled up and snuggled next to me on the couch and opened his Bible and we sat there and read our Bibles for almost 15 minutes together…ok is this the most precious moment a mommy could ask for? Then we prayed together (ok, he closed his eyes for one second, then watched me pray), and then he went back to playing while I finished my Bible reading. Then he got to have a trip to the park to play because he was so good. After a mommy-low-point yesterday (at the wedding a perfect stranger walked up and informed me that Dutch had BITTEN her son…oh dear), I was thankful for a treat like this.
Anyway, I know it’s a small thing, but I was just so blessed to have a special morning at home with my boy. Later we picnicked on the back deck and ate popscicles in the sunshine. Yes, later he filled his dump truck full of dirt and then dumped it on the floor inside…but hey, he is still a little boy!
So I’m thankful today for my special little church service with my boy. I LOVE attending Sunday worship celebrations with God’s people, and I take seriously the exhortation to “not forsake the assembling of ourselves together”, but for just this day I am so thankful for the freedom we have in Christ, that WE are the church, and that He meets with us even in the little things of life, little things like a morning at home with my son.