They Left Their Nets and Followed
There's a song that goes, "What a glorious day when my heart finally rose from the grave. When you called my name, I came running,"
The first time I heard it I was walking down Belmont Boulevard on a warm summer night, getting some air before bed and listening to my ipod. And I remember I lifted up my hands like a crazy person, but it was dark so it's ok, and I thanked God so deeply that it's true, I came running.
He called my name and I came running. Praise be to God that we sometimes come running.
I never remember a time when I didn't know Jesus. When he wasn't present with me in my inner world. The Lord is a someone who spoke tenderly to me from the beginning and drew me in, and I responded by loving him, somehow.
It is only and all grace that allows us to love him.
Mark 1 talks about the day Jesus met Simon and Andrew, his first disciples, beside the sea. He simply said, "Follow me," and Mark writes, "Immediately they left their nets and followed him."
Next were James and John, later Levi and the rest, to whom Jesus called out beside the water. As they dropped their nets they left the boats, the dad, the servants, the future they had planned, and they followed him. No questions asked. No words spoken. They just came running.
It is only and all grace that allows us to love him. Praise be to God that we sometimes come running.
Every day we choose to follow him over again, but we don't always do it well. We sometimes don't come running. Sometimes it looks more like taking up a cross and moving in his direction slowly, or stumbling along halfheartedly as we question his motives and his heart.
I have to confess I haven't been trying very hard to let anyone really know me in Atlanta. When it comes down to it, I'm afraid of the three year timeline ripping me away from another home, so I hold onto Nashville instead. I tend to think, "three long years and it'll be over" --- I can move back to the places where I'm truly invested. Nashville. Russia. There's too much I've left behind, and I'll follow him anywhere but that doesn't mean my heart can handle another home to miss. Another Sarah to miss. Another Jenny to leave. Another Kelsey to say goodbye to.
I want to be ready to open my heart to those people in Atlanta. I want to let the Lord do his best work in me through the community there like he's done here and in Russia. But in some ways it's the hardest thing to allow. In some ways immediately following is the easy part and opening my raw heart to the harsh new landscape is the hardest.
I can shell up and be stoic for three years, easy. I can be independent and push through on pure will power wherever I am. It's what makes me good at the things I do. But it leaves me isolated, and it makes me just want to move back home soon.
Kelsey asked if maybe it would honor the Lord more for me to be deeply connected in the new places he's led me.
It's risky. It feels like leaving my boat and dad and future all over again, and although being vulnerable to those people may seem trivial after all the following that got me there, small risks are still risks, and it's hard.
In Mark when Jesus heals people it's almost always by reaching out his hand to them. The first woman he heals in chapter 1 is laying in bed dying when Jesus holds her hand and raises her up. His tenderness and nurture toward us is only and all grace. It reminds me that he's trustworthy. It reminds me he'll always lead me if I follow. It reminds me that as a child I already knew his healing hand holding mine and I came running.
He grabbed my hand and lifted me up, and he still does.
Following might look like moving to Atlanta for seminary, but that's not all it is. Following might be obedience in that way, but it's also seeking his best and his glory in your own heart. Being willing to grow roots in that place is part of my following, and I'm not good at it.
But I press on to do better, resolved to follow. To run well. Someday soon I'll see him face to face. He'll hold my hand for real. And you know what? Praise be to God I will still come running.
The first time I heard it I was walking down Belmont Boulevard on a warm summer night, getting some air before bed and listening to my ipod. And I remember I lifted up my hands like a crazy person, but it was dark so it's ok, and I thanked God so deeply that it's true, I came running.
He called my name and I came running. Praise be to God that we sometimes come running.
I never remember a time when I didn't know Jesus. When he wasn't present with me in my inner world. The Lord is a someone who spoke tenderly to me from the beginning and drew me in, and I responded by loving him, somehow.
It is only and all grace that allows us to love him.
Mark 1 talks about the day Jesus met Simon and Andrew, his first disciples, beside the sea. He simply said, "Follow me," and Mark writes, "Immediately they left their nets and followed him."
Next were James and John, later Levi and the rest, to whom Jesus called out beside the water. As they dropped their nets they left the boats, the dad, the servants, the future they had planned, and they followed him. No questions asked. No words spoken. They just came running.
It is only and all grace that allows us to love him. Praise be to God that we sometimes come running.
Every day we choose to follow him over again, but we don't always do it well. We sometimes don't come running. Sometimes it looks more like taking up a cross and moving in his direction slowly, or stumbling along halfheartedly as we question his motives and his heart.
I have to confess I haven't been trying very hard to let anyone really know me in Atlanta. When it comes down to it, I'm afraid of the three year timeline ripping me away from another home, so I hold onto Nashville instead. I tend to think, "three long years and it'll be over" --- I can move back to the places where I'm truly invested. Nashville. Russia. There's too much I've left behind, and I'll follow him anywhere but that doesn't mean my heart can handle another home to miss. Another Sarah to miss. Another Jenny to leave. Another Kelsey to say goodbye to.
I want to be ready to open my heart to those people in Atlanta. I want to let the Lord do his best work in me through the community there like he's done here and in Russia. But in some ways it's the hardest thing to allow. In some ways immediately following is the easy part and opening my raw heart to the harsh new landscape is the hardest.
I can shell up and be stoic for three years, easy. I can be independent and push through on pure will power wherever I am. It's what makes me good at the things I do. But it leaves me isolated, and it makes me just want to move back home soon.
Kelsey asked if maybe it would honor the Lord more for me to be deeply connected in the new places he's led me.
It's risky. It feels like leaving my boat and dad and future all over again, and although being vulnerable to those people may seem trivial after all the following that got me there, small risks are still risks, and it's hard.
In Mark when Jesus heals people it's almost always by reaching out his hand to them. The first woman he heals in chapter 1 is laying in bed dying when Jesus holds her hand and raises her up. His tenderness and nurture toward us is only and all grace. It reminds me that he's trustworthy. It reminds me he'll always lead me if I follow. It reminds me that as a child I already knew his healing hand holding mine and I came running.
He grabbed my hand and lifted me up, and he still does.
Following might look like moving to Atlanta for seminary, but that's not all it is. Following might be obedience in that way, but it's also seeking his best and his glory in your own heart. Being willing to grow roots in that place is part of my following, and I'm not good at it.
But I press on to do better, resolved to follow. To run well. Someday soon I'll see him face to face. He'll hold my hand for real. And you know what? Praise be to God I will still come running.
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