This weekend some women from the 3DM Family spoke at Chosen, a conference hosted by Seacoast Church in Charleston, South Carolina.  On Thursday Night, about 1000 women gathered together, ready to meet with God and hang out with one another. The experience did not disappoint.

There were many wonderful things about Chosen.  I loved the natural and comfortable diversity both in the room, and on the main stage.  There were women of different backgrounds and ethnicities sharing from the Bible, sharing from their lives. I loved the collective sound of women’s voices as they worshipped together. Hearts were open and hungry for more of God, and chosen was a safe place for hearts to be made whole and dreams to be born. I also loved the reality check that A21 gave us about human trafficking globally, but here in the US, in our day, on our watch. In response, the sisterhood took a stand, rolled up their sleeves got on their knees and began to wash the world’s feet…  with love and healing.

There were a sprinkling of  great men in room. Members of the production team, the worship band… serving, supporting their sisters. There were also some campus pastors, senior leaders and the senior pastor attending every session,  celebrating all that God was doing,  cheering for all the dreams and visions that God was releasing, encouraging women to be restored and empowered at the foot of the cross.

Alongside the wonderful opportunity to teach and share at Seacoast, it was great to spend a little time with some of my 3dm sisters.  There were car journeys, silly fast food, fun, Starbucks and shopping. At the end of each evening there were conversations.  Just woman to woman. Life on life, truth, faith, hope into the early hours of the morning.

Soon its Sunday lunchtime. I’m back in Torrance, seated in a restaurant with 3 wonderful women from my huddle. These women are leaders; they are the Josephs, or Daniels of our time, living out their call and ministry in the workplace. They’re influencers like Esther, positioned for such a time as this. But even calling gets complicated and tiring. It takes sacrifice and tenacity, because within our calling there’s the rest of life, marriage, kids, finances all with their own demands. These were women used to being there for everyone else, at work and at home. Who would be there for them? We needed to hear each other’s hearts, speak into each other’s lives, help one another carve a path of God filled simplicity through our complex lives.

This weekend reminded me of the sheer power of a sisterhood.  Of relationships that can grow beyond comparisons and competition and surface conversation. The sisterhood are humble enough not just to support one another,  but need one another, learn and be led by one another. They strengthen each other in God, they are a conduit for His healing hands. They share His wisdom, speak his love, comfort and truth.  They make a woman strong.

You need a sisterhood in your life. Fight for them, invest in them, sacrifice for them, make time for them. Open your heart to receive them. Because when you feel weak, worried or weary, your sisters help you carry on.

This year the person I thought of most was Coretta Scott King. Coretta was the wife of Dr. King, mother of their four children, an accomplished musician and fully engaged civil rights activist before she met and married King. I wondered at the price she paid, the endless sacrifices for the sake of the movement. The demands and the energy this movement required. Yes it would change the course of history, but what did that mean for her in the every day? Threats and the fears for her own family, the responsibility she may have felt  for others? What was  it like to watch her man loved and honored, or vilified and  abused? King’s biographers have written of King’s weaknesses & rumored infidelities. Like so many heroes, Martin Luther King was flawed. What would it have been like for Coretta to walk alongside her man, the hero, her man, so flawed? What did it cost her daily, to walk in forgiveness and love? Then when widowed at only 41, she raised a family and she led a grieving movement forward. She served for the rest of her life.

King wrote of Coretta in his autobiography:

We can only imagine  the depth  with which he wrote behind those words. Sometimes the heroes are the ones in the shadows.

So yesterday and today, I’ve been thinking about Coretta. I couldn’t possibly know her full story or where complex reality meets legendary stories. Still, she’s made me think about the strength that lies within a woman, that well of deep resource that helps a woman endure, the roots that undergird a woman’s life.

A faithful Army who won’t stop fighting.

I was in Atlanta to lead some workshops at the Salvation Army  Reeffect Conference, where the Salvation Army leaders convened to grapple with issues of their day and receive training, and minister on the city streets when even the party people had gone to bed. The Salvation Army has a rich heritage of evangelism and justice marching side by side, of beleivers living as disciples – transforming wherever they were based. On Sunday it was so powerful to see so many uniformed Salvation Army officers walking through the streets of the city. There was no doubt who there were or who they represented. Their every word and action would now be connected with and attributed to the One they represented. May my life be clothed with words and actions that do the same.

Loving thy Neigborhood.

Some friends of mine have moved into a tough part of town, an area long forgotten by many and feared by many more. They’re gathering a missional community who are steadily moving into the neighborhood and loving it back to life in the name of Jesus. They’ve moved in with open hearts, savvy minds and a living call. They’re seeking gospel restoration, not mere gentrification. My friends know their dreams will take years to turn into saplings. They have a simple yet exquisitely beautiful home. The children from the house next door  play on my friend porch and want to read their books . There was something exquisitely beautiful about that too.

Influential Women

I spent hours over breakfast, lunch, dinner, coffee and  car rides with female leaders. There was no archetype; they had different gifts, and skills and passions. It was life giving and inspiring talking with every single one of them. Listening to their ideas, admiring their strategic minds, working through stuff. Processing disappointment. Searching for mentors, seeking out other women to connect with, clinging to their visions and dreams. Seeing their humble determination to pursue God’s call upon their life. Moving.

Sweet Things on Skype.

My beautiful girls. And my love. That is all.

A Missional Movement in (Grace) Midtown

On Sunday night I got to hang out with the awesome crowd at Grace Midtown.  It was surreal because it reminded me so much of St. Thomas’ Church Sheffield back in the day. The Roxy, the early days at Philly… It wasn’t some nostalgic yearning for my twenties. There was something prophetic about them. It was like watching the early days of a missional movement. I can’t wait to see what they get up to in the years to come.

I left Atlanta early Monday morning before the dawn broke through. I felt tired and humbled, in awe of the goodness and greatness of God.

For greater things have yet to come, and greater things are still to be done in this city…

2011 has been washed away in time. Now its time to say hello!

I thought of all the hellos that have shaped my life. At 18, on the first day at my summer job I shook hands with a girl who loved Prince as much as I did. I didn’t realise that God had given me another sister. At 20, I introduced myself to a couple in a chip shop. She was wearing this jacket that I’d heard him talk about at church. I had no idea that these people would become family, that our friendship would take us around the world.

I sat next to a guy on a plane. He was a part of our church community, but we weren’t friends. We were part of a mission team for a week, so I thought I’d make an effort and say hello. I had no idea how close we’d become, our hearts and lives entwined. I say hello to him every morning. And our babies, our beautiful babies. What a privilege to say hello to each one as they entered the world.  The sweat, the tiredness, and frankly the pain, swallowed up in wonder and gratitude as I greeted the baby in my arms.

There have been many hellos that have shaped my life.

So how will I say hello to 2012? Not every hello opened a door of opportunity. Some opened up  conflict and heartbreak. Others were ignored and rejected. And sometimes the goodbye came way too soon.  So at times my hellos have been suspicious, cynical, distant, subdued, non committal. I’ve called it wisdom  or waiting of course. Its been a rare moment of vulnerability that I’ve had the courage to call it fear or disappointment.

Today at the dawn of a New Year, I’d like my hello to be as open as it used to be. As I used to be. I’m greeting the year with a broad smile and a firm handshake (we don’t do limp). I’m not waiting in the shadows, I’m taking initiative and greeting the year with boldness and light and excitement in my eyes. I’ll let my voice be loud even if my heart shows through. I’ll step into uncertainty if needed, because why not? Ordinary life produces the unexpected, I’m going to engage with it. I will cradle this year with wonder and gratitude, knowing that sometimes even the best things in life  are birthed in sweat and tiredness and pain. I’m saying hello to 2012 with my voice, expressing my choice.

I have no idea how this year will go. I know that hello is just the beginning – it shapes my perspective but doesn’t predict or protect. I’ve learned to entrust those responsibilities into the strong Hand of Another. He rises with healing in his wings, He restores the years that the locusts have eaten. He is the Savior, Covenant partner, King. He hold my hand and leads me forward.

Hello 2012, I’m pleased to meet you.

How will you say hello to 2012?

The Christmas decorations are fading into the background at our house; they feel a bit like clutter. We’ll pack them away tomorrow. The girls gave away their old toys without out a flicker of sentiment (Even Charlie and Lola. Could it be that I actually love their toys more than they do?). They play with their new toys for hours as though these toys are old friends. My hubby is immersed in a new book. Christmas may have 12 days, but for us, this bit looks remarkably like the rest of our lives… Yet amid the Christmas presents, the great meals, the fun times, there’s a bubbling excitement inside of me, almost to be point of giddy. We’re on the cusp of a New Year.

I love New Year’s Eve; I love New Year’s Day.

A New Year has always given me Hope. The past is now the past. Time has led my life to a new beginning, where things could be different. Things would be different.  I would never have to repeat that day, that month, that experience, because I couldn’t ever go back to that exact moment in time. I’d been given another chance, and I was determined to take it. My perspective has been tempered over the years . There are moments I’d love to go back and repeat, final conversations that I’d love to continue. Those memories make me wistful. But the Hope remains.

This year I’m aware of a Hope stealer; something that can pollute a new beginning. I’ve realized that to truly step into all that  2012 has in store, I’ve had to say goodbye to 2011. Yes, the past is in the past, unless you allow it to live on in your heart, unless you relive it in your mind. Yes, you have a new start. Unless the past casts a shadow that transcends time, distorting the beauty of a new day. Sometimes our best intentions for running into the future are tripped up because we run from facing our past. We’ll need to turn face some things in order to say goodbye.

The things we need to say goodbye to aren’t always hurts and wounds. It might be a habit, a comfort zone. They might be good things that we’ve simply outgrown.  How can I walk into the unknown with God whilst seated, no, embedded in the familiar? Time to say goodbye.

I drove to the beach the other day, ready to do business with God. Its funny how, standing on this beautiful beach, looking out onto the vast Pacific Ocean, I still find ways to argue with my Creator, but anyway. The praying began; the wrestle until the surrender. I drew a line in the sand, and the other side of the line waited for me to arrive. I know it sounds formal, and perhaps a little weird. But…I needed to say goodbye. It had to be my voice, expressing my choice. I know the outworking of our decisions can be a process – but what kind of life was I going to choose?

Would I choose bitterness, or would I choose grace? Would I choose hurt or would I choose wholeness? Would I choose comfort or would I choose calling? Would I choose fears or faith? Would my old habits hold me back, even the good ones, or would I let the Lord lead me forward? Is my life open still open to His guidance, His leading? There are many things in life that are much bigger than me, way beyond my control. Yet I do have responsibility for how I respond  to the opportunities and challenges that come my way. And I’d like to keep choosing life in all its fullness. I choose Him.

I stepped over the line, washed my feet in the ocean and said Goodbye to 2011. Walking back to the car there’s this bubbling excitement inside of me, almost to the point of giddy. Hope is back. Because it’s time to say hello to a New Year.

What do you need to say goodbye to as you enter a New Year?

Or perhaps like me you see women like these and see possibility? The potential to be women who are single, married, mothers, grandmothers, sisters, friends – but also leaders, influencers, culture shapers in their field, communities, their nations? I’m not talking about women who have it all. I don’t see women who have it all. I see women who indicate and illustrate what a woman can be.   We need to see them.

Where I grew up, you didn’t see many women of color leading. We may have been entertainers, athletes (which was great to some degree) but apparently we were not leaders. One friend I met in my 20’s told me that in her youth, she was advised to go into music.  Her teacher seemed unable to comprehend that this beautiful woman of color was not especially musical, not an athlete, but was an academic, an intellectual, blessed with passionate ideas and vision. I was fortunate enough to have teachers who sought to cultivate all that lay within all their pupils – regardless of color, gender or class.

Still, my overriding challenge remained. If I couldn’t see it around me, could I be it? Could a girl like me become what I wanted to be, or was it predetermined by my color, my gender, my circumstance? I sought images, examples who would reveal and remind me that there were options. I watched Oprah because of what she’d achieved. I loved Claire Huxtable in the Cosby Show because even though she was fictional – I knew that art was imitating someone’s life. I longed to see someone whose very existence and example would validate my talents and dreams, my call.

Besides, the voices telling me I was worthless were so loud. The voices whining its not fair debilitated me.The voices saying there’s no point in trying were relentless. The voices saying you’re dark, too dark... Saying a woman shouldn’t be strong, a woman, shouldn’t lead… couldn’t influence. Shouldn’t want to change the world and make it a better place… What? Who in hell was I listening to?

I was also listening to what I saw. It was hard to believe that my sapling sized sense of vocation of potential wasn’t all in my head, a delusion of grandeur when I didn’t see it outside my head all that often. It was lonely at times to think that way… to live that way, lonelier still.

You can’t be what you can’t see says Marian Wright Edelman, Founder & President Children’s Defense Fund.

Missrepresentation (a documentary that I’m waiting to see) talks of how the images and the portrayal of women in today’s media are limiting young women’s perspectives on their leadership potential. As a woman, but also as an aunt, a godmother and a mother of two girls – the trailer alone arrested my attention. I want don’t want the girls in my life to settle for the lies that their worth and value and potential is found in their looks alone. I want them to know that their whole life is worth cultivating. Their gifts, their talents , their minds, their character.

I want them to see other women who are healthy and whole and free. Women whose lives are worth imitating, whether they’re a stay at home mom, a teacher, a president, or activist in the local community.

And whoever they decide to be or whatever they decide to do – let it be because they want to. Because they can see what they can be.

We need to see, to be, women who know that their whole lives are worth cultivating. Our gifts, our talents, our character.

Who or what do you need to see to help you become all  who you’re designed to be?

 Samuel took a single rock and set it upright between Mizpah and Shen. He named it “Ebenezer” (Rock of Help), saying, “This marks the place where God helped us.”

1 Samuel 7:12 MSG

A few years ago,we gathered in the desert at night with some dear friends. These were relationships forged through years of shared experiences and adventure, years of laughter and life. Now, quite unexpectedly, our lives would go in new directions, onto new adventures.  Before we said goodbye, we met in the desert to worship and we built our own Ebenezer.   We gave thanks for our children, our marriages, our friendships, for the breakthroughs we’d seen, for His provision and protection. For His overarching love, His unrelenting grace, His steadfast faithfulness. With every thanksgiving, a rock was added to the pile. I’m sure our monument looked unimpressive in the morning. But that evening it was a mountain of praise that soared from the depths of our valleys, and pierced the darkness of night.

I love the fact that we give a day to being thankful, to reflect over smiles and laughter, parades and food and fun. I’m thankful for good times with newer friends who’ve become family. I’m grateful for a day to be grateful, because I’m reminded again that the path of my life is littered with rocks, signposted with monuments, countless reasons to be thankful.

There are some seasons in life when its easy to build an Ebenezer. The answered prayers, the dreams that come true, the life that works beyond the way you’d hoped it would. The sun is perpetually shining on your life. In those seasons, I’ve learned to  note the landmarks of God’s faithfulness that line my way. Instead of rushing by, I’ve learned, am still learning to not take them for granted. But to stop and look, even stare. Then place a rock or two on my Ebenezer.

Because I know that there are seasons when the sun isn’t shining. Its just a grey day. Boredom and distractions sedate my passion, dilute my focus, and I drift… Then there are the seasons that are a long dark desperate night. I can just about think, I can definitely feel, but I cannot see.

In those seasons I’ve learned to feel the Rock beneath my feet. I’m reminded that my life rests on One more solid than my wandering mind and divided heart. In the dark, when all I can do I feel my way around, I feel the familiar contours of a Rock that has always been, has never moved, is here and will never leave. There I rest. Or lean. Or cling.

So here at my kitchen table I’ve started counting my blessings tonight. I’ll continue tomorrow, naming them one by one, building an Ebenezer. And when the official day is done, I’ll keep going as a discipline. I’ll keep counting my blessings until that discipline becomes a habit. Until that habit becomes my rhythm. Because that rhythm sets the pace of my heart and my life.

For He has been my Help. And day or night, I will always have a reason to be thankful.

Its that time of year again….

In the UK back in the day, Halloween was a lot more black and white. Quite literally. Where I lived, trick or treating seemed more spiteful and mean spirited than it was fun. I wasn’t opening any doors to any random strangers thank you very much, nor was I knocking on anyone’s door. Was I the only one who grew up hearing the legendary story about the guy who put razor blades in the “treats”? Maybe I was the only one who believed it… Besides it seemed to celebrate the darkness and the sinister.  The local newspaper would always have interviews with the local witch,  striking an odd pose who yes was casting spells and conducting some random prayer meeting with her coven that weekend. So we Christians had prayer meetings and worship services and fun filled parties for kids in the community so that they didn’t have to break their” don’t- talk- to- or- accept- chocolate- from- strangers ” rule that parents enforced for the other 364 days of the year. It was a fantastic thing.  Still, the best story I ever heard was of a friend whose mum didn’t pull her kids out of all the Halloween parties, but sent them in homemade costumes as the Holy Ghost. Although my friend recounted the story with horror, it was my kind of horror movie.

Then we move to the States. Halloween is a whole different vibe here. First it was the decor. Houses would be decorated with  ghosts and graveyards and cobwebs. I still find that weird to be honest. But stranger still was seeing entire families dressed up as Disney characters. They’re hanging out with their neighbors and talking to one another and relaxing. Slowing down, taking a day off together. Eating lots and lots of candy. It was like the Holiday Season Kick Off.

Still, for the first few years we just hid away. I had newborns, and I didn’t want people knocking on my door waking them up. I don’t like giving kids yucky candy etc etc.  Then one year we decided to hang out on the porch. All the neighbors were out, and we got talking and sharing, and new relationships began. I began to wonder why I sat indoors with the the doors locked and the lights on, if it was so dark outside, you know what I mean?

Truth is I’m still not Halloween’s greatest fan. I don’t dig the scare yourself senseless vibe. I’m not decorating the house with gravestones and skulls anytime soon.  I’m wondering why so many of the costumes for women are so ridiculously sexual. The Cinderella I grew up with did not reveal anywhere near that much. And  dressing up as a prostitute and her pimp doesn’t make me laugh.

But all the reasons why I locked my door are the reasons why I’m now opening it. If its as dark and twisted as we think, then we shouldn’t we be working out how to engage with our community more rather than hide away? Doesn’t light shine brightest in the dark anyway? Perhaps one day my house will be one of those homes that welcomes all, and hands outs snacks and treats and love as people as that walk around the streets. Perhaps one day they’ll know it as the home with the lights on all year round.

Tonight we’re not going to be singing carols, or screaming Scriptures at people. We’ll not be chastizing witches, and giving zombies dirty looks. But we are going to be hanging out with our friends from the school gate. Sharing time, sharing lives and conversation. Giving kids  our well- wrapped- razor- blade- free- not- that- nutritious- chocolate- and- candy. We’ll be admiring the little Buzz Lightyears and Rapunzels  and telling them how great they look as they beam with kiddie pride.We’ll be kicking off the holiday season, watching it rise with a thankful heart in November, and find transformation and hope in a manger in December. And through it all we’ll be looking for the people of peace that might want to talk a bit more, that we might want prayer, or simply need a listening ear. Looking for people to love, to bless to, befriend.

Yes its that time of year again. And no, its not my favorite celebration, but it is a missional opportunity. It’s a chance to build relationships and reach out.

And if I have to do that dressed as Cleopatra – then so be it.

Are you successful?

It  was an ordinary day on Facebook when this picture appeared in my feed and grabbed my attention. Amid the regular rhythms (school run, work, cooking dinner) and the irregular rhythms (Pinterest, new outfit) of my day, this image won’t stop flashing through my mind. If the response to my posting the picture on my Facebook wall is anything to go by, I’m not the only one.

This little image as produced something of a kairos in me, a time standing still moment, presenting an opportunity for God to move in my life:

I thought of the times when I’ve seen  and indeed spiritualized the idea that success is about going from strength to stronger strength, one degree of greatness to another.  I think we’ve often  over invested our hearts and minds in the idea that success is found in fame, popularity, wealth. We’ve overcommitted our energies into producing perfect bodies, perfect homes, perfect marriages, perfect children. We’ve overplayed the view that the most successful church or ministry is the biggest one,  producing conference invites and book deals.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be successful. There’s nothing wrong with wanting healthy strong relationships, a fulfilling career, or wanting healthy strong churches and ministries that change the world for good. Its just that if we think that the way we get there is by soaring in our own strength, or  on our terms… we’ll  soon reach beyond the end of ourselves. Our relationships become strained, our churches, our careers aren’t anymore successful or effective, even though we’ve driven ourselves to work twice as hard.

God has a different way for us.

My grace is enough; it’s all you need.
My strength comes into its own in your weakness.

(2 Corinthians 12:9 The Message)

There’s something in that squiggly arrow that looks and feels plain wrong, and  misdirected and frustrating… and weak. We’re not doing, being, getting to where where want to be. Yet it appears that when we realise we can’t succeed or make it happen , we might just be on the brink of the success that truly matters.

The twisted arrow  reminds me that we are people on a pilgrimage. The answers aren’t always clear; and yet you find that its how you handle life’s questions, not finding tidy answers that seems to make the difference.  Life is littered with setbacks; and yet we can reflect that times of great pressure has often produced incredible creativity. Its opened up new doors and directions that you would never have discovered if life had gone your way.

Guidance doesn’t guarantee good times and calling doesn’t always mean that you don’t find life and relationships confusing. Yet I wonder if you too have found there was something so powerful in seeking God that produced genuine strength and maturity in you? You felt like you were going in circles,  yet you were completely unaware of the progress being made. You were growing, healing, learning in the silence.

Then there’s the lessons lived and learned in failure that have seared your heart. Whilst you’d rather not experience that kind of humbling again, you’re quietly grateful for the way that failure saved you from much greater pain in later years.

The apostle Paul responds  to God’s reminder of grace by saying

Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.(2 Cor. 12:10 The Message)

So what could this mean for our lives? How do we learn to not only accept the squiggly arrow, but  embrace and engage with a journey to success which encompasses weakness ?

I believe that for many of us, the first step begins with surrender to God. Its impossible to embrace weakness (and so His power), if we are still clinging tightly to our cultural definitions of our  success in our own strength. They are incompatible attitudes.

If we want to be successful in a way that actually matters, then its worth exploring how we surrender our attitudes and our lives to Him. What could it mean to surrender to God, not as an altar call, but as a life? How would it shape how we  handle our money, dreams, passions, strengths, weaknesses, relationships, if they were surrendered to His will, His terms, His influence?

I’ve found these words of John Wesley, (known as the Methodist Covenant prayer) a helpful prayer to return to. I first discovered it growing up in a Methodist Church as part of our annual Covenant Service. I was reintroduced to it years later, as the missionary movement  that emerged from our church in Sheffield, affectionately known as TOM, began. But this prayer is best when its not expressed in my history; but when its prayed and lived as an integral part of my daily life. Perhaps this could be your prayer today?

I am no longer my own but yours. Put me to what you will, rank me with whom you will; put me to doing, put me to suffering; let me be employed for you or laid aside for you, exalted for you or brought low for you; let me be full, let me be empty,let me have all things, let me have nothing; I freely and wholeheartedly yield all things to your pleasure and disposal.

Glorious and blessed God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, you are mine and I am yours. So be it. Let this covenant now made on earth be fulfilled in heaven. Amen.

First there’s my too-cool- for-preschool girlie. She’s learning too, and she is totally committed. She’s determined, refuses to be underestimated.  So even though she wipes out in the dust and cries twice, it doesn’t steal her enjoyment or her goal. She rides with a broad smile and a giggly laugh, free of inhibition, free of pride, free of the need to look good in the eyes of anyone watching. As far as she is concerned, no one is watching, no one that matters. I want her freedom.

Then there’s my fabulous first grader. She’s decided to stick close by my side, ride where I ride. She’s full of warmth, praise, and encouragement and eager to show her unconditional support. When I  get off the bike, she pats me on the back and whispers in my ear “Good job, Mom.”

Finally there is my husband Chris, an avid mountain biker. He’s been riding  forever. He taught the girls how to ride their bikes, now he’s teaching me. He knows how badly I want to learn and knows what I need to do to get there. He also knows what lies beneath the surface holding me back; the fears, the pride, the pain. He doesn’t waver. He won’t make a truce with my past. He’ll lead me through the pain barrier to the future.

Glancing over my shoulder at my family gave me a fresh glance at what we need to be if we are going to be effective disciplers.  You see, anyone can talk a good game, especially about discipleship. Its another thing  for us to life the life. We can’t lead others to where we haven’t been. A few thoughts came to mind as I wobbled around the park:

We’ll need to keep on the bike, keep our skin in the game. Yes we may have hit the dust a few times, and wept our own tears, after all, that’s life isn’t it? But who are we today? Are we trapped in life’s disappointments or are we on the bike with a smile on our face riding with freedom? The ones are still on the bike, with stories on yesterday as well as yesteryear – those lives are worth watching, lives worth imitating.

If we’re serious about discipleship we need to be willing to be present. Apprenticeship,  discipleship cannot be contained in a matter of hour long  didactic teaching sessions. Discipleship is life on life with people who are willing to be tangible, accessible examples of humbly walking through everyday life with God. It’s where we learn the how of what this Christian life means for our money, our relationships, our values, our gifts and passions, our calling . So people need to see our lives, experience our lives. We also need to stay close enough for people to hear our encouragement and affirmation. It can be hard to live and learn alone, because life and faith were never designed to be lived that way. So if we’re serious about discipleship – then we need to think through ways that people can see and hear our love, and see and experience our love.

Finally disciplers need to be ones who are solid and secure enough to tell it like it is. It can be tough to say the difficult things that people need to hear. And on one level, I think it should be.  Surely the words we say we should be willing to bring under the microscopic lens of our own lives. Maybe bringing a challenge can help us grow in humility and compassion for a brother or a sister in need of God’s loving hand. Still there are times that the challenging conversation though uncomfortable, is absolutely essential to growth and healing. Tempting  though it may be – it’s not worth making a truce with personal comfort, or  with the past when we can have the difficult conversation that brings someone to the foot of the cross where true freedom awaits.

I’m definitely a learner as a disciple, but I’m learning so much as a discipler too.

What lessons have you learned about discipleship recently?

And yes, in the end, I rode my bike.  I rode along the bike path looking at the Pacific Ocean on a sunny SoCal day. It felt just as good as I had imagined. It felt free.