I started this week thinking I already knew what discipleship meant. Seven days in, I realized I’d been reading the whole story from the wrong seat.
I usually read Scripture from Jesus’ side of things — because I know where the story goes, I know what He’s doing it all for, and there’s glory in that. But this week I made myself sit in the disciples’ seat instead. The confused one. The one still asking questions while walking right next to the answer. And it cracked something open in me I didn’t expect.
The Seat I Chose to Sit In
If I’m honest, following is harder for me than it sounds. In my friendships, in the rooms I walk into, I try to lead with God — by example, by reference, by just showing up a certain way. That’s not wrong. But somewhere in there I noticed I’ve gotten more comfortable leading than following. And this week asked me to sit back down.
There was a small, ordinary moment that said more than any sermon could have. A woman walked up to my car asking for food. I had nothing to give her but water. She turned down the water. She turned down prayer too. I prayed for her anyway, right there, whether she wanted it or not. That’s following — showing up in the moment you’re given, even when it doesn’t look like it’s working.
The Stone I’ve Gotten Comfortable Carrying
Discipleship costs something. I know that going in. For me right now, the cost has a name: control. I keep catching myself thinking I can figure it out alone — manage the outcome, hold the plate steady, do the math on how this is all supposed to work. And underneath the control is a second thing I’ve let get comfortable: isolation. Telling myself that if I just stay in prayer, stay in the Word, everything will be revealed — without ever needing real people or a real gathering space around me.
I’m not currently fighting to put that stone down. If I’m honest, I’ve gotten used to carrying it. So my prayer this week hasn’t been “help me let go” — it’s been “give me the conviction before it has to be forced out of my hands.”
🪨 A Stone Laid Down
Luke 9:23 — “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.”
Proverbs 3:5-6 — “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”
Hebrews 10:24-25 — “Let us consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works… not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together.”
A prayer over this stone: Lord, You already know which weight I’ve gotten used to. Control feels safer than surrender some days, and isolation feels quieter than community. But I don’t want comfortable — I want obedient. Give me the conviction to lay this down before You have to pry it out of my hands. Amen.
Learning, Not Arriving
Somewhere in the middle of the week I had to admit something out loud: I feel unqualified. I’m building something for God while being honest that I’m still figuring it out in real time — inviting people into a walk I haven’t finished walking myself. There’s real pressure in that. Pressure to sound like I have it together before I actually do.
And then it hit me — the disciples probably felt exactly the same way. They asked question after question. They watched miracles and still doubted. They walked with Jesus and still didn’t fully understand what they were part of. If that was allowed for them, it’s allowed for me too. Getting the invitation doesn’t mean you arrive already trained. It means you show up and let Him teach you as you go.
Where My Words and My Life Didn’t Match
This was the hardest day of the week to sit with. I say I believe God carries the weight — but I still live like every plate in the air is mine to hold. I say community and agreement are the whole point of this — but I default to doing everything alone instead of asking real people to carry anything with me. I say my value isn’t in performance — but I still treat “sounding right” like a test I could fail, instead of trusting that my real, imperfect voice is enough.
The thing God has been nudging me toward and I’ve been putting off? Rest. Actual down time, not another task disguised as productivity.
The Wilderness I Didn’t Expect
This is the part I almost didn’t write. But it’s the part that’s most true right now, so it belongs here.
I’m in a wilderness season. I asked God to prune me, and He’s doing it. And that pruning has reached into one of the longest relationships in my life — one I’ve built for years — to the point where the person on the other side of it is genuinely questioning whether what we built can hold under what’s being asked of it right now.
Here’s what I know underneath the ache: God is a jealous God, and He will not share the place in me that belongs to Him alone — not even with something good, something I love, something I built. I’ve received the warning. Now the work is making sure my submission is actually in order, not just spoken.
The isolation I mentioned earlier? Some of it is necessary for this exact season. Too many outside opinions right now isn’t wisdom, it’s noise. There will be a time for more voices around me again. Right now, the assignment is drawing near to God first.
🪨 A Stone Laid Down
John 14:15 — “If ye love me, keep my commandments.”
Psalm 34:18 — “The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart.”
James 4:8 — “Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you.”
A prayer over this stone: Lord, this one is tender, and You know why. I asked for pruning, and I’m not going to act surprised that it hurts. I lay down what I’ve built and ask You to hold it — not because I don’t love it, but because You come first, every time, no exceptions. Order my submission where it’s out of place. Meet me in this wilderness. I know You haven’t left. Amen.
What I’m Sending Out Into the World
By the end of the week, the last thing I heard clearly was this: I don’t have to have it all figured out to point someone else to Jesus. I just have to be willing to share what actually happened this week — the following, the stone I’m still carrying, the wilderness — and trust that somewhere, it lands on someone who needed to know they’re not alone in theirs.
That’s the whole reason this is faceless, low-polish, still-learning, still-obeying work. Not because I have it mastered. Because even a beginner can help someone else begin.
If you found yourself in any part of this — the control, the isolation, the wilderness — you’re not walking it by yourself. I’d love to hear where you are in the comments.