I will follow close to You. Your right hand holds on to me. But those who seek to destroy my life will go into the depths of the earth. They will be given over to the power of the sword. They will become the jackals' prey. (Vs. 8-10)
My hand was so much bigger than theirs when my children were little. I remember each one holding my index finger tightly as we walked together in the neighborhood or around the house. Still tottering a little on their chubby, unsteady legs, each one had to learn to walk alone. But I was especially conscious of having their hands more firmly in mine when we were navigating a throng of people. Disneyland, the zoo or even the mall were unsafe places for my little children to walk alone. They knew they had to hold my hand. Follow me. Stay close. The dangers, of course, were obvious. Getting lost. Wandering off only to discover Mommy was nowhere near. Or, worse, someone grabbing one of my children.
Now they are tall and beautiful adults. And easy to spot even a long way off because they usually are noticed above a crowd. They don't need my hand anymore. In fact, it is their hand now guiding others. But, we never grow big enough to let go the hand of God. Never wise enough to lead Him around. We still easily wander off. Are sometimes even abducted by the charms of the enemy and find ourselves lost and alone, crying for our Father. Any child who has ever been separated from her parents knows how terrifying it is to discover she is lost in a world of huge people with unfamiliar faces. When she is found, she sticks closer than before. Understands what Daddy meant by: "Hold my hand so you won't get lost."
I remember taking walks with Heather in our neighborhood when she was a pre-teen. She would always hold my hand as we debriefed about her day. I remarked on one of these occasions how much I loved walking hand in hand. "I will always want to hold your hand, Mommy," she cooed.
"No, I don't think you will, Heather," I answered. "Someday you will feel too big for that."
"No, I won't!" Adamant.
"Okay," I said. "Let's make a bet. I bet by the time you are thirteen you will not be walking with me like this. If you still want to hold my hand by then, you owe me ten dollars."
A few months later we were in the mall together, and I reached for Heather's hand. She recoiled slightly. "You want your ten bucks now?" she asked sheepishly.
A little heartache. But I knew the day would come. I patted her back and we walked on together. Something had shifted. A necessary rite of passage.
"If anyone serves Me, He must follow Me. And where I am, there will my servant be." Jesus remarking that to follow means to serve. To let someone else tell us where we are going and what is best for us. To hold our hand. As adults that seems demeaning. We are smart enough to make our own decisions. Navigate our own lives. We don't need Jesus telling us what to do. It goes counter to our free will. Makes us kids again.
Precisely. Anyone familiar with the territory when you have gone the limit with your own will and find yourself crying in a sea of unfamiliar faces after being abducted by the enemy? Plopped down in the enemy camp with seemingly no way out? Wishing you had followed directions? Ruing the fact that you jerked your hand out of His and ran away into the crowd? We are never too big to hold our Father's hand. Never so smart we don't need His guidance. Never so powerful the enemy doesn't want to destroy us. The only safe place we have in this difficult world is close to Him.
I will follow close to Him. My choice. A smart one. I love the story in the last chapter of John (21) when Jesus is taking a walk with Peter along the shores of the Sea of Tiberias. Peter had denied Jesus at His crucifixion and the risen Christ was talking with Peter about it. Asking Peter if he loved Him. Heartbroken, Peter affirms his love for Jesus three times. Then Jesus tells Peter what will happen to him in the future. How Peter will die for Him. "Follow Me," Christ says. This is where you are going. So, if you love Me, you will follow Me even there.
Peter looks behind him then....at John, the one who stayed at the cross. The one who followed Jesus all the way through, even to His death. Jesus gave the care of His own mother over to John because John was the only disciple Jesus saw at the foot of the cross. Peter looks at John. "What about him?"
A strange question maybe. But it seems like Peter wanted to know if John was going to die a horrible death, too. Was his own impending death payback for the denial? Was Peter going to be the only martyr and everyone else was going to get to die a normal death? "What about John?"
"If it is My will that John should live until I come again, what is that to you?" I can see them stopped in the road looking together at the other disciple. Then Jesus turns back to Peter. Looks him straight in the eyes. Maybe even gently taps Peter's chest with His index finger. "You follow Me."
Those are the last recorded words of Jesus in the book of John. "You follow Me." Doesn't matter where I take your brother or sister. Doesn't matter what I call someone else to do or be. If you love Him, you will choose to follow Him. Why? Because He knows your way. Because you are a sheep and sheep follow the shepherd Who leads them beside the still waters, Who restores their souls, Who brings them to green pastures and walks with them even into death, leading them to the house in which they will dwell with Him forever. Because without Him we are lost and prey to the jackals. His rod keeps the wolves at bay -- the enemies who are growling and ready to devour us if they catch us alone without a shepherd. Our shepherd's staff reaches out and hooks our necks, literally saving them, and as gently as He can, pulls us out of the brier into which we have wandered. So, we follow if we are smart. Never getting too far away from the One Who leads us on. We don't know where the road takes us either way....His or ours. But He does. Follow Him.
He will tend His flock like a shepherd. He will gather the lambs in His arms. He will carry them in His bosom, and gently lead those who are with young. Isaiah 40
My hand was so much bigger than theirs when my children were little. I remember each one holding my index finger tightly as we walked together in the neighborhood or around the house. Still tottering a little on their chubby, unsteady legs, each one had to learn to walk alone. But I was especially conscious of having their hands more firmly in mine when we were navigating a throng of people. Disneyland, the zoo or even the mall were unsafe places for my little children to walk alone. They knew they had to hold my hand. Follow me. Stay close. The dangers, of course, were obvious. Getting lost. Wandering off only to discover Mommy was nowhere near. Or, worse, someone grabbing one of my children.
Now they are tall and beautiful adults. And easy to spot even a long way off because they usually are noticed above a crowd. They don't need my hand anymore. In fact, it is their hand now guiding others. But, we never grow big enough to let go the hand of God. Never wise enough to lead Him around. We still easily wander off. Are sometimes even abducted by the charms of the enemy and find ourselves lost and alone, crying for our Father. Any child who has ever been separated from her parents knows how terrifying it is to discover she is lost in a world of huge people with unfamiliar faces. When she is found, she sticks closer than before. Understands what Daddy meant by: "Hold my hand so you won't get lost."
I remember taking walks with Heather in our neighborhood when she was a pre-teen. She would always hold my hand as we debriefed about her day. I remarked on one of these occasions how much I loved walking hand in hand. "I will always want to hold your hand, Mommy," she cooed.
"No, I don't think you will, Heather," I answered. "Someday you will feel too big for that."
"No, I won't!" Adamant.
"Okay," I said. "Let's make a bet. I bet by the time you are thirteen you will not be walking with me like this. If you still want to hold my hand by then, you owe me ten dollars."
A few months later we were in the mall together, and I reached for Heather's hand. She recoiled slightly. "You want your ten bucks now?" she asked sheepishly.
A little heartache. But I knew the day would come. I patted her back and we walked on together. Something had shifted. A necessary rite of passage.
"If anyone serves Me, He must follow Me. And where I am, there will my servant be." Jesus remarking that to follow means to serve. To let someone else tell us where we are going and what is best for us. To hold our hand. As adults that seems demeaning. We are smart enough to make our own decisions. Navigate our own lives. We don't need Jesus telling us what to do. It goes counter to our free will. Makes us kids again.
Precisely. Anyone familiar with the territory when you have gone the limit with your own will and find yourself crying in a sea of unfamiliar faces after being abducted by the enemy? Plopped down in the enemy camp with seemingly no way out? Wishing you had followed directions? Ruing the fact that you jerked your hand out of His and ran away into the crowd? We are never too big to hold our Father's hand. Never so smart we don't need His guidance. Never so powerful the enemy doesn't want to destroy us. The only safe place we have in this difficult world is close to Him.
I will follow close to Him. My choice. A smart one. I love the story in the last chapter of John (21) when Jesus is taking a walk with Peter along the shores of the Sea of Tiberias. Peter had denied Jesus at His crucifixion and the risen Christ was talking with Peter about it. Asking Peter if he loved Him. Heartbroken, Peter affirms his love for Jesus three times. Then Jesus tells Peter what will happen to him in the future. How Peter will die for Him. "Follow Me," Christ says. This is where you are going. So, if you love Me, you will follow Me even there.
Peter looks behind him then....at John, the one who stayed at the cross. The one who followed Jesus all the way through, even to His death. Jesus gave the care of His own mother over to John because John was the only disciple Jesus saw at the foot of the cross. Peter looks at John. "What about him?"
A strange question maybe. But it seems like Peter wanted to know if John was going to die a horrible death, too. Was his own impending death payback for the denial? Was Peter going to be the only martyr and everyone else was going to get to die a normal death? "What about John?"
"If it is My will that John should live until I come again, what is that to you?" I can see them stopped in the road looking together at the other disciple. Then Jesus turns back to Peter. Looks him straight in the eyes. Maybe even gently taps Peter's chest with His index finger. "You follow Me."
Those are the last recorded words of Jesus in the book of John. "You follow Me." Doesn't matter where I take your brother or sister. Doesn't matter what I call someone else to do or be. If you love Him, you will choose to follow Him. Why? Because He knows your way. Because you are a sheep and sheep follow the shepherd Who leads them beside the still waters, Who restores their souls, Who brings them to green pastures and walks with them even into death, leading them to the house in which they will dwell with Him forever. Because without Him we are lost and prey to the jackals. His rod keeps the wolves at bay -- the enemies who are growling and ready to devour us if they catch us alone without a shepherd. Our shepherd's staff reaches out and hooks our necks, literally saving them, and as gently as He can, pulls us out of the brier into which we have wandered. So, we follow if we are smart. Never getting too far away from the One Who leads us on. We don't know where the road takes us either way....His or ours. But He does. Follow Him.
He will tend His flock like a shepherd. He will gather the lambs in His arms. He will carry them in His bosom, and gently lead those who are with young. Isaiah 40
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