How many followers do you have?

“Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.”

—Mark 1:17

 

I smiled when I heard it. That familiar bleep that could only mean one thing. A new follower!  

Yay! I congratulated myself. I’ve been working hard ever since I returned from the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference, ever since Edie Melson’s workshop on social networking. 

A social networking guru herself, Edie emphasized the importance of doing so when building a marketing platform. Without an established platform—an audience that looks forward to your 140-character nuggets of truth and inspiration and would buy your book chockfull of the same, you may be hard-pressed to convince a publisher to take a chance on you. 

Mothers and Teachers and Rosebushes

Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long.

—Psalm 25:4-5 

“Tell me the best part and the worst part of your day,” I introduced the favorite mealtime ritual that invited my children to share.  

One by one they described the highs and lows of their day, which opened the door to meaningful conversation and opportunities to encourage and praise and counsel. 

Years have passed since that time, and I have to admit I miss those days. I miss mothering—and I miss those faces that circled my table. 

Last night I went to dinner with a friend and engaged him in the high-low conversation. I listened as he described his “low” part of the day that occurred at work. In the end the “low” became a “high” and I concurred that he did the right thing. Then the tables were turned (no pun intended…well, maybe), and it was my turn to share. 

The Way Home

Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

—John 6:35

 

I call it a funk—this melancholy mood, this heavy heart I’ve been carrying around all week. This week after Easter, after all my family members have returned to their homes and schedules have returned to normal. Except nothing has felt normal to me. Nothing has felt like home.

 

“Please pray for me,” I asked my friends. And I prayed for myself, Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted in me? hope thou in God (Psalm 42:5).

The Sign

I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture.

—John 10:9 

I picked up the wooden sign I received as a gift. The desk was not the right spot for it.

Over the living room doorway would be perfect!

I rummaged through my tool box for two sturdy nails, all the while rethinking my decision. What if the sign falls while someone is walking underneath it? What if one of my precious grandbabies is crawling through? I shuddered to think of the unthinkable.