We don’t do ‘discipleship’ because we don’t ‘disciple’ people. The idea behind ‘discipleship’ is ‘teaching the person for a lifetime.’ Let alone relationship handles that! And what’s more irony is that we’re sending the wrong message that instead of Jesus owns the person as His student, we say in turn “he is ‘my’ disciple” simply because ‘we disciple’ him.
In contrast, we do make disciples. ‘Teaching’ for a lifetime is not the focus but ‘relationship for a lifetime’ is. This in turn make teaching into a ‘lifestyle’ and that’s how Christianity is really, back in the days of the early church.
We do ‘make’ disciples. That’s the command: to go and make disciples. Disciples of who? Me? No, I am not Jesus. He is. I only ‘make’ people a disciple of Jesus, not mine. So that means it’s quick, simple and fast to reach the growing population.
Jesus didn’t say “go and disciple” but he said, “go and make disciples.” That’s where we make making disciples complicated. Because we thought as if discipling the people belongs to us. It is not. That job belongs to the Holy Spirit that’s living ‘inside’ the person after baptism. What could be His job dwelling in you if not to ‘teach you into all truth’? I often ask. “What kind of truth can I teach the person when the Truth resides in him? Am I better than the Holy Spirit?” This puts me to shame. So for me to taste the fullness of Him I have to trust Him fully.
So, my job and your job is only to ‘make’ the person a disciple of Jesus. The Holy Spirit’s job is to disciple the person. And Jesus job is to build His Church. Got the ‘job’ description?
Jesus has a hard time building His church because we try to do His job. It is obvious then that we didn’t do our job. And the Holy Spirit also has having a hard time ‘discipling’ the person because we also tried to do that job for Him. Thus, instead the person will look like Jesus, he looks more of like you and me. Simply put, that because God cannot multiply His Self by the way we do things ‘our way’ we just multiply ourselves then without even asking His permission. So many of ‘our’ disciples look like us.
Paul warned, “there are those that are among you who will draw disciples for themselves.” My friend, we are only taking men to Christ for him to be discipled.
It all goes down to its implications. “Discipleship” today is not what it’s suppose to be. Try to see the difference between statements below and it’s implications:
So, if your way of making disciples is complicated then you will be the very reason why Jesus didn’t comeback yet.
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I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, scrutinizing for far too long. I start sideways, looking at my profile and then turn painstakingly to inspect the other side. I suck in as much as I can, but I can’t really suck in very much anymore. I try to pull my jeans up higher and add a tank top under my T-shirt, hoping that the layers will help camouflage my tummy.
My daughter catches my swollen middle and her eyes twinkle with excitement. “Baby!” she exclaims. “Mommy has a baby growing in her belly?”
She continues to insist that there’s a baby in there. I try to respond with confidence and body positivity. I also address her hopes of future siblings. Maybe someday. Maybe not.
I have always carried my weight in my midsection. No matter my size, I have a belly, a gut, some pudge. I used to proudly sport a food baby after a large meal. I would joke and rub my belly, sometimes even naming it. Due to a perfect storm of genetics, estrogen, stress, lack of sleep and digestive issues, that weight is now constantly visible.
I am a mom. While I am technically back to my pre-baby size, I am not back to my pre-baby shape. Buttons and seams strain against my swollen belly.
I have two children. Their age spacing was intentional. My son was born two years and six months (minus nine days) after his older sister. He is now 2 1/2. If I had continued the same age spacing, I would be nursing an infant right now. If I were having more babies, I should be having them now.
I have always wanted more than two children. Three children, four—some days I even imagined myself as the mother of five. Embracing the chaos and energy and love of a large family. I always imagined myself surrounded by a gaggle of playful children, running exuberantly through a field of wildflowers. I would probably be giggling or dancing along like something out of the "Sound of Music." I imagined that I would be an amazingly patient and kind mother, always knowing what my children needed and easily able to provide it.
I didn’t imagine that my children would have medical complications. I didn’t imagine being constantly exhausted. I didn’t imagine struggling against the mental load of a marriage that had suddenly taken on gender stereotypes that had never been present before. I didn’t imagine anything would actually be this hard. I didn’t imagine real life.
I don’t want her looking me. I don’t want her to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.
These feelings stare back at me when I catch myself in the mirror. When I catch myself rubbing a belly full of food instead of full of promise. Those sunken eyes are so accusing, reminders of not being strong enough or patient enough or hard-working enough. Of failing so constantly to live up to my own expectations of motherhood, or marriage, of adulthood, of life.
I want to be the mom throwing the perfectly orchestrated themed party. I want to be the mom in joyful family portraits, everyone looking in the same direction, everyone’s outfits perfectly coordinated. I want to be the mom who stays up all night packing perfectly balanced lunches constructed into creative shapes. I want to be the mom who plans perfectly balanced days full of gross motor, fine motor, outdoor and sensory play.
I don’t want to look into the mirror and see the tired mom who woke up five times to breastfeed last night. I don’t want to look into the mirror and see the dirty mom who smells like stress sweat and drool, maybe her own, maybe her children’s. I don’t want to look in the mirror and see the mom who is no longer attractive or desirable, who wouldn’t randomly get hit on at a bar, who wouldn’t even know what to wear to a bar anymore.
I loved my pregnant body. Finally, my belly was something to be proud of, to own, to display. When I was pregnant, I felt powerful. I knew my own strength. I valued my contribution to my family, to society. I was creating and growing and nurturing and purposeful. I loved looking in the mirror and catching glimpses of my belly.
I’m not ready to have another baby. I’m not ready to care for another human, to be needed or pulled in another direction. I’m not ready for the moments when I didn’t love my pregnant body. I’m not ready for the exhaustion or the vomiting. I’m not ready for the hip pains, the back pains, the heartburn, the back sleeping. I’m not ready to trade what I’ve finally gained back in independence and autonomy to give of myself all over again.
But when I look in the mirror, I’m ready to feel proud of myself again. I’m ready to feel purposeful, to feel valued. I’m ready to feel the power of what I have done and what I still have left to do. I’m ready to feel comfortable with my belly, swollen—not with life, but with life experience.
We asked 10 talented photographers, who are also mothers, to participate in our special project — The Body Beautiful: Celebrating Motherhood. We wanted to know — from these women, who look at life through the lens of a camera — what makes a mother's body beautiful? Their answers and images are poignant and inspiring and will move you, hopefully as much as they moved us. They will challenge you to look at yourself, again and again, until all you are left with, and all you see, is beauty. Because, as these talented women reveal in their images, beauty is absolutely more than skin deep.