Confessions of a Reluctant Disciple

Sharing realistic, usually unconventional, observations from the arsenal of a slightly qualified prayer warrior



Dear Kids, When I fail…

This is one that falls under the “I didn’t write this but I wish I had” category. Poignant, gets you in the heart, and uses the words we think every day from the day they are born but don’t always say, or know how to say.


Dear kids,

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and I see that you’ve grown over night. Your face is more defined, your eyes look older. A part of me is excited and in awe; I know you have so much ahead of you. Another part is scared because time is racing and I can’t slow it down. I’m afraid that I haven’t always been awake and noticing, and that somehow I have slept through the magic of your growing. I wonder, have I enjoyed you enough? Have I given you what you needed? Is your heart still whole? Is your spirit unbroken?

I’m not always good at this. I’m not always as good as I want to be at being your mom. I want to be great; and sometimes I am, but sometimes I’m not.

Sometimes I get it, and sometimes I don’t.

Sometimes I do it right, and sometimes I completely miss it.


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We Just Don’t Know

When you play chess, you learn to think five moves ahead.  If the other player does this, I can do this.  If he does that, I could do that or that.  I realized the other day that I drive like I play chess.  I analyze if this driver does this, I can do that.  If the other one does that, I can do this.

I feel prepared to preemptively strike once a space opens up.  Because, let’s face it, everybody driving in front of me is driving too slowly for my satisfaction.  And when they don’t do this or that, I end up like THIS:

But seriously, we can think we’re prepared and do what we can to be prepared, but we are not always.  When a tragedy occurs, it’s usually not expected and no matter how prepared we might think we are, it will still take us by surprise.

Tragic events are an unfortunate and unwelcome part of life, but they do happen and they remind us that life is unpredictable and finite.  They remind us to cherish moments and loved ones.  We wish they didn’t happen but it snaps us back to reality when they do, and they remind us of what is important.

My reminder happened this past weekend.

One of my dearest friends (and one of the safest drivers I know) and her college-aged son were involved in a car crash Friday night.  I didn’t learn of it until Saturday, but when I did, I was floored.  When I found out more details on Sunday about the crash, I was even more floored.

A teen, speeding way above the speed limit in my friend’s own neighborhood, came around a corner, lost control, slid across the road, and plowed head-on into my friend’s truck, sending them toppling twice over.

Her truck is totaled.  His blew up.  She was just released from the hospital with a foot broken in three places, a clavicle broken in two places, and assorted bumps, bruises, jammed digits, scratches, and other injuries.  Her son has assorted bumps, bruises and scratches and is thankfully mobile.

What’s left of her truck.

But they are alive.

Thank God (literally) they were in her truck because if they had been in her Jetta, well…I might not have been able to visit them in a hospital.

Would that we remember what is important every day without some awful event being the impetus, however, this happened and it made me think about so many things—how relieved I was that they were okay; how we just do not know when something might happen that will change our lives completely; how much I love and care for my family and dear friends, and how blessed I am to have them in my life; and how sad I would be if I missed an opportunity to let them know how I feel.

You know what’s coming next—the directive or friendly suggestion to hug your loved ones, and tell them how much they mean to you.  Send a note, text, message, smoke signal, or make a phone call, and remember what and who are important, not only because a tragedy occurred, but continually.  Because you just don’t know.


Becky is a single mom and a reluctant disciple, called to share her story with others.  She knows God equips her for her journey, and she does her best to trust in His plan for that journey and not to judge others on theirs…unless they say she eats too much chocolate; then she can’t be friends with them anymore.  But she will pray for them.  Follow the Reluctant Disciple for more quirky insights into these groovy trails we call life.

The #Significance of our #Insignificance #amwriting

I took a bike ride this weekend.  Not just any bike, but a motorcycle.  Not just any motorcycle, but a Harley.  With cushy seats and a smooth ride.  The imperative part is I trusted the driver.  The fun part is I got to be a passenger.  I am never the passenger.

As a single mom, I’ve always been the driver, and it felt like I was always driving somewhere—school, work, the grocery store, wrestling practice, band practice, football games, wrestling tournaments—well, you get the picture.  And even if I was driving, I rarely got the opportunity to just look around and marvel at the world because I was always on my way somewhere, and usually we were in a hurry, so the focus was point A to point B.

So, I really enjoy getting to be a passenger.  I look around, I feel the air on my face (I always wear a full helmet, but there’s still air), I hear road sounds, I see deer and bunnies and birds and cows.  It is very tactile, and it fulfills my tactile need.

This time, something else hit me.  As I was looking around and seeing things and feeling things and smelling things (there were a couple of skunks…), I looked up—mostly because the threat of rain was hovering and I periodically studied the clouds—and as I studied the clouds, I really noticed the clouds.


There they were, all white and gray and round and fluffy and straight and whispy, in the ginormous blue sky.  Here I was feeling all taken care of with good weather and a safe ride, being one with nature and what not.  Everybody now…oohhmm.  But then I suddenly felt very tiny.  I was a tiny chick on the back of one Harley riding down one road in one city of the whole world.

And I felt insignificant.

As I was praying for good weather and a safe ride, and being thankful for the opportunity to be out in nature, something I always do, my tiny-ness made me wonder why I even matter, how my existence has any impact on the world—the huge, giant, busy world that goes on about its business not caring one whit that I was thoroughly enjoying myself cruising along as a passenger.

As I watched the birds swoop in the air, I thought, “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.  Are you not much more valuable than they?” (Matt 6:26)  But I still felt insignificant.

Which led me to reflect on a quote I’d just read by Albert Einstein that said, “When you look at yourself from a universal standpoint, something inside always reminds or informs you that there are bigger and better things to worry about.”

And finally I thought of a giant puzzle, not the wimpy 100-piece ones, but the big ones with thousands of pieces.  What if one single piece is missing?  I don’t know about you, but I freak out.  Do all that work and one piece is missing?  Look at the hole!!  Of course, that made me think, “There is one body, but it has many parts.  But all its many parts make up one body.” (1 Cor 12:12)

We need all of the puzzle pieces, whether center or edge, because they all serve a function to the completion of the puzzle; they are all significant.  Just like every person has an impact on the whole of what goes on in the world.  No matter how insignificant we may feel to ourselves, we are significant to others.  We fit in the world, and each person also is a world, following their own, individual journeys.  Which reminded me of one last thing, a favorite quote by Dr. Seuss:

“To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.”


I am thankful for the occasional feelings of insignificance.  Without them popping up every now and then, I might not contemplate them, I might just truck along at status quo, and then I might never be reminded of my significance.


Becky is a single mom and a reluctant disciple, called to share her journey with others.  Join her to discover how life happens on these groovy trails.

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