I am a follower, and always have been. I like it that way. The benefits far outweigh the risks, in my opinion. It is inevitable that something is going to go wrong at some point. When it does, who does everyone look at? The followers? Nope. The guy in front gets to raise his hand to the inevitable question, "who's in charge around here?". And the tough decisions? Not my job. I'm a follower, remember? If there's a hole to fall into, a trap to be sprung, (sprung? Is that word?) a cliff to walk off of, someone else will do it first. I happen to think it's an ingenious method for living life.
Some people are born to lead. I was born to discover ways not to lead. I've spent 50 years perfecting the art of deferring to someone else's "where do we go?...when do we go?... how do we get there?, and what's for dinner?"
As it turns out, my ability (and desperation) to follow someone literally saved my life. After years of following anything and anyone until I followed right into a mess of a life, I got an invitation to follow Jesus. I didn't say yes right away, but waited to see if there was some other way out, someone else looking for a follower...someone not quite so intimidating, someone with less rules. Desperation finally drove me to reach out and accept the invite.
Twenty-one years later, I'm still doing what I was born to do. Following...desperately following. And I feel safe. I am at peace. I know where I'm going, but I'm not in charge of getting me there. For a follower, it doesn't get any sweeter than that.
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