At once they left their nets and followed him.
Matthew 4:20

We all want to act like we’re not. We rouge and powder ego, cover seeping wounds with designer labels, stuff our homes full of temporality. We watch our sparkly watches tick, tick time, forgetting life paces us in our stand still. Every moment, every pulse, meant to frolic and savor and wring out, pours from our pitcher of carelessness.

Our bodies wither as we shake hands, skin wrinkles paper thin, organs slow blink by blink. No, this isn’t what you say in a Friday “give me something to go on, Taylor” blog. But it is the truth: this life, this world, this body in every moment is letting go of me, moving beyond me, consuming this package I embody back into dust.

And we want to pretend that it isn’t true, that our loved ones won’t carry us to the graveyard. We want to pretend that our worlds will always revolve around us, that no one can replace us.

But Pretending just allows us to waste breaths. Feel your chest rise and fall as you read this, look across the room at children blinking their own ways through childhood. See the tulips by the kitchen window stretch and twist to sun, watch the rain fall . . . and see it: your life, your chance, your only moment to fully live.

Wasn’t that what Peter and Andrew did that day when Jesus called them,

As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” Matthew 4:18-19

Why did they listen? Why did they drop their nets and follow? Did they reach the end of temporality and stare into the line where Ocean and Sky meet? Did they stand still and hear the pulse of a world insisting upon life with or without their own, did they understand that every breath is a gift to bless or to squander?

Maybe we, too, can drop our nets. Drop our egos. Drop our agendas and our lists of demands and standards. Maybe then we can see what they saw: those two fishermen walking away from all foreseen time ticks, all means of manipulating future.

Maybe then, in the great net drop, we catch something far more grand. Maybe we catch a vision of what our Savior sees hidden in this world, crushed into the plainness and sprinkled in monotony. Maybe we can see purpose that stretches beyond my sparkle and your flash. Maybe, just maybe, we find soul in ourselves and soul in another. And could we discover that there is something better to fight for and yearn for and share than just this sagging worldliness we’re wearing?

I close my eyes and He’s calling me. And He’s calling you. Drop your nets, child. Come follow me.

Come follow Him, right into glisten. Hear the roar of His brand new ocean.

I’m dropping the net . . . dropping the hype and the rouge and the glitz.

I’m going fishing for people.

Lead on Jesus,

Taylor