I am a first generation disciple. My Italian grandfather heard the promise of a better life in America and sailed off to chase the dream. I heard the promise of a better life from an old, quiet man reaching the end of his years and became a first generation Christian. Like my Italian grandfather, I found myself in a land of promise without a guide, unable to speak the language and not readily accepted into the existing populace.
The wonderful people who evangelized messy me had no idea what to do with me when they won the battle for my soul. No one “made me” a disciple. No one walked with me. Thankfully, I was just crazy enough, gritty enough and desperate enough to figure it out. But, my discipleship was the school of hard knocks. My path was paved with trial and error. I followed men instead of God. I misunderstood God’s words. I grabbed at every fad of modern Christianity. What a mess it was!
