I’m not sure what this means, one second please… Alright, well I looked it up and now I know what it is. Disciple, follower of Jesus. I suppose it’s something I’d know if I went to church.
I don’t think he understood. He was my responsibility. It was my fault. I had brought him into this bouquet of chaos and arranged along the thorns of the roses.
My fault.
His suffering was all there was to him now, his mind circled around pain and was tormented by hateful ghosts in his head. He wouldn’t eat, nor drink, not sleep not rest. Though his heart kept beating in a constant painful rhythm, and his mind kept going round n’ round, his soul was dead.
He was my disciple and I did this. I.
I have the disciple. I can tell you no. I feel my heart wanting you. But I always follow my head. If I don’t admit to the feelings I have, maybe I won’t get hurt. I may feel lonely, but I won’t get hurt.
The disciples of past and present are all similar for the reason that they follow. The art of following may not always lead to conformity, for one may follow the outlier trend. All in all, you cannot judge someone who spreads knowledge. what you can truly judge is the knowledge being spread; if that knowledge is truly important or if it is bullshit
I felt like a disciple drawn to follow, yet questioning if the choice is truly my free will. The thrill of having my sails unfurled offers its dangers as well as its pleasures… though contentment is a willed illusion on my part to find peace.
I know it master, you are what i spected. I believe that being a disciple is importan. we are all disciples. I am a disciple of the roaming soul of satan’s greatness. I believe i can fly.
The fourteenth disciple of the prophet Asclare was a tall woman with shaggy hair that grow in bushes around the nape of her neck. She walked with broad shoes oversized for her feet, dressed in her father’s robe, and carried a walking stick that she did not need. And when it got dark, she was the one to prepare the fire, stir the pot counter-clockwise in order to heat the stew, and kneel down beside the prophet as he was falling asleep to massage the big toes on his feet.
I have not met enough disciple people in my life time. Maybe if i did i wouldn’t be so afraid of dying. Because even if god isnt real at least there is something to keep my fear locked away.
“I’m no one’s disciple,” I spat, thrusting the sheathed blade back into his hands. “And I like it that way,”
“You…you can’t POSSIBLY be happy with the way your life’s turned out,” he sputtered. “You can’t be,”
I cocked my head to the side. “Is this really about me being happy…or is it about me being happy without you?”
His eyes danced away and, just like that, I knew the answer. “You wanted adventure; I can give you that,”
I laughed, rocking back on my heels. “I’ve had enough adventure to last me a lifetime,”
we followed her religiously. we ate like her, sang like her, dressed like her, disputed like her, but try as we might, we couldn’t match her penchant for bad puns. we just couldn’t do it!
Following. Come and follow me. Drop your nets and run. The nets will fish for themselves, but you must come, leave your family. Let the dead bury their dead because you are alive in me. I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. He will come, and will not be attractive in appearances, but he has come to die for your sins. Follow Him.
For many years, he was a disciple of many religions, but faithful to none. He chose his beliefs as he needed them, as means to an end. Then one day, he met her, and his eyes were opened.
He got on his knee’s, cupped his hands together and sobbed. He prayed, and he prayed, because he was so desperate. He looked for something more. Finally he got up,realizing just how foolish he had become.
He would do things to test me. To see what I was made of. To confuse me and contradict his previous lessons. To eventually get at the real lesson behind this all.
Following.
Following.
Following around.
That’s all we do.
Aren’t we supposed to work or something?
Can this be all there is?
Following.
Following.
Following.
When we should be doing.
This discipleship isn’t what I thought it was going to be.
Following.
Following.
Following.
” You are now my disciple.” The evil magician said and made Edward follow his every command.
” Oh no! He got Edward!” Exclaimed Kate.
” We have to get out of here!” John said.
“But what about Edward?”
“We’ll be back for him later! We got to go!”
“ok” said Kate.
” The good thing is we know where to find them!” And they went back to their houses to find a way on how to cure their beloved friend.
I stopped. There was nothing in my sight except an infinite path, stretching on and on before me. I hoped my water would not run out. I hoped my sanity would not run out.
Disciples by the sea. Follow me, follow me. Disciples, lead your people. To the steeple, to the steeple. Disciples feed my sheep. Shepherds keep, shepherds keep. Watch my sheep.
They followed him everywhere, listening to his lectures and going along with what he was doing. Water and wine? Awesome. Fish and bread? Great. Walking on water? The best. But when it came to his death, Peter just couldn’t admit that he knew him.
is something that changes you. makes you stand out. It helps form your being. mold your soul. it is the fruit of the spirit. and the honey in the southern iced tea
You take my hand.”Trust me, love me, follow me”, you say, but you, you are a stranger to me.
“I’ll lead you to the most beautiful place in the universe if only you follow.” Your face tells no lies, your eyes serene look down at me. Still I can’t help but question you.
They say that Jesus had only 12 deisciples, and that’s why we are supposed to be okay with having only a few close friends. I don’t like that idea. I like having many people around me at different times.
I would follow you with that kind of loyalty. Maybe more like Ruth and Naomi than Jesus and the twelve, but still with dedication. I would, if only you’d let me.
He had no family. Women ignored him. He had money but wasn’t in charge of anything. All of the places that his absence of control was felt made him an apt disciple to another man’s doctrine.
If you are struggling to garner sufficient followers and really need to up your fan base, as long as age, gender and natural ability allow, facial hair is the solution (there are of course means to achieve facial hair beyond nature, but the prospect of angry disillusioned disciples baying for your flesh at the discovery of your deceit may counter the initial appeal)
Jesus had disciples; people who followed him. Some without hesitation, a few that needed a little convincing, and one who betrayed him. Today in church the pastor was talking about when God chose David to be the new king instead any of the other sons of Samuel. The little guy who slew goliath.
Oh, disciples again. So um there’s a video going on right now and it’s really distracting me but that’s okay. Doctor who is awesome. I’m serious. But this has nothing to do with disciples. The companions are like disciples following the Doctor.
I am a disciple of Nothingness. I use a barbed cilice as instructed, bind my being with it, feel the teeth of it eating my memory of words, and my imagination drains away as drips of blood from my body. Not as a cleansing of impurities, I say! It can’t be, I think! And so I sin. I cannot help grasping at the remains of brilliant bygone days. Visuals stand in for imagination, spur words that are good enough, only just good enough, until the trickle of blood reminds me they are Nothing.
The disciple climbed up the mountain. He looked over the landscape laid out in front of him. The river flowed and the trees leaned to the right. He was in awe. He finally finished his mission. The mission to find somewhere peaceful for people and him to live.
The altar burned brightly with flames as the disciple knelt before it, ceremonial tools in hand, ready to complete the ritual. He muttered to himself quietly the required prayer before standing and moving to the bowl next to the burning pit within the altar.
You start by following, you are earnest and eager and you don’t really need to think. And if it succeeds, it breaks you. You realize that following a thinker makes you think and thinking makes not a follower.
I’m not sure what this means, one second please… Alright, well I looked it up and now I know what it is. Disciple, follower of Jesus. I suppose it’s something I’d know if I went to church.
Teach me. I won’t be perfect, but I want to spread the thoughts that move me. You inspire movement, I want to inspire, like a disciple
I don’t think he understood. He was my responsibility. It was my fault. I had brought him into this bouquet of chaos and arranged along the thorns of the roses.
My fault.
His suffering was all there was to him now, his mind circled around pain and was tormented by hateful ghosts in his head. He wouldn’t eat, nor drink, not sleep not rest. Though his heart kept beating in a constant painful rhythm, and his mind kept going round n’ round, his soul was dead.
He was my disciple and I did this. I.
I have the disciple. I can tell you no. I feel my heart wanting you. But I always follow my head. If I don’t admit to the feelings I have, maybe I won’t get hurt. I may feel lonely, but I won’t get hurt.
The disciples of past and present are all similar for the reason that they follow. The art of following may not always lead to conformity, for one may follow the outlier trend. All in all, you cannot judge someone who spreads knowledge. what you can truly judge is the knowledge being spread; if that knowledge is truly important or if it is bullshit
I felt like a disciple drawn to follow, yet questioning if the choice is truly my free will. The thrill of having my sails unfurled offers its dangers as well as its pleasures… though contentment is a willed illusion on my part to find peace.
I know it master, you are what i spected. I believe that being a disciple is importan. we are all disciples. I am a disciple of the roaming soul of satan’s greatness. I believe i can fly.
The fourteenth disciple of the prophet Asclare was a tall woman with shaggy hair that grow in bushes around the nape of her neck. She walked with broad shoes oversized for her feet, dressed in her father’s robe, and carried a walking stick that she did not need. And when it got dark, she was the one to prepare the fire, stir the pot counter-clockwise in order to heat the stew, and kneel down beside the prophet as he was falling asleep to massage the big toes on his feet.
I have not met enough disciple people in my life time. Maybe if i did i wouldn’t be so afraid of dying. Because even if god isnt real at least there is something to keep my fear locked away.
“I’m no one’s disciple,” I spat, thrusting the sheathed blade back into his hands. “And I like it that way,”
“You…you can’t POSSIBLY be happy with the way your life’s turned out,” he sputtered. “You can’t be,”
I cocked my head to the side. “Is this really about me being happy…or is it about me being happy without you?”
His eyes danced away and, just like that, I knew the answer. “You wanted adventure; I can give you that,”
I laughed, rocking back on my heels. “I’ve had enough adventure to last me a lifetime,”
Root disciple a core value for success difficult to maintain, but real benefits ol
we followed her religiously. we ate like her, sang like her, dressed like her, disputed like her, but try as we might, we couldn’t match her penchant for bad puns. we just couldn’t do it!
Following. Come and follow me. Drop your nets and run. The nets will fish for themselves, but you must come, leave your family. Let the dead bury their dead because you are alive in me. I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. He will come, and will not be attractive in appearances, but he has come to die for your sins. Follow Him.
For many years, he was a disciple of many religions, but faithful to none. He chose his beliefs as he needed them, as means to an end. Then one day, he met her, and his eyes were opened.
they ask who i am
their jam questions stick to me
oh wouldn’t it be great
oh how great would it be
to say im the disciple
in this wold where im me.
He got on his knee’s, cupped his hands together and sobbed. He prayed, and he prayed, because he was so desperate. He looked for something more. Finally he got up,realizing just how foolish he had become.
I was his student and he was my teacher.
He would do things to test me. To see what I was made of. To confuse me and contradict his previous lessons. To eventually get at the real lesson behind this all.
I guess I just never got it.
I was a dreadful disciple.
I dont know what to say about the word disciple so i will anagram it instead
slice dip
slip dice
pile i disc
i was never good at anagramming… if thats a word
Following.
Following.
Following around.
That’s all we do.
Aren’t we supposed to work or something?
Can this be all there is?
Following.
Following.
Following.
When we should be doing.
This discipleship isn’t what I thought it was going to be.
Following.
Following.
Following.
” You are now my disciple.” The evil magician said and made Edward follow his every command.
” Oh no! He got Edward!” Exclaimed Kate.
” We have to get out of here!” John said.
“But what about Edward?”
“We’ll be back for him later! We got to go!”
“ok” said Kate.
” The good thing is we know where to find them!” And they went back to their houses to find a way on how to cure their beloved friend.
I stopped. There was nothing in my sight except an infinite path, stretching on and on before me. I hoped my water would not run out. I hoped my sanity would not run out.
Disciples by the sea. Follow me, follow me. Disciples, lead your people. To the steeple, to the steeple. Disciples feed my sheep. Shepherds keep, shepherds keep. Watch my sheep.
Peter was a disciple of Jesus. There were 11 others, also. They were the 12 disciples.
Follow your faith.
I am faithless.
Trust in God.
I trust no one.
Pray your prayers.
Sing your hymns.
They are answered only by illusion.
jesus
god
catholic
faithful
church
joy
love
wine
bread
happy
They followed him everywhere, listening to his lectures and going along with what he was doing. Water and wine? Awesome. Fish and bread? Great. Walking on water? The best. But when it came to his death, Peter just couldn’t admit that he knew him.
is something that changes you. makes you stand out. It helps form your being. mold your soul. it is the fruit of the spirit. and the honey in the southern iced tea
You take my hand.”Trust me, love me, follow me”, you say, but you, you are a stranger to me.
“I’ll lead you to the most beautiful place in the universe if only you follow.” Your face tells no lies, your eyes serene look down at me. Still I can’t help but question you.
They say that Jesus had only 12 deisciples, and that’s why we are supposed to be okay with having only a few close friends. I don’t like that idea. I like having many people around me at different times.
I would follow you with that kind of loyalty. Maybe more like Ruth and Naomi than Jesus and the twelve, but still with dedication. I would, if only you’d let me.
He had no family. Women ignored him. He had money but wasn’t in charge of anything. All of the places that his absence of control was felt made him an apt disciple to another man’s doctrine.
If you are struggling to garner sufficient followers and really need to up your fan base, as long as age, gender and natural ability allow, facial hair is the solution (there are of course means to achieve facial hair beyond nature, but the prospect of angry disillusioned disciples baying for your flesh at the discovery of your deceit may counter the initial appeal)
Jesus had disciples; people who followed him. Some without hesitation, a few that needed a little convincing, and one who betrayed him. Today in church the pastor was talking about when God chose David to be the new king instead any of the other sons of Samuel. The little guy who slew goliath.
Oh, disciples again. So um there’s a video going on right now and it’s really distracting me but that’s okay. Doctor who is awesome. I’m serious. But this has nothing to do with disciples. The companions are like disciples following the Doctor.
I am a disciple of Nothingness. I use a barbed cilice as instructed, bind my being with it, feel the teeth of it eating my memory of words, and my imagination drains away as drips of blood from my body. Not as a cleansing of impurities, I say! It can’t be, I think! And so I sin. I cannot help grasping at the remains of brilliant bygone days. Visuals stand in for imagination, spur words that are good enough, only just good enough, until the trickle of blood reminds me they are Nothing.
When he wanted his disciples to pass the ball, they did. It became customary for him to always get the ball, to land the lay-up. Long live that team.
The disciple climbed up the mountain. He looked over the landscape laid out in front of him. The river flowed and the trees leaned to the right. He was in awe. He finally finished his mission. The mission to find somewhere peaceful for people and him to live.
you are a disciple; you follow with faith and you grin and scream and preach. i dont know who you are anymore. minion.
The altar burned brightly with flames as the disciple knelt before it, ceremonial tools in hand, ready to complete the ritual. He muttered to himself quietly the required prayer before standing and moving to the bowl next to the burning pit within the altar.
You start by following, you are earnest and eager and you don’t really need to think. And if it succeeds, it breaks you. You realize that following a thinker makes you think and thinking makes not a follower.