I don’t drive to town almost everyday for my own pleasure or convenience. In fact, some days it is a bit of a hassle. But I do it.
I usually just see her and that’s okay.
But then one day it wasn’t just her and he was angry and I was caught in the cross-fire.
It makes you cringe when you’re being accused, no matter how outlandish the accusations. No matter if you know that later there will be apologizes and pleas for understanding.
When I was finally able to slip away, the screams of “get off my property!” echoing, my stomach was lurching a bit. My voice shook when my husband answered the phone call and I tried to carefully explain what had happened.
He made another phone call, and just as I thought, there were explanations and apologizes.
When my husband handed me the phone, what I really wanted to do was hang up and be done with it, with them, with everything.
But instead I said, “hello,” and listened to the next forty-five minutes of all the reasons why he reacted the way he did, why he didn’t mean to implicate me, why everyone has hurt him for so many years, how all he wants is to take good care of his kids but he keeps screwing up.
I tried to talk careful and true. I tried to speak softly. I tried to offer hope.
“You’re life doesn’t have to be this way,” I said, “there is a God who created you and made you for more than this.”
I’m not sure that he heard much. But I knew there was no point in helping them, no point in all the months of driving, no point to the time and energy– if when the moment came, I didn’t tell him why I was doing it. Why I even cared.
And it was so uncomfortable.
It made me want to sit down and weep. It made me want to throw the phone against the wall. It made me sorrow so deeply.
After I hung up, my hands still shaking, I stood at the sink and wondered why in the world I was even bothering. What was the point? Why offer this man something that he’s never going to accept? Why step into his world where the good I try to do gets lambasted with swear-words and accusations?
God, I hate this feeling. Like my insides are being wrung out.
And God said,
Following Me was never meant to be comfortable, Tasha.
It stilled me right quiet.
I have to admit, friends, I like being comfortable. I like it a lot.
My little house, my little husband, my little car, my little farm animals, my little world.
And it’s like God says, “Let’s tear your make-believe world to pieces because there is a real world out there where people are suffering and hurting and lost. There are people out there that I love and they are dying in their sins and shame and fears. I don’t really care about your happy little world, I care about you being my hands and feet and my voice. It doesn’t matter if you’re comfortable. It matters if you are following Me.”
following God isn’t suppose to be comfortable.
Because comfortable is where we forget who He is, where we live like He isn’t there, where we walk around in our little dream world while the rest of society disintegrates around us.
May I learn to seek only the true comfort of doing His will in His way.