Comfort Zones

Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em, right?

Is what's comfortable really all that bad when it's New Years-ish and you're soaking up time with family of all sorts, watching football and making a fool of yourself jiggin' on a stupid mat to disney songs?

Is it really all that bad when you watch an 11 month old stare intently at your mother doing her absolute best to learn how to make the "la" sound by holding her tongue to the top of her mouth? When you're realizing how much you yourself have learned-- how far you've come and how far you have left to go. I wish the lessons were so easy as learning to say "la." But then I look at Addie and see her determination, the absolute desire to know how, the willingness to try, the persistence to just observe for a while. Ultimately, she just wants to please us, her audience. And for her it is not easy.

Is comfortable all that bad when you decide to give the lessons a rest and rock the baby to sleep? Is comfortable all that bad when you sing softly in her ear

"Truly He taught us to love one another

His law is love and His gospel is peace

Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother

and in His name all oppression shall cease"

and pray to God that she and her generation are better at representing Christ to the world than you and yours?

Is comfortable all that bad when you try to even comprehend what believing in God would be like for a person in a German POW camp during WWII as you watch Hart's War with your brother until 3 in the morning?

Is comfortable all that bad when it means you're working in a place you love-- a place where coworkers and patrons tend to make your day?

I just can't believe that these things have no intrinsic value just because they are, to me, comfortable.

But then there's this. My pastor this morning said something along the lines of "it's not really faith to give God your fifth. Faith is giving Him your first." And then the kicker, appropriate for January blogging, I think: "It's giving Him your best that requires the most effort and offers the most return."

As we played with Addie last night, I imagined God in the role of my mother*, la-laing at the top of her lungs, offering the baby something to imitate and making eyes that pleaded with her to stick with it. To not give up, to keep trying. Encouraging her, comforting her, challenging her. And knowing when to let her rest.

He wants my attention because He wants to help. And unlike every other thing that competes for my attention, it is God who simply, innately deserves it.

I don't exactly know what it is I have to learn any more than Addie knew last night that making the "la" sound brings her one step closer to actually talking. And I don't know how God will teach me. I only know he has way more on me than the 51 years Mom has on Addie and even that seems an astronomical difference. He begs I pay attention. And He comforts as I go.

So is comfort all that bad? Well, no. Except for that what is most comfortable in my life is also what I feel is best about it. Faith requires that I be willing to give it over first. And give my attention to God first. How to do? I'm not honestly entirely sure.

But the plan is stare him in the face, put my tongue on the roof of my mouth**, and try my best to imitate Him. And I figure the more and quicker I bring stuff to Him, the more I will crave His instruction.

*I do not think that God has an eye patch. He could very well. But my gut says no.

**metaphorically speaking, of course.