As I write this, I’m positioned sweetly in my hammock. Her straps are hung under a pavilion the size of a basketball court in the middle of a farm just outside Granada, Nicaragua.
To my back are 25 tents that sheltered myself and my squadmates last night. The soothing breeze kept us delightfully cool throughout our first night in our final month in Central America.
We are at R.E.A.P. Granada for a day of teaching before my team arrives at our ministry site for the month.
The staff spent the morning pouring into us about the value of communing with God. Each message was so timely as they dove into the exact things my heart has been calling out to God. I arrived here feeling spiritually beat up, although I couldn’t exactly put my finger on why. This felt like God reaching out His hand to say, I see you, McKenzie.
I just woke up from a mid afternoon siesta to observe the sun reach down to kiss the sprawling, lush field and graze the tops of the seemingly endless rows of plantain trees.
There is a set of ranchers herding cattle through the pasture, and I get to sit back and watch their lives for a time. My little hammock is a doorway to heaven right now. It’s a means to which I can sit and look on to God’s beauty in Creation and imperfect Humanity alike.
This is comfortable, I think. Thanks God.
This sentiment is quite the contrast to the one I had when I realized how comfort is a major idol in my life only yesterday.
I recently finished reading Anything by Jennie Allen. There are several themes of the book, but the one that hit me the hardest was abandonment.
There’s one part of the book where she says “You can usually tell that something here has become an idol because you have an extreme reaction when it is threatened.”
Ain’t that the truth, Jennie.
You see, our travel day provoked this realization when our entire squad was sitting outside of the Nicaraguan Immigration office. We were waiting several hours for the stamp of approval to cross the border. After a while, I casually mentioned my hope for a “homey” hostile during our time with R.E.A.P.
I was thinking a bed, some wifi, you know, simple comforts.
It was then that I was met with a different response than expected. My teammate said “You know we’re tenting, right?”
All of my comfortable dreams were instantly crushed. My reaction was slightly dramatic as the entitlement seeped through my disappointed expression.
I knew from day one that we would likely be tenting at some point on the World Race. People who know me well know I love sleeping under the stars. Being outside is a source of spiritual nourishment for me.
However, this time was different.
It wasn’t until my lack of control over the situation was highlighted that the anxiety sank in. I wasn’t disappointed about using my tent, but more so that I couldn’t do it on my own terms.
That particular day, I wanted comfortable. I wanted wifi and a bed and at the very least, a clean shower.
I envisioned us all pitching our tents at 10 p.m. in a muddy field with no bathroom in sight. I thought it was just going to be the worst.
Looking back now, I know my mind wandered to that place of despair because I was gripping the idea of earthly comfort.
My response to the threat against it told me loud and clear that I have some more surrendering to do.
It’s like this: we leave all that we know – family, friends, home – to travel the world for 11 months and spread the news about this Jesus that we believe in so deeply. All that I own is stuffed into what I can carry. I’ve left the prospect of starting a career, dating, being young and selfish, and having my own space. I placed all of it in His hands – the funding, the logistics, the gathering of gear. I let go of the old to make room for the new that comes with this mission.
I’m practically a poster child for abandonment.
Haha. Jokes, friends. I’m only kidding.
In reality, I did give up a lot of comfortable things to do the World Race. Sometimes it feels like I gave up almost everything.
At the same time, nobody coerced me into this by promising wifi and a comfy bed. It’s no surprise that I would encounter discomfort this year. Giving things up seems so trivial in comparison to the reward of seeing God in motion like this.
I think it all comes down to trust. Do I trust the Lord to provide my every need (not want), even if it doesn’t look like what I’m expecting? How does my faith stand against the unexpected circumstances, the short notices, and the surprises this life throws at me?
In this case, fear of physical discomfort and frankly, not getting my way, overcame my faith.
Hindsight, always 20/20, says I should have simply expected that the Lord would give me what I needed. Instead of a bed and wifi, He gave me a most beautiful sunrise, a morning of receiving new wisdom, and of course, this special glimpse of heaven right from the comfort of my hammock.
I have to continue to let go. I must if I want to grow closer to God, and I want that more than what this world can give.
The Holy Spirit is teaching me what it means to fully abandon my grip on things I love. Surely, sometime in the future, I’ll reach a new bottom with my tendency to attach to comfort and control. Thankfully, the process of finding humility is not a one stop shop. It’s a lifetime learning curve taught by the most loving Teacher there is.
Thank God he doesn’t leave us where we are. Thank God for His concern about the depths of our hearts, even when they appear shallow. Thank God for giving us far more than what we could hope for.
This moment is beautiful. Thank God.
