Addicted to Comfort
I had never thought of the concept “addicted to comfort” before, until I read the story of a girl that was in the World Race in that moment. She had an emotional crisis because she couldn’t handle the fact that her apartment in Cambodia was full of bugs. Also, she couldn’t go to the bathroom to take a shower and her bed was extremely wet because there was a leak in the ceiling. She was having a crisis simply because she didn’t have the simple things like a clean space, a time to take a normal bath and a warm bed to rest— things that I don’t even think about; they are too normal in my life.
In the last couple of months since I got accepted in the World Race, I’ve been trying to prepare myself for the hard stuff I’m going to see and experience. Things like sickness, extreme poverty, depression, loneliness, culture shock, and probably death (I hope not my own). And I’m so focused on that, that I forgot how much I love my tropical weather, my comfy bead, the clean water, and bugs living just outside of my house. Everything I have makes me comfortable; everything I do is centered on myself, centered in maintaining my comfort zone at its best.
So a day in my life basically begins with waking up and having my prayer time; some days I have it before breakfast, other days the prayer time it’s after (depends on how hungry I am at the moment). Then, I clean up my room and then go to do the things that need to be done (work, study, hang out with friends, etc.). I do the things in the order that makes me more comfortable. If something makes me uncomfortable I will probably avoid doing it, even if it’s something important. I avoid the pain, boredom, emotional discomfort, brokenness, lack of control, and the list goes on.
Seeing that made me realize that I am addicted to comfort. I like it too much; I love my personal space, my TV, my laptop, Facebook, Instagram, the warm showers, my favorite food and medications. I bet you love all those things too, but those are the exact things that God wants us to surrender. He wants me to be comfortable just in his hands, in the middle of the mess, in his presence.
So now he is calling me to go to this rehabilitation center called the World Race. A place where my comfort is definitely not guaranteed. Some days I’ll be living in a tent, some months I’ll be eating just rice and weird things, some days I’ll be dying of cold and in others I’ll be so sweaty and sticky that I’ll be desperately looking for a moment to shower. The World Race will be a place where the only comfort I’m going to find is in his presence, in his hands and in his perfect time. Looking forward to it!
