Sometimes I think of God like one of those juice machines they sell on infomercials. Have you ever seen those? There’s always a guy with an insane amount of energy juicing disgustingly random items for a woman with an insane amount of enthusiasm.
Host:
“Terry, I’m going to put this cabbage, a bag of carrots, old turnips and three handfuls of gravel I found on the side of the road into the Andre 3000 Juicer. And in seconds, you will taste the most amazing, power giving, delicious thing you’ve ever known in your life. You’ll instantly have the strength of seven women, have straighter, brighter teeth and be able to create rips in the fabric of time so that you can travel to other dimensions.”
Hostess:
“Gravel? I don’t know Mark. I think the people in the studio audience are thinking the same thing. ‘Can the Andre 3000 Juicer really make a delicious blended beverage using those ingredients?'” (Takes a sip of what is always a greenish/orangish looking goo.) “You did it! This is the best thing ever and it was so easy!”
That’s clearly ridiculous, no one likes cabbage, but I do the same thing with my faith. I come to God and say, “Here’s my marriage, my job, my hopes and my dreams. I’d like to push a button, have you blend them all together in about 4 seconds and then deliver me a tall glass of easy living.”
But lately, as I’ve spent more time with God and really put a priority on our relationship, what’s been coming back in the glass has not met my expectations. Life hasn’t gotten more comfortable or easy or perfect. And I don’t think it’s going to, because I think if I complained to God that this adventure He is calling me on is dragging me out of my comfort zone, I think He would cry back:
“Good, I don’t like your ‘comfort zone.’ For one thing, it’s something you create and you also turn to me less when you’re in your comfort zone. I want you out of your comfort zone. I want you dependent on me and if to do that I have to pull you out of your comfort zone, then I will. I am the only one that can create true comfort. I am the only one that can give you that gift. You are powerless to be truly comfortable outside of me. The adventure I am calling you to will not be comfortable by your definition of the word.
You define comfort as ‘doing things you already know how to do, repeating the things you’ve always done, and never being nervous.’ That’s wrong. Your definition of comfortable is really the definition of ‘stagnant.’ Have you ever noticed that? You don’t grow. You don’t change. You don’t learn new things. My definition of comfortable is a lot different. Mine means going deeper into who I am and who I made you to be. Sitting in my presence naked of your insecurities and masks is true comfort.”
I wish there was a “comfortable life” button to press on God, but there’s not. He doesn’t work that way. I don’t get to walk into His sanctuary with a “Me Menu” and say, “OK God, according to me, the recipe for comfort is one part lots of money and two parts no stress. If you could just whip that up in, that would be fantastic.”
Don’t get me wrong, God is capable of anything and everything. Can He give me comfort and take away my addictions and instantly transform my life? Without a doubt, but it’s going to be on His terms, not mine, because He’s God. Not me.
(Which, by the way, is a good thing for all of us because I would make a pretty sucktacular almighty. I’m just saying, we probably wouldn’t have the platypus because I’m not that creative and everyone would be shorter than me because I am that insecure. Imagine living in that world my friends, no platypuses and everyone is 5’6″. That’s a grim reality. Grim indeed.)
