Out of your comfort zone?

I’ve been pondering the mysteries of guidance again recently. Soon I shall have to face the thought of deciding what to do with the next few years of my life. (suggestions on a postcard please) One of the least helpful things Christians say to each other when thinking about the future (apart from the endless door analogies) is ‘get out of your comfort zone’. On the face of it, that sounds like good advice, leaving one with the daring notion of not settling for second best, getting out there (wherever there is) and other exciting feelings. Whatever I decide to do next, above all I must get out of my comfort zone.

But there’s a problem, once more, with the language. I don’t really think there is a happy jolly path we could skip down in life, a path with birds singing, sofas at convenient intervals and a big neon sign proclaiming ‘comfort this way’. There isn’t a choice between the way of comfort and the way of hardship. There isn’t a series of choices that will earn me more brownie points in heaven, or a series of choices that will make our Maker just about let me in with the other lameoes who settled for life on a sofa. The reality is, every path we take, every job we go for, every place we call home will involved hardship and suffering, just as much as it will involve joy, laughter and peace. There is no escape, there is no location or vocation that is the comfort zone.

The comfort zone is found in my attitudes, my values, the way I respond to life around me. I can choose the way of comfort or not everyday, whatever the shape of the things I do in this life. I am called each day to put me aside and live a life of love, of self giving, of selflessness in each and every situation in front of me. I’m called to live out the reality of who I have been made to be in response to the circumstances around me. That will bring joy, sorrow, suffering, tears, rejoicing, laughter, pain and ecstasy. If I deny who I am, live for me and my short term smiles then I should be challenged out of my comfort zone. I am called, wherever I may be, to live as I truly am, to obey the call to love and be generous. These things are not dependant on where I am or what I do in this life.

The term ‘get out of your comfort zone’ seems to be employed by people who are looking for more levels in this Christian life, to see people out on the mission field in Azerbaijan as more sorted/holy/really-doing-the-lords-work than those working for a bank in England. The reality is both those things can be done to be self serving or in deep love for those around. The only comfort zone to get out of is the thought and attitude that says I am the centre of the universe and I get to define the terms of this life.

God is about real living in the ordinary everyday things of this world. We need to stop looking down on people we think have sold out to comfort, or elevating people who we think are really out of their comfort zone. Grace says we all can and do face the choice each day to live our Lords way whatever we do. That’s a whole lot more challenging, that means I have a choice to decide how to live today, not just when this job ends. That sets me free to know there is no right path of God’s destiny for me that I might miss. He calls me to use my human responsibility to see what my desires and passions are. I am then do something but with His call to love at the centre, not my selfish desire for me to be glorified at every opportunity.

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Er

If I had a 365 any more this would be mine for today (along with the Bruce Springsteen news, and the phone call with an old friend, and the surprising news, and the news that my seminar might not be so bad after all, and the drumming…) But. My old housemate wrote this in an e-mail: “I’m feeling much better now but how I should love to shit in the sofa sharing a cup of tea with you and catch up… but that’ll wait.”
Spelling mistakes have never been so funny…

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Smiling

I have been grinning all day long. What, you may ask (or you may have fainted with shock at another happy post on this fair blog), is the cause of my joy? Well. It is the one thing that causes me great joy and very few others any joy at all. This morning I became the proud owner of some Bruce Springsteen tickets. One of you is very excited right now, the rest have fallen comatose, lost interest, are still fainting on the floor or wondering just how long and turgid this sentence can get. Ahem.

Anyway, back to the point, I am, you see, an unashamed fan of The Boss. See I can even write sentences like that without blushing. I’ve wanted to see him live for about 15 years now and at last my dream is realised. Now all I need to do is to see U2 and Queen live and I’ll have fulfilled my teenage ambitions (but unless someone builds a time machine I may remain frustrated for the rest of my life. Ah well). I have failed to make anyone appreciate the genius of Bruce, most people can’t see beyond the Born in the USA days. Most people fail to be moved by his deeply emotive voice which can bring shivers to the spine. Most people are, well, wrong. I refuse to try any more. I’m just looking forward to seeing a tiny speck running around stage drawing me into the magic of the stories he tells, stirring my soul to hope, making me long for redemption and a car to drive across the badlands of America in.

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Phew.

I was beginning to doubt it’s existence. But no more, I am very happy to see this symbol for the next few days. Contented sighs all round, and the promise that maybe we’ll have a week of summer after all, and a reason to put on some chilled out summer tunes. Mm.

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In other news.

Dear Diary. Today we have a new arrival in Fallowfield Crescent, (no we haven’t caved, the cat has not moved in). Bodil arrived tonight and continues the fine tradition of Danish people training to be Midwives living with us. We like this and are happy to have a complete house again. Talking of which I’m enjoying being back in Hove Actually for at least 2 weeks in a row and liking the rather strange autumn cosy feeling tonight’s wind and rain are providing. We are breaking Bodil into British culture with a diet of bad Saturday evening TV. Maybe that isn’t such a great idea, she may leave soon.

EDIT: At church this morning a nice lady met Bodil and upon realising that she lived with us said, “So you’re joining the madness, did anyone warn you about them?”. I’m hurt. Well actually I’m a little pleased in my indignation. Our reputation is spreading…

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