But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him – Jeremiah 18:4

This fall, I’m going on a short term mission trip with the women’s ministry from my church. Here’s an excerpt from my letter to friends and family asking for their prayer and/or financial support:

This mission trip is to the House of Hope in Managua, Nicaragua, a faith-based non-profit that is a vocational rehabilitation program for women and their children who have escaped human trafficking.

House of Hope is dedicated to empowering women by providing them with essential life skills, such as cooking and jewelry-making. Through their program, these women not only receive housing, education, and job training, but they also discover the transformative power of God’s unconditional love. Unlike the men who may have abandoned them in the past, House of Hope ensures that the women are nurtured and supported throughout their journey. This comprehensive approach embodies the general idea here: equipping women with practical skills while fostering their spiritual growth in a safe and empowering environment.

The purpose of this trip will be to empower and love the women and their children as we help them with parenting and life skills, provide encouragement, and serve them in many wonderful ways.

Sounds like a great opportunity, right?

But what I fail to say in this letter is how hard the decision was for me to go on this trip. Not because Nicaragua is far away or I fear for my safety.  No, this decision was hard because,

I. Like. Being. Comfortable.

The American in me is quite fond of organic chicken, Hobby Lobby, my soft king-sized bed, and everything great and privileged about life in suburbia.

I’m told Central America lacks all of these.

I wish I was the person that with fanaticism and zeal, could hardly wait to leave behind the comforts of home and their family and run into the arms of another country to partner with its people and meet needs—not caring about what I eat or where I sleep or which un-diapered kid will pee on me that day.

But that’s just not me folks.

And here’s an ironic kicker for me: I’m married to a man who loves, like with a crazy passion, the poor and under-privileged. His job on his church staff is to rally people and churches to think outside of themselves and think instead about others—especially those in poverty. If life were up to him, we would move to Nicaragua (or any third-world country) and he would mobilize the churches there to meet the needs of their communities.

But then there’s his ,“But I like air-conditioning!” wife.  So we live. . .here.

When I asked God if He wanted me to go on this trip, I told Him I’d be happy if He said, “Nah, don’t worry about it. Stay home and drink a Starbucks.”

But He didn’t. He knows—and I do too—this trip will change me for the better. Nicaragua will stretch me. It will force me to see less of myself and see more of His people in the world—those whom I’ve forgotten as I live in my comfortable house, while my kids go to top-notch schools  and among the  frustrations of my life are long checkout lines at Costco. Just stop it.

The great relief is God doesn’t judge my selfishness with a big exhale of disgust. But He does see my, “Ahem! Me first!” life, wants me to see it too, and change.

God’s not the least bit interested in my comfort. He’s interested in my character. He’s interested in changing me so I can change my community.

And ultimately, God wants me to go on this trip to make Him famous. Not only while I’m there, but when I come home to suburbia and share with other finger-pointed-to-their-chest people like me, there is actually a world out there and right under our noses, and they are in pain. They need to know He’s a never-stopping, never-giving-up God who sees them. Who has always seen them.

And His plan is to use His church, and me, to tell them this undeniable truth.

Precious Jesus, I lay the mess of me before You. Like the wet lump of clay on the potter’s wheel that has yet to look like the masterpiece he envisioned, so am I in Your hands. Mold me, even though I’m uncomfortable on the wheel. Use me on this trip and when I get home to make You more awesome than You already are.

Stay tuned as I blog about Nicaragua in November. I know I’ll come undone. Hopefully for the better—and hopefully for the fame of God’s name.

 

Does your desire for comfort keep you from doing uncomfortable things for God?