The Gift of Discomfort

A warm bed with piles of covers and 

a cool breeze blowing through the opened window. 

An onshore breeze and miles to walk along an empty beach. 

A good book and a comfortable chair. 

A mug of dark roast coffee.

These are a few of my favorite things.

It doesn't rhyme. And these aren't the lyrics that Julie Andrews sings. But these are some of my favorite things, comfortable things. And so are routines, predictability a schedule that unfolds as planned, a car that works, reliable Internet, electricity 24/7, health insurance, hot water at the tap, and a regular paycheck with periodic raises.

And so I am grateful to Congo, because Congo lavishes me with the Gift of Discomfort.

Left to my own devices, I'd prefer to stay put, cuddle into the familiar, and wrap myself in privilege and entitlement. I'm not one for putting myself into the uncomfortable. I have no need to take a polar plunge or run sprints until I puke. I want gas at the dentist and light cream in my coffee.

But Congo and Congo Initiative bless me with risk and discomfort. I have to depend on other people, give up expectations, accept that plans are not reality, struggle to learn the basics of another language, admit my vulnerabilities, and trust that God provides.