When the comfort zone is no longer an option, then
what?
Lately, I have been so comfortable. I cannot even put into words the level of comfort
that I have in my comfort zone. When
they say a man’s house is his castle, I totally get it. I love my house. I don’t live in a mansion and I don’t have
maid service, but I have a nice-sized house, with kids and husband who
sometimes do chores. I have three cats that
don’t use the flower beds around my house for a litter box. I have spots of grass that are missing from
my yard from where we dumped things like oil or paint in the yard and it killed
the grass. I have weeds that grow taller
than my flowers. I have an office that
will never be organized, and every spring we have ants. The floors squeak upstairs in the bedrooms,
there is a gap in one area of the hardwood floor. None of this matters; I love every square
inch of it. I even love the spiders that
sometimes find a home in the corner of the bathroom. It’s comfortable here, it’s home.
When I am home, I watch TV, play games on the computer (Free Cell and
Spider Solitaire are my favorites), sing songs on the Wii. I like to go on bike rides with the kids, and
take walks. Sometimes, I write.
I also go to a large church, partly because I can blend
in. I have friends there, but I would
venture to say there are far more that do not know me than do. I talk to my friends before Sunday school and
after, but never do I talk in class if I can help it. I go to bible studies, and I don’t talk in
class. I am really good at talking to
strangers, one on one. I go to malls and
make friends with the girls at the Clinique counter. I go to restaurants and make friends with the
wait staff. It’s comfortable.
I enjoy working with children, but I don’t want to teach; I
want to be the aide. I decide what I
will order at a restaurant, once I see what others are ordering. I will go this weekend to Women of Faith and
I will be in awe of the women who can travel around and speak with such
eloquence in front of our group, but I don’t want to be a speaker. I would go to lunch with them and have a
conversation and be friends with any of them, but I don’t want to do what they
do.
I like my routine. I
like knowing what’s around the corner, that each day is not too much different
than the day before. There are just
different evening activities with the kids to go to. I dream at night, but I like dreams to stay
dreams (I normally don’t remember them anyway).
I forget things. I block
things. I like to be in my comfort zone.
But what if the comfort zone isn’t an option? What if the call from Him is to do more? How do you even know for sure what the call
is? What if it’s a wrong number? Seriously.
I had to get up in front of people and speak last month. I cannot remember being more terrified. I don’t want to repeat the experience. I survived it, sure, but the stress was
painful. I’m still not sure if it was
more painful for me, or for those who had to endure listening to me.
This Sunday in Sunday school, we divided up in groups of men
and women. In our groups, we were given
questions to answer about comfort zones.
I had, to this point in the year, spoken during class just one
time. That one time did not go so well
because I made a poorly-timed joke. I thought it was pretty funny until
everyone looked at me like I just grew three heads.
I was asked to tell about my experience in public speaking,
as an example of being outside of my comfort zone. I tried to get out of it, since just talking
to the class was going out of my comfort zone.
I tried to answer; then I answered poorly. Later, when we were back as a
large group, the small group threw me under the bus and made me tell the story again. I'm not sure there was an improvement.
I’m struggling. My
fear consumes me. I haven’t glimpsed the
future and I don’t know what it holds. I
feel as though I’m in a battle and I’m tired.
I am afraid that I’m going to be told to run, and I don’t have the right
shoes. I don’t have the compass, I
haven’t been given the map, and I don’t have a smartphone with turn-by-turn
instructions. I don’t have that iPhone
lady to tell me what I’m supposed to do.
I’m not equipped and I’m not even sure I’m called. I don’t even know how to tell if you are
called. People who are called are at
least equipped enough to recognize the call, right? If you get a call from God, how do you
explain that the creator of the universe must not realize that you are the
wrong gal? I know! It’s a crazy thing to say. God doesn’t make mistakes. I know that.
But does He not pay attention?
Does He not realize that I’m just trying to blend in here? That I’m just the typist; I’m not doing the
dictation, and I’m not the illustrator either.
I’m broken.
I don’t know that I want to inspire people. I don’t even necessarily want people to know
I exist. Yet I wonder if, when I die, my family will sit around and tell
stories about me just to each other, because no one will show up for the
funeral. I’m a blender inner, not a
stander outer. Blender inners don’t
inspire people to do anything. They
blend. They live, they hang out in their
comfort zones and live their lives, and then they die. The end.
That is MY plan. This plan will
make for a smaller buffet at the funeral, I understand. It is my plan nonetheless.
But what if it isn’t God’s plan? What if I don’t follow His plan, but follow
my own? What if I do follow His plan and
He realizes I’m going to let Him down?
How do you bounce back from that?
No thanks. I’m comfortable, right
here where I am, in my comfort zone.
Surely that is where I’ll stay.
Don’t you think?