When I was younger, my family decided to take a beach trip to Destin, Florida. My dad went to the store late one afternoon, and being his little sidekick, I tagged along. As we came out of the store, bags in hand, afternoon traffic zipped past us. It was a never ending danger zone. As my twelve year old self stood next to Pops, I could feel my body sway with each car that passed, shaking up the stale summer air. My dad looked down at me with his hands full of groceries. “When I say go, you need to run. Okay?” I nodded my head. Again, he said, “You have to go when I say go.” I promised I would. As soon as there was a break in the busy traffic, he yelled, “GO!” I watched as he jogged across the road. I remained still, rooted to my comfortable sidewalk, paralyzed in fear. He turned around, and I will never forget the look on his face. He was alarmed, frightened, and there was a tinge of hurt in his expression because I did not trust his better judgement. I cried tears of regret as the cars rebuilt an impassable barrier between our sidewalks. He yelled for me to “stay there” and put his bags down on the sidewalk, and minutes later, we were back to where we began. My dad was by my side, and we were facing the never ending danger zone of moving cars. He freed my right hand of grocery bags and gripped it with all his might. “When I say go, I need you to go with me. Okay?” This time, I was determined. With tear stained cheeks, I assured him I would listen. Again, at the right time, he yelled, “GO!” Together, hand in hand, we sprinted across the busy street and made it safely to the other side.

This year, I live in a house with seven other girls. IT IS A BLAST! Four girls live on one side of the duplex house, and four of us live on the other. In the past two weeks, our dining room table has become multi-purposeful. It’s been used for meals and journaling and best of all, a place of conversation. I have grown to know my friends best while sitting around the table (sometimes for substantial amounts of time) just talking and listening to one another. This past week, we got into the topic of “comfortable Christianity.” I began talking about how comfortable Christianity has become in our lives. So often, we program our perfect version of Christianity to perfectly fit our perfectly controlled lives. While talking, my roommate spoke up and said, “It’s so dangerous!” I agreed, and since our talk, I’ve really been thinking of her urgent words. Danger and comfort are seemingly so paradoxical, but danger is the perfect word to describe comfort when it comes to our faith. Our God is good. Our God is for us. Our God is love and peace and refuge. But He is not a comfortable God.

I love to look at old pictures, and every time I come across a Destin Beach picture, I’m reminded of the afternoon I spent with my dad. This morning, I was revisiting that moment, and I began to reflect on how often our Heavenly Father says, “GO!” and yet I remain in my comfort zone, paralyzed by fear. How often do I allow my love of “the known” keep me from letting God lead me into “the unknown” when He so willingly wants to grab my hand and lead me across (what I perceive to be) the danger zone?

Recently, I have been led to read Jeremiah. God called Jeremiah to take his word to Israel and the nations while he was still youth. It’s a beautiful picture of the war between faith and comfort.

“The word of the Lord came to me, saying,
“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,
before you were born I set you apart;
I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.”
“Alas, Sovereign Lord,” I said, “I do not know how to speak; I am too young.”
But the Lord said to me, “Do not say, ‘I am too young.’ You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you,” declares the Lord.
Then the Lord reached out his hand and touched my mouth and said to me, “I have put my words in your mouth.”
Jeremiah 1:4-9

The danger lies not in being taken out of our comfort zone, but in remaining comfortable. It is in seasons of comfort and conformity that we often lose our desperation for Jesus, and trust is but an extension of love. As I stopped to reflect on life’s fleeting moments, I began to see God’s beckoning, his invitations to step out in faith, as invitations of love and celebration and life abundantly. What if the next time God looks upon a busy street with us and says, “When I say go, I need you to go with me. Okay?” we decide to strip ourselves of fear, trust in the goodness of our Father, and GO?

“His love was not cautious but extravagant.”