Discomfort

I accompanied Amy and her family this weekend to one of those parties where nobody but the host knows everybody else.  Most of the guests were somehow connected with the British Commonwealth, and we were the only Americans there.  We were told by the host when we arrived, "Yeah, just grab a drink and start meeting some people."  And then we were left alone.  So we started meeting people.  I spent most of the time talking to an Indian family about how the first-down lines move on American football games.  It was uncomfortable at first, but I liked it.

I wonder how much of maturity begins in discomfort.  "Growing pains," right?  Right.  You've got to suffer through that first back-packing trip to really know what to expect and love the next time.  You've got to drive around some streets you don't know to get the map in your head.  I wonder how our relationship with God parallels that.  Evangelism, sure.  You don't really get it until you've done it.  But what about the experiential relationship?  Confession?  Humility?  Maybe everything that's really good is an acquired taste.  Maybe that meat that God feeds us has to be chewed up a million times before we get the hang of not having milk.  Maybe we should glory in our discomfort, as it's a part of sanctification, too.