“To the weak I became weak, that I might win the weak…”   – 1 Corinthians 9:22a

Although I’ve enjoyed every mission trip I’ve been on, they are not like being at home. I’m not in my comfort zone. The Honduran food, while outstanding, is not the same as my wife’s cooking. What’s with the gooey fried plantains crowding my flour tortillas?

The housing situation, while decent, is not the same as home. Lying on a “church camp mattress,” I see the light of a friend’s reading lamp, hear a chorus of snorers, and smell damp towels and soiled work clothes. I reach for my earplugs and eye mask, then dab menthol ointment under my nostrils. 

The work, while rewarding, is not the same as my usual tasks. The poverty in every direction evokes sadness and maybe a little guilt. The home-building stretches muscles beyond what they’re accustomed to. Carrying two 25-lb bags of food up a hill in a poor village multiple times taxes the forearms and lungs. Rewarding, but uncomfortable.

The language, while fun to learn, is not the same as speaking English. My poor pronunciation and grammar elicit puzzled looks, giggles, and the occasional wrong food order. In Mr. Gaspar’s 8^th grade Spanish class at Mascoutah Junior High School, I wish I had learned how to order the #2 meal at a Tegucigalpa KFC rather than recite the Pledge of Allegiance in Spanish. When trying to communicate anything beyond basic phrases, I’m not at my best. When in doubt, I offer “No comprendo. Lo siento. Dios te ama.”

Driving in Honduras? More terrifying than uncomfortable. Driving a pickup truck in Choluteca several years ago, I got honked at and “gestured” for stopping behind a stopped school bus dropping off children. What was I thinking? Uncomfortable, for sure. But I keep driving. Albert Einstein once said, “A ship is always safe at the shore—but that is not what it is built for.”

Experience has taught me that my uncomfortableness with the food, housing, workload, language, and driving is by design. The note from my Bible’s margin reads: Working outside my comfort zone has a three-fold purpose:

1. I learn to rely on God, rather than myself. “God, I’m weary, but give me the strength to finish the day.” “God, I don’t know the exact words to say to this poor widow standing in front of me but help me to convey that Jesus loves her and I do too.” “God, if I end up with original recipe and coleslaw rather than extra crispy and mashed potatoes, help me to be thankful to you that I’m eating today.”

2. I learn to identify with the people I’m serving. After a night of restless sleep in an unfamiliar environment, I may better appreciate the predicament of someone living in a cardboard box under a tarp. After a bout of upset stomach from drinking non-potable water, I may be more empathetic to the family whose only water comes from a nearby mud puddle.

3. I grow into a better version of myself. After a week of serving souls in uncomfortable environs on foreign soil, I may return home with increased sensitivity to the needs of hurting people in my own community. Is it possible helping others, every day, can become my new normal? I hope so. Can I become a little bolder in letting my light shine in a dark world? That’s the goal. As Brene Brown puts it, “You can choose courage, or you can choose comfort. You cannot have both.”

Granted, my uncomfortableness is on a far lesser scale than people living in poverty, unsure where their next meal will come from. I thank God for blessing me physically and spiritually. But I also thank God for the times I’m pushed outside my comfort zone. I’m old enough to know that what doesn’t challenge me, doesn’t change me. Sometimes it’s only by being uncomfortably challenged that I truly lean on God—only then that I open my eyes to the plight of those He has called me to serve.