“I know you think this is a comfortable place, but trust me, you don’t want to stay here,” Keith said, looking over his shoulder into the garage. This happened a few falls ago, as Keith and I stood outside the open garage door, he readying to chop wood and I to blow leaves. “There’s a bird inside the garage,” Keith explained, “and she doesn’t seem eager to leave.”

“Yeah, I tried to let her out earlier this morning,” I said, “but she kept flying to the back of the garage.”

“She’s probably under the workbench now,” Keith said. “I’ll see if I can chase her out after starting the blower for you.”  He shook his head. “She doesn’t understand. Though it’s warm in here now compared to outside, there’s nothing to eat, no bugs or seeds or whatever.”

As I was blowing leaves, I thought about the bird. Her choice was no different from some of the “comfortable” decisions I’d made in my life. And what had I learned? 

Staying comfortable is dangerous.

For a fun and comforting Friday Happy Hour recipe, see my Substack post here.

It’s important not to stay comfortable in faith.

When Keith and I moved to Vanaprastha about fifteen years ago, we attended a church nearby. One day Keith said to me, “I’m not growing. Let’s find a new church, one grounded in scripture with an emphasis on growth.”

Since then we’ve sat not-too-comfortably in a church focused on growing in faith. Reading the Gospel, confessing sins, reciting the Creed, praying the Lord’s Prayer, and celebrating the Lord’s Supper. Truly being in the Word is humbling, fearful, awesome. Intimacy with God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is not comfortable, but the narrow path is the only way to His grace and mercy. By the way, the white-haired elder in the phonograph, helping to serve communion, is Keith.

It’s important not to stay comfortable in marriage.

Our pastor’s mother often says, “A good marriage is made up of two good forgivers.” I hope Keith never stops forgiving me, because I sure test his patience.

Marriage is challenging, surprising, joyful, sometimes painful, as both Keith and I well know. Intimate relationships can be uncomfortable—and should be, because that’s how we grow. That’s how we make it work.

It’s important not to stay comfortable in your profession.

Keith and I support one another’s writing professions and are blessed with writing communities and friends. Writing is about doing the work, giving and receiving feedback, revising, managing rejections, and celebrating occasional successes. The work, like a faith journey, can and should be uncomfortable. One needs to be curious and hungrily press forward.

As author and friend Michelle Van Loon writes, “My faith in Jesus, my Jewish heritage, and my spiritual hunger mark my pilgrim journey and inform my work.” Of her many books, Becoming Sage, is one of my favorites, a don’t-stay-comfortable read.

In her book, Your Story Matters—reviewed by me here and here—Leslie Leyland Fields explains the journey this way: “Each one of us has a story, and understanding God’s work in our stories is a vital part of our faith. Through the spiritual practice of writing, we can ‘remember’ his acts among us, ‘declare his glory among the nations,’ and pass on to others what we have witnessed of God in this life: the mysterious, the tragic, the miraculous, the ordinary.”

Like the miraculous, ordinary bird in our garage. 

“She’s a little bird, brown with a long, pointy beak,” Keith said as we took a break from our chores. “I chased her out of the garage. She’s now huddled under the deck steps.”

“Probably a house wren,” I said. Later, I showed him the picture in Birds of North America.  “That’s the one,” he said. 

Keith and I hoped the house wren found comfortable shelter, a place where her needs were met, a place where she and her family could grow. Like us.

Linkup with Five Minute Friday

On Fridays I send Friday Happy Hours: a recipe from our kitchen and a story about marriage in the third season of life. It is free, it arrives at the end of the week, and it gives a lighter touch to the experiences in this season. Come sit down with us – here.

Wisdom Builds Her House

In 2010 I left a 34-year career in education to build a mountain home with my husband. The literal house went up. Building the metaphorical one took longer. Four mysteries got in the way: my husband’s daughter, who I never met; who I was once I was neither teaching nor raising children; what really happened in 1957 when a man came to rob our house and hurt my mother; and how those things were connected. A memoir from Brandylane Publishers, in paperback, e-book, and audiobook. Find it here.