From: Kevin Bonzo - Kenya Team, 08/01/10

The Flip-Side of Comfort

Lips asked Jordan and I yesterday what had touched us the most while we were here in Kenya. I don't know what I said then, but it wasn't entirely honest. See, while I more or less feel comfortable and at home here, I still don't feel it is appropriate to break down and let all the disorganized clutter come out. My thoughts (much like this journal entry) are not even close to organized, and if those are not organized then how can my emotions be sorted out? That's why I write. I never know what's going to happen when I write, but I know that (like prayer) something honest will come of it.

I was sharing the purpose of our "mission work" here with yet another person today, only to realize yet again that we've come not to give, but to be given to. We are not helping, but being helped. We are not the lovers, but the ones being loved. Here, we're being exposed to what God's really about - and He's about a whole lot more than building houses, digging wells, or sponsoring a kid in some far-off land. He's about relationship. Personal. Intimate. Ugly.

He's about conflict (which there happens to be a lot of in me right now). For those who recall, Pastor Kyama came to our church to visit and share a message with us a few months ago. His message was all about conflict. He told us it was both inescapable and necessary at the same time. He told us that God used it as a means of growth in relationships.

Each day, as we take a ride through Nairobi from place to place, I find myself staring out the window attempting to numb myself against everything I see: trash lines the pockmarked roads, lines the red-dirt "sidewalks", lines the canals; hard-working, striving people crowd these "sidewalks" (as well as the roads when there are no dusty paths); intermingled with them are starving dogs. And that's a regular route for many local residents in their daily life. That alone is enough to overwhelm me as I look on, but I then think of the two slums I've been to: Kibera and Mitumba. I try to comfort myself with a worship song, try to pass the time with familiarity. I find myself on the verge of tears, regardless of how joyful the song should be. I praise the Lord, but I do not feel the peace I desperately (and selfishly) seek.

On the night when half our team left for the States, Matt asked me in Chris's land rover if I was okay. I told him I was, even though I wasn't. I tried to pull together a bit of honesty by confessing to him a little later that my feelings will not determine reality. I told him that regardless of not feeling okay, I knew (at least, in principle) that God was (and is) in control. But it seems that the truth is that with their departure, all familiarity and comfort are also departing.

Yes, that's the truth of me right now, I think - even with my beloved Brother Jordan by my side still, I feel alone and overwhelmed by emotions I cannot place. I want to go home, where I can at least fool myself into thinking I have control. Where I can live in "comfort" and "security" for a little while, before reality kicks in again. But, unfortunately, God has blessed me with another home here in Kenya. So, I am torn. There will be no comfort for me when I go back, for my comfort is also here, with people who love the Lord and actively seek Him. My home is now also here, with those who love me with Jesus' love. My home is with these 23 orphans, with their caretakers, with the students of Raila, with the Brothers and Sisters in the slums, and with Chris and Irene's household. Home is pretty much with everyone I've met here that God's used to speak much-needed truth into my life.

So, I'm torn. I'm broken. And I've become quite numb on the inside (in so far as saying that while something terribly violent and tumultuous is happening inside, I can't fully express just what exactly is causing it).

And I actually think that this is right where God wants me: absolutely vulnerable; absolutely uncomfortable; absolutely insecure. I think He's okay with the conflict in my heart (though, this is not to be confused with the false idea that He enjoys my inner suffering). I think He's using it to bring me into closer relationship with Him and Him alone. The familiar comfort of physically being in Turlock or Clovis (my hometown) is absent. The familiar comfort of talking to my girlfriend Jania consistently is absent. The familiar comforts of being able to access the internet at will to look up songs, write in my online journal, or just zone out with some mindless game are all absent. The familiar comfort of being able to roam freely on familiar (and safe) streets at will is gone. Even the familiar comfort of singing - as I've already told you - has utterly failed to soothe me. I am totally dependent on my very loving hosts (whom I've only personally known for three weeks!). Yes, in other words, I am totally dependent on God. And, sadly, that's not familiar territory for me. That's not comfortable.


See, Psalm 51 tells us about how God doesn't want just any sort of sacrifice. He doesn't want my singing (which comforts me). He wants my heart for what it is - broken. He doesn't need me to be comfortable for His purposes, but He does need me to be honest with myself and Him (though, such need is not to be confused with the false idea that God needs me, since He is complete in and of Himself). What I mean to say is that for our relationship (a well-known, two-way street) to grow, He needs me to stop offering anything but a broken spirit. I need to be offering only a broken and repentant hear, repentant for not trusting in Him alone in the first place.

This bit of ranting took around two hours to wrap up at an hour in which I should be sleeping, but I think it's all been written to say to you, my Brother or Sister, that missions are not about doing something in some far-off land. No, from what I've experienced they're really about being with someone in whatever land God sends you to, near or far, just outside your door or just across the Atlantic Ocean. They're not about comfort - missions are about relationships. And whose relationship will reap the greatest benefit by stepping out into the insecurity of totally trusting God in unknown situations? Probably you. Probably me.