The Importance of Being Bothered

Four and half years ago, I was a senior in college and had a lukewarm relationship with God. Reliant upon the validation from my boyfriend, I grew comfortable with minimal prayer and involvement at my church near the university. The sermons seemed irrelevant and the supposedly sacred services seemed obsolete. Still, I “went through the motions” because the fading little voice in my head told me to.  I kept somewhat involved with the church by helping staff retreats in the mountains each semester—that helped keep my unsettled conscience at bay.

The retreats were fun: Lots of good people, thought-provoking lectures, and feel-good music. I always left the retreats wildly inspired to be a better Christian. I would tell my boyfriend how I wanted to be holier and he would patiently listen. But within a week or so, those desires seemed unimportant and unrealistic. By the following month, I’d be back to my old tepid self.

My last retreat, everything changed. I left the mountains with the same zeal I always had, but this time I was shook up by the realization that this would be my last one. Once I graduated, I wouldn’t have this entire Christian community at my disposal. I wouldn’t have these people to consistently provoke my buried yearning for God. I wouldn’t have any support or anyone pushing me to do more, to be better. I would resume my long-term relationship that would most likely lead to a proposal in a few short months. We’d have a marriage that marginalized God, and we’d probably have kids. This prospect frightened me greatly and suddenly it dawned on me that I was at a crossroads.

That night I cried to my mom, sharing my insecurities: “I just don’t think I can be a good Christian and married to him at the same time. He is so stuck in his ways, but I want to change.” The next day, I mustered up the courage and went to my boyfriend’s house. I told him I wanted a God-centered relationship. He couldn’t have responded in a more hurtful way: he accused me being self-righteous and grew quite angry. I left sobbing because I knew what came next.

A few hours later, I called my bible study leader, hoping she’d renew my faltering courage.  She mentioned how in the bible, Jesus asks his disciples to drop everything and follow him. And that was really all she needed to say. That night, I drove over to my boyfriend’s house again, and ended the relationship. As much as it hurt, a strange, but overwhelming sense of peace filled my heart for those next few days.

Even when I was grieving the end of the relationship, a prayer continuously circulated throughout my head, heart, and soul. Lord, please never let me grow tepid with you again, and I am so sorry for letting it get this way. Please never let me lose this fire in my heart for you. Don’t let me be comfortable. These prayers lingered for the next two and a half years—which was evidence in itself that my desire for God was still present. Each time a new romantic relationship failed and I felt lonely, this prayer echoed my true priority. I reminded myself that I could have been married if that was my ultimate goal. But it wasn’t. My ultimate goal was to always want Jesus, and that is why I was in my current state, completely reliant upon God for whatever the next step would be.

Then I met my current fiancé. From our first date, my intuition correctly informed me that he would be my husband one day. Not only were our personalities perfectly complementary, but he expressed his deep love for God and desire for a Christ-centered marriage.  We started going to church together and developing a Christian relationship. I remember thinking: This is it! This is my pay off for the heartbreak two years ago. I dropped everything and followed God, and now I get a good Christian man. Yay!

Of course, that would have been too easy, so life threw a totally unexpected curveball. Several months into our relationship, I developed chronic daily headache and recurring migraines.  I had to quit my full-time job and over the next year, I became so debilitated that I couldn’t work at all (which brings us up-to-date). The pain has spread down to my neck, shoulders, back, and throughout my entire body. Countless doctors have not been able to figure out the problem, let alone treat the pain and prevent its progression.

I have been struggling quite a bit. I am grateful for doctors, family, and my fiancé for supporting me the best they can, but it really goes to show that there is only so much man can do. I am in literal constant pain. Even on my relatively okay days, I am absolutely exhausted— physically and otherwise. My body is so weak, so pained, so flawed. Perhaps I am at a crossroads once more, and God is calling me again to drop everything and follow him.

I think back to four and half years ago. I had no headaches and my physical health was, overall, very good. I felt comfortable and content in my everyday life. Yet that comfort level was ultimately the problem, deluding me into believing I didn’t need God. For a long while, I legitimately thought I could make myself happy on my own.  Now that my body is in constant pain, it reflects the past and present condition of my soul— hopelessly weak on its own and in constant yearning for God.

I guess the old adage is true: Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it. I asked God to not let me get comfortable, so he allows me to be in chronic pain so that I, in the most literal sense, can never feel comfortable. Although this sounds bleak, comfort is danger. Comfort is the delusion that humans create their own happiness. Comfort allows us to deny God.

Ever since the fall of Adam and Eve, humans have a bad habit of choosing comfort over seeking God. Our pride tricks us into believing we can obtain our salvation through our own means while shoving God to the corner. We mistake the infinite happiness only God brings for cheap, finite, and man-made substitutes. Let’s quickly rewind back to my break up. The “happiness” I gained from my romantic relationship was but a single rain drop compared to the joy that flooded my heart once I finally chose God. And choosing God over the world is something I must learn to keep on doing again and again. So when we feel physically sick and weak, it again serves as the truest metaphor for our spiritual state as well: broken and in desperate need of God’s grace.

When I think about the dangers of being comfortable, I think of my favorite novel, Fahrenheit 451. Ray Bradbury creates a future dystopian society in which comfort is of the utmost value. Critical thought and virtues are replaced with gigantic TV screens and impossibly fast cars. The protagonist, Guy Montag, is asked if he is happy at the beginning of the novel. He at first, brushes this off as a stupid question (of course he is happy!), but then can’t get it out of his head. He realizes that he is not happy, not one bit.  Increasingly, he becomes perturbed at the mindless comfort he and his wife had been living in for years (not unlike my own realization). He begs his wife, “We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?" (82)

So maybe that is what God is doing. He is bothering me. He is not letting me be comfortable just because I am about to have a good Christian husband. He is reminding me that no person or worldly thing can ever lessen my need for him. No one but God can bring the exact brand of happiness that my soul craves, that I was designed to crave.  The pain encourages me to pray when I am struggling. It propels me to look to the bible for comfort. And most importantly, it adds fuel to that ever-growing fire in my soul that burns to know God.

Works Cited

Bradbury, Ray. Fahrnehiet 451. Ballantine Books. Copyright 1951, 1953, 1967 by Ray Bradbury. This edition copyright 2001 by Bookspan.