Last time, Lily and Alice wrote about the lovely and loathsome aspects of Valentine's Day, respectively. Today, it's about comfort: what comfort is worth, and the things for which it's worth giving it up. Dear Alice, I love my comfort. A lot. This season is not comfortable. This season is jam-packed and super busy for both Ryan and me. He’s studying for a huge test, which has its ups and downs, and we’re both taking a class together. Our evenings fill up either with his studying, our class homework, or fatigued movie-watching because, at the end of the day, that’s all either of us wants to do. I keep wanting things that don’t require me to move anymore, mentally or physically. Discouraged? Not yet. Depressed? A little. Somewhere in the back of my head is this blinking light reminding me why Ryan and I are doing these things. Ryan needs to take his test to get licensed for work and continue to earn money to support our family, which will become even more important one day when we have kids. We signed up for the class because when we first got married, we prayed and felt that it was something we wanted to do.

"This is a season and it will pass, but I don’t want to just grit my teeth and bear it."

I know in my head these things will build a good, lasting legacy, but it’s not totally sinking down into my heart. We both want this. But in the meantime, I don’t get excited about Ryan working late hours and studying when I’d rather go on a date or see friends. I know this is a season and it will pass, but I don’t want to just grit my teeth and bear it. I want to endure these growing pains in a way that glorifies God. I want to learn from them rather than verbally kicking and screaming, and then gasping with relief when it’s over. (This is the passage I’ve been meditating on in it all.) Thanks again for your humility in teaching me. The more I read your letters, the more I realize I still have a lot to learn. Love, Lily

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Dear Lily, I’m sorry this is a hard time for you and Ryan. Though even if your calendar is full, I do think it’s wonderful that you and Ryan are preparing for your future family by his taking classes and saving up. When Gavin and I were first married we wasted all our free time and money on ourselves. We weren’t worried about building a godly legacy, saving money, or preparing for kids. You’re right: you shouldn’t just grit your teeth and bear your problems. Just gritting your teeth (or kicking and screaming, too) means you didn’t change or learn anything from the situation. Rather than dodging your struggle, keep praying for God’s strength to change you. As you transform in spirit through this tough season you’ll be prepared for your next test. All these lessons will better prepare you to become a mom, because everything is much more complicated when you start a family.

"Comfort is not altogether bad, but I’ve seen it become a sin when I put it above God, my family, and responsibilities."

Look at how you define comfort, and then compare it to what God wants for you today. Are there parts of the comfort you need to set aside in order to accomplish your goals, or do you need to release some stuff in your calendar to make time for your life with Ryan? I love comfort, too. And comfort is not altogether bad, but I’ve seen it become a sin when I put it above God, my family, and responsibilities. My sister said something to me once that spoke directly to my heart, "God doesn’t call us to seek an easy life, but an obedient one." Prior to knowing God, my life goal was to have easy life.

"I needed to accept the situation, ask for help (and not be prideful), and let go of my past."

Even after I became a Christian, my goals were wealth and comfort until God used the birth of my daughter to test my beliefs. Before her birth, I told myself that having a newborn would be hard and that I could handle the sleepless nights. What I didn’t know was that God had planned something entirely different for me. After over five months of my daughter’s endless crying, I desperately wanted my old life of easiness to come back. I cried and prayed for God to give me what I thought would solve my problem. The more I pushed God to give me what I wanted, the more obsessed I was by the desire to have a cheerful and easy baby. My mind was so deeply consumed with myself that I almost lost all connection to God’s voice. I became extremely depressed. I wanted everything to be uncomplicated so I could have my old life back. I continued to beg for relief. Then finally one day I heard God say, Obey. He showed me what that meant: I needed to accept the situation, ask for help (and not be prideful), and let go of my past.

"My pattern of fighting for the world’s view of comfort was broken so that I can know what real peace feels like."

I described myself during this time as a wild horse that needed to be broken. I looked up the definition of a wild horse: an undomesticated animal. Then I googled "how to break a wild horse" and was amused by how similar it was to my situation: After you tie a rope around its neck, allow the horse to fight and scramble for a few minutes. The horse must learn to stand still when it’s tied. Getting a horse to learn this means you have to leave it alone to discover the facts of standing still with the hopes of it not injuring itself in the process. The next step is education. Today I know my comfort comes from obedience to God, of standing still in his presence. I’m learning to become a servant to God, my husband, and my kids. In return, I’m more thankful and remarkably at peace. In Romans 12:2, it says, "Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect." My pattern of fighting for the world’s view of comfort was broken so that I can know what real peace feels like. I’m praying that you find God’s provision for you and find spiritual rest.

"Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." Matthew 11:29–30

Love, Alice