03/19/2026
Comfort has a way of becoming the goal without us even realizing it. It keeps life predictable, keeps us insulated from disruption, keeps us from having to look too closely at what’s actually going on beneath the surface. It asks very little, which is part of why it’s so appealing. You can build an entire life around avoiding discomfort and call it peace.
But freedom is something else entirely.
It tells the truth about us, even when we’d prefer to keep things vague. It presses into the places we’ve learned to avoid, exposes what we’ve learned to hide, and invites us into a kind of honesty that can feel unsettling at first. Jesus connects freedom to truth, and that kind of freedom doesn’t come from staying in control or keeping things manageable. It comes from stepping into reality with God, even when that reality stretches us.
If I’m honest, there’s sometimes a real pull in me toward what’s easy, familiar, and within my control. And there’s another part that knows I wasn’t made to live there. You can feel it when your life starts to feel smaller, even if everything on the outside looks fine.
I’m starting to wonder how much of what we call peace is actually just the absence of anything that might challenge us. How much of what we call stability is just familiarity we’ve learned to accept.
Jesus seems far less interested in keeping us comfortable than in making us whole.
And wholeness often takes us places we wouldn’t have chosen on our own.
So I keep coming back to this question:
Where have I chosen comfort when freedom is being offered instead?