Not Alone, Leading

“Too many people are thinking of security instead of opportunity” — Benjamin Disraeli

I am a girl who loves her comfort zone, and if ever I am to leave it I really love having a friend there to hold my hand. But what I’m learning is that everyone is on different roads in life, different paths. And it is impossible to assume I will always be walking right in step, arm in arm, with the person of my choosing. Often, waiting for them so I feel secure enough to step out means missing the opportunity altogether.

Growth never comes by remaining comfortable.

Growing up I watched a lot of Disney movies. Too often I am like Joy from Inside Out in the scene where she has Sadness stand in the “circle of sadness.” Except now, I’m the one confining myself— to a box I have made to look appealing with soft pillows and blankets. A box surrounded by all the things I love most: my family, friends, chocolate, lemonade, books, movies. But a box all the same. The isolating and growth-stunting box of my comfort zone.

One of the biggest problems in society today is that most people will give up everything to have comfort. We avoid hard conversations, we shrink back from voicing our beliefs, we sacrifice making memories for hours at a job in order to live in financial security and the comfort of others’good opinions.

But is this what we are meant to do?

Is this what our Savior did?

Or did He give up total comfort and dine with those deemed unlovable, unworthy? Did He at every opportunity preach the Truth, Beauty, and Goodness of God despite it being contrary to the societal and governmental standards of the time? Did He so fully humble Himself and strip Himself of comfort that He sweat beads of blood before allowing Himself to die the most painful and humiliating form of execution: crucifixion?

If I am calling myself an imitator of Christ, trying to be like Him in every way, why do I continue cowering in my deceptively lavish box? Why do I continue to hide behind the pathetic excuse that “I’m doing it for others.”

“I can’t go serve at camp, my family needs me home to help…”

“I can’t cut back my hours, I’m one of the only ones who can do mornings…”

False. All of this false. You know how I know? Because I had the ‘scary’ conversation and asked to leave home for the half the summer last year. The outcome? Best summer of my life, one full of growth, so much so I’m doing it again this year.

I’m about to have the conversation with my managers to make room for a fun, restful senior year. A senior year where I’m not always running around worrying about the next thing on my to-do list.

Most of all, I know these statements are false because I’ve held them to the light of Scripture. When you take them apart, they are hollow— devoid of righteousness, full only of pride and fear-drenched excuses

I tell myself I’m needed to the point I can’t leave. If I leave it will all fall apart. Life will be harder on others.

Me. Me. Me. Saying that is making it all about me, but disguising it as someone else’s fault. That way I’m not holding myself responsible for my lack of growth. Because the truth is this: I love my family and my home. Going to live and work for half the summer at a camp where I know no one is daunting. I love the bakery where I work. I’ve earned trust and responsibilities others haven't, and that feels good. It’s hard to walk away from. I’m good at my job. I like being known and respected.

I’m comfortable. But I’m also stagnant.

Maybe life will be trickier for someone else, initially, as they adjust to my absence. But maybe— just maybe — my stepping out opened the door for someone else to step in. To grow in the place I once occupied. Maybe my leaving isn’t an absence at all, but an invitation. A chance for someone new to come and pour light into cracks I left behind.

Meanwhile I am able to grow and set out on new adventures. I am able to apply everything I’ve learned on fresh terrain. I am able to learn new things. By stepping out on my own I am able to lead and not just follow.

Last summer at camp there was one night when some of the staff were going line dancing at a venue that served alcohol. I didn’t realize that was the case until we were already on our way and I began researching the place as I gave my friend directions. I found out there was an age limit for unaccompanied teens, and I did not cut it. I also wasn’t sure how my parents would feel about the situation and, when I tried to call them to ask, both phones went to voicemail.

I was nervous. Uneasy. I had no peace about the situation. But not going meant a night alone at camp. It meant asking my friend to turn around. It meant looking “less cool” in front of staff members I was seeking validation from.

But I did it.

I did the hard thing and I asked my friend to turn around (shoutout Brooklyn! She’s a real one— never complained once.) She valued and respected both my boundary and sense of peace. I went back to camp. My mom returned my call and I cried. I had FOMO. I was hungry because dinner wasn’t served on off-nights. I was lonely. But then I got to go read by the lake, pray, and be still, just me and Jesus — no distractions — for the first time in the 5 weeks I had been there. I called a friend back home. I wandered parts of camp I hadn’t seen. I helped a new counselor find his cabin.

By giving up the security of following the crowd, I gained the opportunity for solitude. I got to welcome someone new into the environment I was growing in. I got to be a leader. Not a perfect one, but a friendly one all the same.

Most people will give up everything to have comfort.

As Christians we are called to give up our comfort to have the Ultimate Everything.

This starts with us being willing to go alone. To step forward in faith and lead the rest, trusting that Christ walks beside us. No more excuses. No more pity parties. It's time to shift your perspective. Time to change our mindset.

You’re not alone. You’re just the first to walk forward —

and that makes you a leader.