Building Outside the Comfort Zone
Blog / Produced by The High Calling
The circle of people was almost complete—the most improbable collection of people I had ever witnessed. On the fringe of the park, some of the city's roughest gang members maintained an intimidating presence, curious about the events unfolding. Forming the large circle were homeowners from an area infamous for the city's highest crime and lowest income. Then there were the teenagers—veterans of a physically challenging week working to rehabilitate a neighborhood of old homes—and city officials, volunteers, parents, and onlookers of every color and walk of life. And just as I was stepping up to the microphone, I saw her walking across . . .
It was the first year of a housing rehabilitation project in a neighborhood short on hope. I had never fathomed the details of designing a project of that magnitude, and I was in deep. Time was critical; we had one week to finish the job.
As the entire project's point of contact, my plate was full of corporate sponsorships, building permits, codes, material deliveries, contractors, transportation, waste disposal, communication, safety and first aid, food ministry, volunteer coordination, public relations, entertainment, programming, worship, and supervision of 104 teenagers. At my lowest points of exhaustion, I asked myself, "Why are we doing this?" News reporters asked me the same question. And my response was simple: "I can think of no better way to change lives than by engaging kids and adults in serving their neighbors."
Mission projects had always been my peak spiritual experiences. They forced me out of my comfort zone, broke my heart, and changed calluses into compassion. Without fail, they brought me face to face with the living Christ.
On the sixth and final day of the project, I risked one last push—a park celebration smack in the middle of the neighborhood we were serving. I was beyond tired. Power saws and nail guns rang in my head. Still more details to go: cleanup, unfinished houses, the consequences of soaring over budget. The moment of truth had come. Everyone shared a meal, exchanged hugs and stories. Parents were with their kids. Homeowners received keys to their refurbished homes. And I had the privilege of calling all these people together for a moment of thanks and prayer. The circle of several hundred people was taking final shape when everyone spontaneously joined hands.
Then the woman appeared. She broke through the circle, cut a path toward its far side, and joined hands with two of our teenagers. She was a prostitute and easily spotted for the large tattoo on her forehead.
But today she wanted to be part of something else—wanted it enough to cut into a circle of strangers. At that moment, hammers and saws were silenced. Details didn't matter. A Kingdom moment was here on earth, right when I least expected it.
It was the first year of a housing rehabilitation project in a neighborhood short on hope. I had never fathomed the details of designing a project of that magnitude, and I was in deep. Time was critical; we had one week to finish the job.
As the entire project's point of contact, my plate was full of corporate sponsorships, building permits, codes, material deliveries, contractors, transportation, waste disposal, communication, safety and first aid, food ministry, volunteer coordination, public relations, entertainment, programming, worship, and supervision of 104 teenagers. At my lowest points of exhaustion, I asked myself, "Why are we doing this?" News reporters asked me the same question. And my response was simple: "I can think of no better way to change lives than by engaging kids and adults in serving their neighbors."
Mission projects had always been my peak spiritual experiences. They forced me out of my comfort zone, broke my heart, and changed calluses into compassion. Without fail, they brought me face to face with the living Christ.
On the sixth and final day of the project, I risked one last push—a park celebration smack in the middle of the neighborhood we were serving. I was beyond tired. Power saws and nail guns rang in my head. Still more details to go: cleanup, unfinished houses, the consequences of soaring over budget. The moment of truth had come. Everyone shared a meal, exchanged hugs and stories. Parents were with their kids. Homeowners received keys to their refurbished homes. And I had the privilege of calling all these people together for a moment of thanks and prayer. The circle of several hundred people was taking final shape when everyone spontaneously joined hands.
Then the woman appeared. She broke through the circle, cut a path toward its far side, and joined hands with two of our teenagers. She was a prostitute and easily spotted for the large tattoo on her forehead.
But today she wanted to be part of something else—wanted it enough to cut into a circle of strangers. At that moment, hammers and saws were silenced. Details didn't matter. A Kingdom moment was here on earth, right when I least expected it.
