I should be used to going outside my comfort zone, I thought, as I grabbed my purse and my keys. I’ve raised support––speaking in front of crowds and befriending strangers. I’ve learned a language––blundering my way through many a stilted conversation. I’ve moved to an impoverished country––making it through culture shock. But as I left my house I was still nervous, uncomfortable.

Jidlene

As I steered the car around goats and potholes, I reminded myself that this visit was necessary to gather information my husband and I would need in order to decide about paying for his education.

When the street ended, we got out and walked. It began to rain. I clutched at the cement block wall as we descended the uneven, slippery steps into the ravine.

The stairway to descend to Jidlene house.

Jidlene’s sister welcomed me into their house and offered me one of the two chairs in the small entryway. A curtain hung where the front door should have been. It was hot, humid, and stuffy. I felt myself becoming dizzy.

The entryway to Jidlene’s house.

At the end of the day, it seemed my fears had been justified; leaving my comfort zone had hurt––literally and figuratively. But do I regret going? Absolutely not. I will put on a brave face and put myself out there again and again for the sake of the poor and the marginalized––because that’s the kind of life that my Savior lived.