When Comfort Isn’t the Goal: Growing Through God’s Refining
“Comfort isn’t a solution to seek; rather, it’s a by-product we’ll reap when we stay close to the Lord.” — Lysa TerKeurst
There are some seasons of life when the illusion of comfort feels like the ultimate prize. A smooth sea. A quiet life. No sickness, no conflict, no raging storms. From the outside, it’s tempting to envy those whose lives seem untouched by hardship, who seem to get everything handed to them so easily. But Scripture—and life—both tell a deeper truth: comfort isn’t always a blessing, and discomfort isn’t always a curse.
Take two ancient nations: Moab had it easier, but Israel had it holier. In the end, only one survived the purifying process of God.
When God refines you, it rarely feels warm and cozy. But His ultimate goal isn’t to keep us comfortable—it’s to keep us holy. We were created to grow deeper through the refining, not in spite of it. What if the struggles you’re resenting right now are the very things God is using to keep your soul from spoiling?
So here’s the heart question: Are you chasing comfort, or are you chasing closeness with God?
The Dregs of Comfort vs. The Cup of Calling
In Jeremiah 48, God compares the nation of Moab to wine left untouched—never poured, never shaken, never strained.
“Moab has been at rest from youth, like wine left on its dregs, not poured from one jar to another—she has not gone into exile. So she tastes as she did, and her aroma is unchanged.” — Jeremiah 48:11 (NIV)
The Moabites were settled east of the Dead Sea, which geographically shielded them from the Babylonian invasion that forced Israel into captivity. While the Israelites were suffering and enslaved, the Moabites lived a life of ease that looked a lot like God’s favor. Have you ever felt that? Like God had left you with the short end of the stick while someone else was living in the lap of luxury? On the surface, Moab’s “easy street” appeared to be a blessing. But in reality, it became a breeding ground for pride and spiritual complacency. God loves to give His children good gifts—but not if we aren’t ready to receive them. He knows our hearts can be tempted to love the gifts more than the Giver. Moab had everything it thought it wanted, but that drew their affection toward worldly things instead of toward the Lord.
In ancient times, winemakers would pour wine from jar to jar to separate out the sediment (also called “dregs”) that would sit at the bottom. If the wine sat stagnant, it could also absorb the flavor/aroma of the single container it was trapped in. Without this process, the wine would spoil rather than be purified over time. The winemakers’ pouring was about preservation.
Israel was poured out—emptied and refined through exile. It hurt, it wasn’t easy, but it was purified for God’s eternal purpose. Moab sat still, comfortably unmoved and unchanged. This stagnancy ultimately condemned them in the eyes of God (Jeremiah 48:42). Because if you don’t feel like you need to be saved, how could you possibly see your need for a Savior?
God doesn’t pour us out to destroy us, but to preserve us.
Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as His children. For what children are not disciplined by their father? If you are not disciplined. . .then you are not legitimate, not true sons and daughters at all. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of spirits and live!. . .God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in His holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. — Hebrews 12:7-11
He is a loving Father. And He knows that comfort without refinement leads to spiritual ruin.
We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us. — Romans 5:3-5
Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. — James 1:2-4
Rooted to Return, or Gone with the Season
To be honest, I am not a plant person. I have whatever the opposite of a green thumb is. But every spring, I still find myself looking at flowers at our local gardening store, convinced that this will be the year I don’t kill something (as I’m writing this, RIP to my mint plants…apparently this was not the year). I’m always drawn to the bright, bold colors of marigolds and snapdragons. My husband will remind me, “They’re really pretty, but you know that annuals will just die, right? You want a perennial that will keep coming back.” Joke’s on him—if they’re going in our backyard, they’ll all probably die equally.
Studying Moab and Israel got me to thinking about plants, though. Annuals, like Moab, are flashy, fast-growing, bright, and beautiful—but they bloom once and die completely. Because of their shallow roots, they need constant replanting and attention. Perennials, like Israel, may not appear as vibrant at first glance, especially because they take longer to bloom—but they are resilient. They die back in winter, endure harsh conditions, and grow back stronger when spring returns. Why? Because their roots run deep.
If you’ve ever had a hosta, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Their roots run so deep, you have to dig out the entire root system with a shovel to get rid of them! There are hostas that have been planted for 25 years (that’s right—you’ve probably seen a hosta that had to decide if they were Team *NSYNC or Team Backstreet Boys). Hostas are known for their resilience and endurance. They don’t compete to be seen year-round—they quietly persist.
We often envy the “annual” lives—people who seem to be more “put together,” who’ve never faced a trial that shook them to the core. I’m sure you know someone like that. But think about what happens to them when they do face something even mildly tough. They crumble. They don’t know how to survive a winter storm. Their roots are too shallow. But God prizes depth. Rootedness. Quiet endurance.
We weren’t made to bloom for a season—we were made to remain.
That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither—whatever they do prospers. — Psalm 1:3
Poured Out for What Remains
Being poured out means losing what once held us, but gaining something purer. Like wine poured from jar to jar, we’re being preserved from the sediment of this world—the things that dull our spiritual senses. If we linger too long in ease, we start to absorb the “scent” of the jar—the world’s values, not Christ’s aroma.
Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. — Romans 12:2
Everything flashy, comfortable, or beautiful on the surface (including earthly ease) will pass away. What lasts is God’s Word, His work in us, and our rootedness in Him. In the pouring, we find purpose: to be purified and anchored in what remains.
We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. — 2 Corinthians 4:7-9
“Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words will never pass away.” — Matthew 24:35
So where are your roots currently anchored? And what spiritual aroma is your life giving off?
Maybe the question isn’t, “Why is this so hard?” Maybe the question is, “What is God refining in me through this?”
Let’s stop resenting the seasons that are making us stronger and more resilient. Let’s be open to being poured out, pruned back, and pressed close to the heart of God. And let’s remember that a comfortable life isn’t the same as a blessed one.
Prayer for the Poured Out:
Father, I confess that I have often craved ease over endurance. But You, in Your wisdom and kindness, have not left me to spoil in the illusion of comfort. Pour me out, Lord, if it means preserving my purity. Empty me of my pride, fear, and false security. Shape me in the quiet, prune me in the struggle, and let the fragrance of my life reflect You alone. Amen.
Prayer for Deep Roots:
Lord, when the world should that I have to bloom now or be forgotten, remind me that Your work begins underground. Help me to be like a hosta: quiet, resilient, and faithful. Teach me to value depth over display, and how to endure with grace. Root me in Your Word, water me with truth, and anchor me in Your presence. Make me a perennial in a world obsessed with what’s pretty and passing. Amen.