You’ve heard it a thousand times. “The grass isn’t greener on the other side. It’s green where you water it.” It’s funny how cliches so easily fade into muscle memory and lose their truth. I must admit that I do believe, fairly frequently, that the grass IS greener over there. Come on, I mean… She has him. They live there. That’s the dream job. I live and die by the comparison game without even realizing it. I went to Nashville last week. I was only there for 24 hours, for the premiere of For King and Country’s new movie “Priceless.” It was incredible. Just being back felt right. I’ve spent considerable time there; many of my best friends reside in the city limits. Once again Nashville greeted me with open arms and I fit like a missing puzzle piece into its chaos. Then, 24 hours later, I was back. Jolted cruelly from comfort back into the unknown. I came back to Houston, where I’m still making friends, where I am still discovering where I fit in the puzzle, where there is more unfamiliar than familiar. The grass seemed pretty green in Nashville, and pretty brown in my heart. Not because I don’t love Houston, but because it’s not comfortable. I haven’t watered the ground enough, haven’t planted seeds and stayed around long enough to see the fruit that comes in season. I’m just staring at the dirt wondering why growing beautiful things can’t be easier. That’s where this idea of the “Body of Christ” comes in. It’s an analogy many of us known too well. We’ve gotten too close to it. We’ve let it lose it’s beautiful logic in the waves of the familiar. We’re all pieces of a massive puzzle. We’re parts of the person of Christ, we are his hand and his foot and his left ear. I can’t spend a second of my time looking at my Nashville friends and wanting what they have, because if I’m a foot then I need to walk. I need to serve my function where I’m called, doing what I was called to do. Simple as that. There is work to be done, and I want to feel the fullness that comes with obedience. And in this fullness their is the fullness of joy. Nonsensical, against-all-odds, joy. The Body of Christ also works together. When one part starts questioning everything and wants to jump ship, the other parts start screaming wisdom. My friend Sierra reminded me of this as I was reminiscing about Nashville. “Nashville is only magical for you because you don’t live there.” She was saying I can run away to Nashville but my problems: the things I struggle with, the seeds I’ve sown – they’re going to pick up and follow me there. It doesn’t get easier when you swap cities. But that’s okay because the pain of staying where I’m called to stay means growth. It means that the seeds WILL bear fruit if I’m faithful in tending them. What an honor it is to be a part of something bigger, of something more fulfilling than anything else this world has to offer: the mission of God to a hurting, confused, depressed world. I think I like my little patch of grass just fine the way it is; brown spots and all.