Negotiating with Comfort: When God Speaks and We Still Hesitate
“You know what to do. You’re just negotiating with comfort.”
It stings because it is true. Spiritually, it names the quiet, internal bargaining we do when the Holy Ghost, Scripture, or a clear sense of God’s leading presses us toward obedience. We know the next step—deny self, forgive, release control, step into uncertainty, speak truth, walk away from sin—but it will carve into our comfort, our plans, our reputation, our sense of security. So we delay. We negotiate.
It's not a modern struggle. Even when God spoke directly—or through Jesus, the living Word Himself—people often respond/responded with reluctance. The hesitation wasn’t/isn't ignorance. It's the old self clinging to what feels safe.
At seventy-five years old, Abram heard the voice of God with piercing directness:
“Get yourself out of your country, and from your kindred, and from your father's house, unto a land that I will show you.” (Genesis 7:1 RE)
This wasn't just some vague impression. It was a command that would uproot prosperity, family, culture, and certainty. Comfort had deep roots in Ur and then Haran. Yet Abram rose and went. However, almost immediately, the negotiations appeared—fleeing to Egypt during famine and compromising his wife, later using Hagar to “help” God fulfill the promise. Each time, comfort (or control dressed as comfort) whispered a better plan. I suppose it could be argued the Lord may have used hardship to cause certain decisions by Abram but the stronger emphasis in Scripture is that Abram should have stayed in Canaan and trusted the Lord for provision, even amid severe hardship. He should have trusted in the Lord to deliver to him a son that would continue his line and through whom the covenants would be realized. Abram had trusted God for the unknown journey from Ur/Haran, but when everyday survival was threatened in the Promised Land or he couldn't see how the Lord would accomplish his design, he took matters into his own hands.
Decades of incremental surrender followed. By the time God asked for Isaac—the beloved son of the promise—Abraham no longer argued. He rose early, saddled the donkey, and climbed the mountain. The man who once negotiated had learned that obedience, even when it felt like death, was the path to life. God’s purpose for him—father of nations, bearer of the covenant blessing—emerged not in spite of the carving into comfort, but through it.
Moses’ encounter was even more dramatic. A bush burned without being consumed, and the voice of the Lord spoke face to face:
“I will send you unto Pharaoh that you may bring forth my people the children of Israel out of Egypt. (Exodus 2:3 RE)
No ambiguity. Yet Moses immediately began to bargain:
“Who am I…?”
“What if they do not believe me?”
“I am slow of speech…”
“Please send someone else.”
Forty years of quiet shepherd life in Midian had become comfortable anonymity after his earlier failure in Egypt. The call threatened everything—safety, reputation, control. God answered each objection with patience, signs, and even anger, yet Moses still hesitated. Only after the divine insistence did he accede.
Even then, his obedience was imperfect. Complaints, frustration at Meribah, striking the rock instead of speaking to it—the carving process continued for a lifetime. But Moses went. He confronted Pharaoh, led the Exodus, received the Law, and became the great deliverer and lawgiver. The reluctant “yes” was enough for God to accomplish His redemptive purpose through him.
Not every encounter ends in obedience. In Mark 5 RE, a wealthy young man ran up to Jesus, knelt, and asked the most important question with sincerity:
“Good Master, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?”
Jesus loved him and gave him the direct answer: sell everything, give to the poor, and follow Him. The young ruler knew what to do. The command was clear, personal, and spoken by the Lord Himself. Yet his great wealth represented deep comfort, status, and security. He was unwilling to let it be carved away. He went away sad, unwilling to accede.
His story stands as a sober warning. He negotiated with comfort and won the negotiation—only to lose the very life he was seeking. Jesus used the moment to teach how hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom, not because wealth itself is evil, but because it so easily becomes an idol we refuse to surrender.
There are many examples in the Covenant of Christ:
Laman and Lemuel - Even after direct divine interventions (visions, the Liahona, angelic rebuke), they keep bargaining: “Our father is a visionary man… foolish imaginations” and repeatedly want to return to the comforts of Jerusalem or even kill Nephi to regain control. Their reluctance is rooted in preferring the known comforts and social standing of Jerusalem over the uncertain journey of faith. They never fully accede, and it leads to lasting spiritual loss. Nephi, by contrast, pushes through the same discomforts with faith. Their story mirrors the “you know what to do, you’re just negotiating with comfort” dynamic perfectly—direct revelation, clear knowledge, yet ongoing internal (and external) haggling.
Amulek - He admits he knew the things Alma taught were true but had “hardened his heart” and was “called many times” but refused to listen because of worldly concerns. He openly acknowledges the earlier negotiation with comfort and the blessings that came after full surrender.
King Noah and his Priests - They knowingly pervert truth to maintain luxurious, comfortable living (Mosiah 11–12 COC).
And there are more.
Abraham and Moses knew what to do the moment God spoke. Their reluctance was not rebellion but negotiation with the flesh—the old operating system wired for self-protection. The rich young ruler knew too, yet chose comfort over Christ. God did not demand flawless enthusiasm before He would use Abraham or Moses. He worked with and through their halting surrender. The young ruler’s refusal shows what is at stake when we refuse the carve.
This is the pattern of discipleship. Jesus said it plainly:
“And he said unto them, if any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me. For whoever will save his life must be willing to lose it for my sake. And whoever will be willing to lose it for my sake, the same shall save it.
The cross is not a metaphor for mild inconvenience. It is an instrument of execution—total surrender. Yet on the other side of that death to self is resurrection life. The purpose of our existence is not the preservation of comfort. It is union with God, conformity to the image of Christ, and participation in His redemptive work in the world.
Every time we stop negotiating and move—however reluctantly—into what we know we are called to do, we step into that purpose. The discomfort is not punishment; it is formation. The same God who met Abraham on Mount Moriah, Moses at the bush, and the rich young ruler on the road still meets us in our hesitation. He is patient with our questions and persistent with His call. The Spirit who convicts also empowers.
So the reframed word for our souls becomes:
"You know what to do. You’re just negotiating with comfort. But the eventual “yes”—even the reluctant one—unlocks the very reason you were born."
The narrow road feels costly at first. Yet those who walk it discover that God’s commands are not burdensome (1 John 1:21-22 RE). They are life-giving. Joy, freedom, and fruitfulness wait on the other side of the carve.
If God is speaking to you right now—through Scripture, the Record of Heaven, prayer, conscience, or circumstance—take heart from Abraham and Moses. Your reluctance does not disqualify you. Take the next step anyway. The God who calls is the God who carries. And in that obedience, you will find the life you were truly made for.
I suck
Signed
John The-Not-So-Beloved