What is Courage?

courage
On guard!

On guard!

People like to use the word courage in conjunction with climactic images on motivational posters. Be it a steep cliff someone is climbing with very little gear or a fluffy orange kitten staring into the face of a ferocious dog, they splash the word courage on the page as if to say, “All you have to do is face your fear and everything will be fine.” But lately I am wondering what happens after the picture? What happens after the kitten faces the dogs? If no one intervenes, does the kitten whip out his boots, hat and sword? Does he stand on two legs and whip those dastardly dogs into a frenzy of flying fur and cartoon stars? Does he stand back with his arms crossed and a cool grin on his whiskery chin?

If you are reading this, maybe you are wondering too. What does real courage look like? Does the hero always win? Does he walk away with a few scratches, maybe a couple of bruises, but lives to tell the tale? Or does he die?

I reached to open the microwave door when a saw him, the fuzzy, little jumping spider. I was amused by his presence and held out my finger for him to crawl onto. Then I called out to my children.

“Look! It’s a cute little spider!”

And they said, “Kill it!”

And I said, “Why? It’s a living creature? Why take its life if I don’t have to?”

spiderI proceeded to show them how intricate was its design. The furry little mandibles moved up and down as it turned right and then left. I surveyed its spritely legs and mysterious eyes(of which I assumed there were eight but were too small for my own to perceive). Curiously, the little spider turned and faced me. It stared up at me defiantly and then began to move its mandibles in a menacing manner. I was narrating its movement to my children when suddenly the little spider leapt at my face. I screamed and then looked to see where it had landed. To my amazement, the spider was dangling from a thin filament that was attached to my finger. It hung there defiantly—refusing detach—refusing to die. And my children hollered all the louder, “Kill it! Kill it!”

But I did not.

I carried it outside and placed it on one of my plants where I knew it would be safe. And then I watched it crawl away. That little spider was courageous, and I did not think it deserved to die.

My Marine son called last night with momentous news; he has received new orders. He did not disguise the dread in his voice. And, like his mother, he paused for dramatic effect. Out of all the new Marines on base, he alone was chosen to fulfill a most important responsibility. Disappointment and frustration trickled through each halting word he spoke. It was an assignment he did not choose and did not want. He went so far as to say the past six months of training were wasted. I listened with that fear I often face as a mother and wondered, how do I respond? Because I know my words matter to him, otherwise he would not have called me.

I find it interesting how we choose the people to confide in. So often we go to the people who will tell us what we want to hear. But it’s different with children. Children call their mothers because they want reassurance. They want to know more than anything that they are loved. And while soft and gentle love is often appropriate, bold and audacious love is necessary too.

Courage is not always what we think it is. We have this idea that the only way to be brave is to put up our fists and fight. Society tells us to chase our dreams, and while you’re at it, DREAM BIG! But what happens when the dream is not achieved? What happens when you do everything humanly possible to succeed and the business still fails? The marriage ends. The child flunks. Or more frequently, the job you took turns out to be very boring. You lay in bed each morning. You sigh and wonder how you can possibly do it even one more day. And then you consider the consequences if you don’t. So you climb out of bed. You step into the shower. And then you realize the water is cold because the pilot light in the water heater went out.

Is courage standing in a cold shower and going to a job you don’t like?

I love my neighbor. She is beautiful and kind. Did I mention kind? Shoot. She’s probably one of the kindest people I know, and as sweet as a hibiscus flower in bloom. Her smile lights up the room with a fragrance so bold I can’t help but be infected and smile in response. But her tears slay me. Her tears have wet my shoulder more times than I can count. And to my dismay, I don’t have all the answers to her questions. Why did he abandon her? Why did he find a new woman? Why the divorce? Her pain is like a raw sore that won’t heal. I think she thought that once the divorce was final, life would get easier. But it has not. The pain is like a shape shifter, one moment a tiger, the next moment a bear. Finally it takes shape as a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Except this isn’t Jurassic Park and she doesn’t have a means of escape. She has been devoured by grief, and suffering, and shame. She frequently uses words like, “depression” and busies herself with tasks to defray the sorrow. She has no peace. And all I can do is listen and watch as she suffers.

But she is braver than she thinks. Each day she rises and chooses to live. Each day, tears or not, she proceeds one step at a time. She fights for her daughter, for her dogs, for her friends. And though she hurts, she still smiles. Make no mistake, it is often a halting smile. It is often etched with sadness. But still, she smiles. And I think there is no better picture of courage than hers, the smile that smiles through tears. The smile that says, “I’m not quitting.”

ella wheeler wilcox

She is not unlike that spider, dangling by a filament. She is courageous.

This morning my little boy woke up crying. His bad dream had been filled with dead people and he was terrified they were going to get him. His biggest concern was the warnings he gave to his older brother who—in the dream—refused to believe him. As I considered how best to comfort him, I remembered the book I had bought recently called, “Miracle Man: The Story of Jesus” by John Hendrix. Each picture

tells the story of a man filled with magic. A man who healed broken people. A man who comforted them by giving hope to their hurting hearts. On the last page of the book it shows the greatest miracle of all. After the beatings, after hanging on the cross, after his own father turned his face away, after his body had died, Jesus performed the greatest miracle of all. He lived. The hero lived! And that is the story I read to my little boy this morning as he trembled with fear. This story—more than any other—seemed to me to be the best story to tell him. Death is dead! Jesus killed it once and for all.

I am not very courageous. I bury my fears in plates of cookies. I fight panic attacks. I “manage” my physical pain. By myself I am the spider dangling by a filament. Sure, I was bold enough to jump, but Jesus was strong enough to save me from certain death. He is a real hero. And he did that, not by standing idly by and waving his hand in bored amusement (not like me!). He conquered death by walking through it himself.

Today if you are walking in pain, maybe you do have enough courage to keep walking through it. But maybe you have run out of strength and can’t hold onto the filament any longer. Don’t lose heart. There is a Miracle Man, a real live hero who wants to rescue you. He is audacious and bold. And he did something no one else could ever do. And maybe you think I’m antiquated, or weird, or just plain crazy. I assure you I am. But the story is bigger than me. And let me assure you…
stories

From Root to Fruit: The Fundamental Struggle with Temptation

cobra

I know what it is to suffer. I have even enjoyed suffering, and to an extent, being a victim. Years ago I read about a mental disorder called Munchausen syndrome and secretly wondered if I was afflicted because of my flair for the dramatic. Portraying the victim elicited sympathy from those around me and I liked the attention. One day I began to realize that my problems not only caused my friends to be concerned, but also to abandon me. Suffering is exhausting, not only for the sufferer, but for anyone in close proximity.

In that regard, temptation was for me the penultimate source of my suffering. Whatsoever my heart desired I strove to consume. And since my heart was a very dark and twisty place, I can with some clarity recognize that it was a very deceitful organ. For each desire I sated, five more manifested. While chasing each new and salacious longing I only found my hunger gnawing with increasing vengeance. No wonder my internal monologue was a ticker tape parade of despondence.

sintra-2Someone once told me I was a wimp. It was a word I would never have self-associated with. I thought I was strong. But being stubborn does not necessarily equate strength. In fact, stubbornness is usually a more frequent ally of pride. I am recently learning that my refusal to submit to authority, regardless of how cool it looks in the media, is actually a serious personal flaw. And since my rebellious nature has been influencing my decisions my whole life, it’s pretty doggone difficult to be objective with my story. It’s the reason I have a phoenix tattoo on my back; the penultimate symbol of my youth, or as Frank Sinatra might have sung it, “I did it my way.” I always say I got that tattoo to symbolize my rise from the ashes when the authority figures in my life tried to burn me down. But looking back through the lens of time, I now see a foolhardy girl intent on pursuing frivolities rather than a life of significance or substance or purpose.

And that is how I came to weigh 310 pounds.

The temptation to pursue the desires of my heart when what my heart wanted was a lie is the great tragedy of my life. It wasn’t until I began earnestly seeking out truth that I started to see myself as I was. And to be honest, I wasn’t very impressed.

Make all the excuses you like, gluttony is a curse. I have learned that living by the stomach does not satisfy the soul, but food still tempts me. That which gives life and health is a constant threat. The impulse to salve my salt-water heart with savory substances pulses through my veins. And how does one excise such a fundamental flaw?

I began this journey with little hope for success. I had hoped to make it 30 days without sugar. And I did. So I strove for 30 more. And I’m still striving. I’m still making goals and clinging to a thread of hope that I can maintain the balance necessary to prevent massive weight gain. But interestingly, it’s not really about gaining or losing weight anymore. My journey has truly become a daily struggle to learn how to discipline my body, my mind, and most importantly my heart.

john owenThis world has a thousand temptations for the wander-lusting heart, and I have been a master of chasing after many of them. I have dwelled in the dark places where the shadows rule, and I have searched for a light–a flickering hope–that would deliver me from them. And on the days when I feel most lost–most helpless. On the days I forget why I’m fighting, or even worse, when I don’t care, I force myself to stand up and seek out the truth. If my heart is desperately wicked and beyond cure, and if everything inside me is marred and distorted by my traitorous heart, then I must seek something outside myself if I am to be saved. And maybe that something is not a “thing” after all, but rather, a person. And what if that person loves me, traitorous heart and all? So much so that he personally bore all of my indwelling shadows in order to make my treacherous heart clean forever?

Funny, I suddenly find the resounding chaos of my whimsy has dwindled to a whimper. Why? Because Jesus is victor.

temptation

Celebration and Temptation

We are at the tail end of the Fall birthday celebrations. Our family celebrates 3 birthdays within the span of 3 weeks and that means lots and lots of cake. Cake at school. Cake at home. Cake at work. Okay, so I didn’t actually get cake for my birthday, but a good friend did bring in brownies. And this is why my pants are currently very, very angry with me.

So when a friend of mine asked me to be her accountability partner in her journey to go sugar free for a month, I was very excited. I thought, if she can do it, I can do it too! And then I actually had to do it. Day one was easy for the first few hours until I remembered that I had ordered McArthur’s cake for a partner at work who was celebrating an anniversary. But resisting McArthur’s cake is actually pretty easy for me because if I eat one piece, I am like a shark in bloody water. My eyes roll back in my head, and then I dive head first into the cake and the crumbs starting flying. And since I didn’t want icing in my hair, I abstained.

But just when I thought I was safe, day two threw yet another cake at me. Days three and four threw bagels and cookie cake at me, and day five I was too terrified to leave my cube for fear of encountering an ice cream monster. After all, these kinds of sugary temptations seem to find me no matter how hard I try to avoid them.

cake

Happy birthday, Dude!

Why is it that sometimes it is so easy to avoid sugar, and other times I may as well be swimming in a lake of the white stuff? With all of that said, today we celebrated the birth of my second child. And since I am his mom, he asked me to make him a chocolate cake with chocolate icing. And because I love him and am self-sacrificing that way, I did. And I did not eat a single piece(though half of it is still hanging out in the refrigerator upstairs). You see, I have to put space between myself and the cake or my pants will never forgive me. They have been pretty angry with me this month and I am trying desperately to prove to them that I won’t let them down. And you know we can’t disappoint the pants.

I rode my bike 28 miles this morning. It was a really nice day to soak up the sunshine and breath in some fresh air. And while I really missed church, it was nice to have time to think and reflect and mentally prepare for the week ahead. I have been under a tremendous amount of stress recently at work and I just couldn’t pressure myself to rush through the morning and fight with my children to get out of the door on time to make it to services, and then rush through the cake decorating and birthday festivities. Sometimes I just have to take a break and nourish my body and my soul.

Me and my Sister

Me and my Sister

My not-so-little guy hung out with his cousins while I caught up with my fabulous sister. My mother was very kind to let us hold the shenanigans at her home and we just had a really nice time relaxing and eating(or not eating) cake and catching up on all the recent happenings in our world. And I decided that when I grow up I’m going to be just like my sister because even though I’m older, she’s wiser and much cooler than I am–not to mention the best mom on the planet to 5 lovely girls. Hanging out with them just makes me so darn happy.

The good news is that tomorrow is Monday and I have another chance to face temptation and conquer through it. And thank goodness we don’t celebrate another birthday until the end of January!