Brave

Brave…the word conjures images of Delta Force, Combat Controllers, SEALs, firemen or any other person who spends their life putting it all on the line for someone else. I think of people who have seen (without the politician’s rose-colored glasses) then stood unwavering against the worst humanity has to offer and made it through to the other side, crawling if need be, but still in tact -for the most part – still recognizable, still fragile with humanity.

I look at my brother and my sister-in-law, both lifers in the Air Force. I look at my best friends from college, both lifers in the Navy. I see the spark of fervor in their eyes that hints at that deep-rooted patriotism and determination, a spark that no act of cowardice by an enemy combatant will ever extinguish. I know brave when I see it; I live my life surrounded by it.

But these are “big” braves. What about the humble, small acts of bravery intertwined with the American, everyday life? The child terrified of public speaking who makes her first class presentation, or the mother who gives birth to what will be a seriously ill micro-preemie knowing that her baby simply is not viable but chooses to carry that precious baby, hold her, love her, then let her go? Or the woman who lives with a terminal illness and still goes about her life with a smile? Or the husband who forgives adultery and betrayal?

I think bravery inherently must co-exist with fear. Hand in hand the two walk beside us in life, knowing that occasionally we choose one and sometimes fall to the other. After all, how do we know the monster hiding under the bed unless we know also that in the bright light of day the monster scurries into its cave?

Faith, in my humble opinion, works in much the same way. If there are times that I do not doubt, then I could not name what hides in my heart as the gift of faith, and please do not discount the fact that faith is, indeed, a gift. If all I held tightly to was absolute knowledge then we could rename it as surety, yes? But that is not the level to which God calls or even desires: surety.   If so, then faith would have no place in our lives.

I don’t know about you, but I crave, need, cannot function without faith. I need that whisper in the darkest of nights reminding me that I do not walk this world alone. I need doses of daily miracles reminding me that belief in the Unseen is not in vain because there are times I doubt. There are times I am breathlessly, heart-tremblingly afraid that I have gotten it all wrong. In fact, there are times I know undoubtedly I have gotten it all wrong, and the only thing that keeps me going is the faith that my wreckage can and will be redeemed. But (You know there always is a but.) God never, ever promises that we will be protected from the consequences of our own catastrophic choices.

The Bible is full of stories in which the men God has chose as leaders doubt, who mess up big time and suffer the consequences. Moses never enters the Promised Land. Saul’s kingdom is given to a shepherd boy. Solomon’s kingdom crumbles. Even in the New Testament, we aren’t told the whole story: the woman saved from being stoned is simply told to sin no more, but was she taken back into her husband’s home?  And what becomes of the rich man who could not give up his wealth?  And we’re told Judas hangs himself.

Indisputably the Living God loves us beyond measure, yet this is still where I flail and struggle to stay above the waves threatening to pull me under. My mistakes have been many, and my greatest fear is that I cannot – maybe will not ever – see clearly the path where God would lead. I have suffered the consequences of my actions, my sins, and at this point God’s direction for me feels so obscured.   How do I see beyond myself to Him, and His plan? This is where faith, and perhaps even bravery come in.

I’ve never been one to jump in without testing the water, but maybe that’s the only way. Maybe that’s what faith is all about.