Ditching the "something hard for me" bit

Courage has never been my strong point.

As a little girl, I was so shy I would hide under my mom’s skirt every Sunday at church. I still remember the one time I got crazy-brave and rode in a small inflatable raft, pulled behind my dad’s boat. It got pulled under water and I was absolutely convinced I would drown. That pretty much put an end to my risk-taking ventures.

We have home videos of me recording one of my commonplace childhood tricks. I can still remember doing this.

I would stand in the middle of the living room, in front of my parents (the “audience”) and say, “You want to see something really hard for me?” And then I would throw myself around in strange contortions and gyrations, limbs flinging and head waving around. Then I would pull myself back together, standing tall with wide eyes and panting as if out of breath, and say, “That was really hard for me.” 

Now I look back at my 4-year-old self and just shake my head. Oh baby-girl…

Of course now it’s just a joke, and Jeff loves to tease me about it. But the truth is, that silly bit reveals a lot about who I was–and who I am.

I know that I really wanted to be brave. From 4-years-old I wanted to do hard things. I wanted to risk, to try, to do something courageous.

But I really struggled to be brave. 

On the one hand, it kept me out of trouble. I never did crazy things. I never got in trouble. I didn’t smoke or drink or party.  I never jumped off bridges. I’ve never even broken a bone. It certainly kept me safe.

But I don’t know that “safe” is the word I want to describe my life when all is said and done. I do know I don’t want the “hard things” I did in life to be nothing more than a lot of hopping up and down and throwing myself around in strange gyrations and contortions.

But sometimes it is.

Sometimes, if I’m really honest, the “hard things” I attempt are just a lot of ridiculous gyrations and not a lot of actual risk. I haven’t done much except jump up and down and ask people to watch. 

Ouch. 

So I sit here, right now, on a patio in Phoenix, Arizona, and I ask God what that means for me right now. What does the real “hard for me” look like? The real stuff of risk? Things like selling our home, living on 1/3 of our last income, starting a church, those were precious baby steps–like me no longer hiding under my mom’s skirt–but deep down I know they didn’t take that much courage. In other words, I’m still standing in front of my mom and dad gyrating ridiculously and pretending to be brave.

So I asked Him what it meant. His answer surprised me.

Dream.

Why is it that as I type that word I begin to cry? Is it because I feel like my life has been so peppered with failure that I’m terrified to dream again? Because the enemy seems to spin every situation so that it reads failure?

But here’s what gets me. I see that same cycle in my kids. I see their caution. Their fear of failure. And I see that if I do not break the cycle, its stranglehold will keep them living the same cautious existence. So how do I break it? How do we break it?

By ditching the “something hard for me” bit.

As long as pursue merely the appearance of courage, we will not become courageous. Appearing brave and being brave are two entirely different things. So it means asking the Father, every day, What is true courage in this situation?

It will be different for each of us.

Honestly, I don’t know what it looks like yet. I just know I’m supposed to give up the “something hard for me” bit and begin to dream instead. 

{Thanks for reading.}