Awhile back, I spent the weekend with a good friend who had moved away and some other women who I didn’t know well, but I still consider friends.
We spent a lot of time telling the stories of our lives. I didn’t think about it at the time, but, as I look back, I’m struck with how brave each of these women were and are.
Several traveled with friends when they were young. One moved out when she was seventeen. One scuba dived with sharks.
If I had asked them to tell me about the bravest thing they’d ever done, they would have told those stories.
But what captured me wasn’t the exciting actions of their youth, but how they dealt with the junk life inevitably deals out:
Infertility, miscarriages, difficult marriages, constant moving, the death or near death of siblings, . . . the lists were long, the paths of their lives were winding.
And yet.
And yet each of these women get up every morning, face the day, care for their children, their families and find it good. Difficult? Absolutely. But, for the most part, good.
Being courageous isn’t the absence of fear or questions. It isn’t the blithe, Pollyanna view of an easy life.
Courage is being afraid, frustrated, tired, on the brink of hopelessness, and doing what needs to be done anyway. It’s looking into the face of another day and living it well. Choosing good things.
So today I wonder, what brave thing can I do? What courageous thing can you do?