Bravery.
That's what I want, all day, every day. It was my word of 2014: my focus, goal, intention. I didn't go looking for it necessarily; nonetheless, it came. Maybe it was because I needed it desperately some days, or perhaps it was because a lot of other people lived it out and I thrived on such examples. However it happened, bravery became my desire, and in many ways it become my lens through which I saw and followed Christ.
I preached on Hagar and her story inspired us all.
I taught on Esther and that woman was all sorts of courageous.
My friends taught me how to love without fear.
My family taught me the meaning of strength.
Life has pushed me to cling to the hem of bravery's cloak, because when we live brave lives, the kingdom of heaven crashes, with everything strong collides, with this sweet ground we are standing on.
Bravery wasn't something I went looking for. Bravery was something that, when my own soul was moaning and groaning for the aches of this world, arrived in full splendor when I sought out the love of Christ. Each time I tried to be like our Jesus, bravery was, by default, calling out to me with a voice as soft as wind blowing through a forest of trees: smooth and calming, assuring in every manner but bold and daring just the same.
When a car accident left me and my roommate scared and shaking and I just wanted to cry, bravery was speaking: "I am with you".
When women were telling me their stories of hurt and shame and abuse from men, bravery was whispering: "Love them, listen to them".
When I left Portland behind and my heart stayed there, when I started senior year and growing up became all too real, when I started dating my best friend and when my nephews hugged me after three months, when I struggled with depression and the darkness was my cave, when I mentored freshman girls, and when all of these things, both good and bad and scary and beautiful were happening, unashamedly, without warning, bravery was there, speaking and calling and whispering so sweet: "Walk with me".
I am the way of God, I am the way of love and strength and joy and trust. I am the way of light and path and steadiness when your footing is faulty. I am the way of assuredness and peace and every sort of goodness. I am the way to go, I am the way to be. I am the way to live, and my hand is out, reaching for yours and pulling you close.
Walk with me, and I will walk with you.
Two weeks ago a dear friend of mine unexpectedly passed away. All of us who knew Colby are still reeling, still coping and mourning and questioning the skies. The healing is present, both in the form of tears as well as laughter, but full restoration takes time and patience and communal living at best. This sort of healing will take God and people and heaven coming down, but we are waiting and we are praying and we are keeping our faith because we are made of stronger stuff. We are made of resurrection, of hope and clenched fists and keep-it-up-when-the-going-gets-tough, because our world is moaning and groaning but our Jesus is in our midst.
And one more thing, too: bravery.
Walk with me.
Sitting in the sadness, rejoicing in the singing, pushing through the night and waking up at the dawn of new days: bravery is here and there and calling us forth.
This past year was all sorts of messy, but I tried to be brave because I think that's what Jesus would do. His love is overwhelming, and I think it only comes when we decide to live it bravely. My hope for this next year is that bravery keeps showing up, whether the circumstances be messy or clean. I hope I speak up for women's rights and smash the everlasting patriarchy. I hope I have grace and seek forgiveness, because people will hurt me and I will hurt other people. I want to jump more waterfalls and laugh real deep, and if I have the chance to love another person well, pray that the chance doesn't go unnoticed. I want to become less naive to the world around me, because the world is bigger than me but I still have a part to play.
As insignificant as my life is, it is valued. My life matters and yours does too. Don't waste it, love, and remember that we will all mourn you hard if we woke up tomorrow and you weren't here. Your life matters, because there are things that need doing and words that need to be said.
We need to hear your story, love, so speak it out loud. I want to hear it, I want to hear your story. Let's have coffee or an ale and share our lives and moments. Where have you most tangibly felt the presence of the Lord? I want to hear about that, and have you ever done anything big or small or scary or sweet? Have you ever been hurt or been loved? What do you think of this and that? How can I learn from you?
Stories are what we are made of, and stories help us grow.
It takes bravery to share our stories, and it takes even more to keep on living them out.
Let's be brave this year. Let's live with courage and integrity, and let's use our lives to make this world a better place. Let's be kind and gentle-hearted, and if we get the chance to bring it, can we make the kingdom come to earth?
I think that'd be really cool.
I think that'd be really beautiful.
If we decided to keep on living bravely, maybe a new word would show up in full splendor.
A new focus, goal, intention.
And for a new year, I think a new word would seem to fit: freedom.
