Be Brave.

It has been my experience that bravery is not subtle.  It is not quiet.  It is not always neat.

It shakes.  And it rattles-- and that is how bravery makes space.  Every person I know that embodies bravery is a shaker.  A rattler.  The kind of person who runs through freshly-made sandcastles, snow angels, and Lego towers.  The kind of person that disrupts things in order to create space for new things.  Bravery demands a certain kind of whimsy, a certain kind of confidence, a certain kind of honesty.  Bravery does not necessarily require a particular brand of person, but it does call upon a particular circumstance... out of which, a particular brand of person emerges. 

This week, I have to be brave.  I have to do something I don't want to do.  Pull my head out of the ostrich-sized hole in the sand and speak.  And I desperately want to be brave.  But I'm not sure that I am.  

However strange, though, this is how I know that the Lord is good.  But also quite funny.  See, I have a classroom-sized whiteboard in my office.  I don't use it.  I don't have much need for it-- I'm left-handed, and we all know how left-handed people are cursed with wet writing utensils.   So I basically leave it alone.

My students, though, they don't.  They write on it- leave me messages, notes of encouragement, reminders of their love... it's my favourite thing in my whole office.  And I have a lot of cool stuff in my office.  But as I was sitting here today, utterly stuck: stuck in my own mind, in my own fear, in my own desire to stick my head back in the sand and sleep until next week-- I looked to my whiteboard.  And they reminded me.

My students reminded me that I need this.  Because stretching myself makes space-- and growing is generally uncomfortable. But being brave means making space.  And if it means making space for them, then maybe I can do it... maybe I can be brave.  So here goes nothing.  And here's to shaking and rattling and being the person I want to be.  Here's to being brave.