Brave

“We have to be braver than we think we can be, because God is constantly calling us to be more than we are, to see through [the] plastic sham to [a] living, breathing reality, and to break down our defenses of self-protection in order to be free to receive and give love.

“With God, even a rich man can enter the narrow gate to heaven. Earthbound as we are, even we can walk on water.”  Madeleine L’Engle Walking on Water. 

To be vulnerable is to be brave. Though slaying giants and jumping out of airplanes are acts of bravery, vulnerability is the flip side of the same coin. Brave people allow others into their private musings, their pain, their questions that they wrestle with in the dark cocoon of night. Brave people admit their shortcomings and sin. Brave people are willing to be transparent.

I am learning to be brave.

“We have to be braver than we think we can be, because God is constantly calling us to be more than we are . . .”

Writing teaches me to be brave. The more I learn about good writing, and truthful art, the more I am challenged to be vulnerable. From creating characters with depth, to putting myself and my work at the mercy of critics, I have learned to be “braver than I think I can be.” All of the angst and energy it takes to fuel a story and be rejected—or accepted—folds in on itself, feeds on itself, and makes more angst and energy to perpetuate the cycle.

Though it can be thrilling, I think even those physically brave souls that jump out of airplanes will tell you that there’s always an element of scary right under the surface. But I’m starting to believe that really living—a full and abundant plateful of living with joy and gratitude, laughter and tears—doesn’t happen apart from walking with fear of the unknown.

Will this story ever come together? Will it resonate with readers? Will it be taken seriously? Will an agent want to look at the rest of the manuscript? Will it ever get published? Should I trash it? Should I rewrite it? Should I walk away for awhile?

Those questions are always at the back of mind and tempt me to play it safe and quit putting myself ‘out there.’ The fear of the unknown can drown out the drive to create, to press through, to accept the journey, for better or for worse.

Thankfully the Lord encourages. He comes along side, He sends others to walk with me and allows me to walk with them, and His still, small voice urges me onward and upward. And sometimes overboard.

Like Peter, jumping out of the boat, eyes on Jesus, feet on faith-soaked saltwater, sometimes —earthbound as I am—I get the rare opportunity to walk on water.

Totally. Worth it.