Brave Is Boring

I’m on vacation with my family right now. We’re near the Grand Canyon, venturing by train to the rim tomorrow morning. Earlier this evening we watched as an adventurous brood of zipliners soared over our heads near our hotel. I remembered a time when I was first in line for a thrill like that. There was a short window of my life in which I embraced adventure and took risks. I was a tried and true scaredy-cat up until I hit thirteen, which was the age I was when I finally dared to ride a roller coaster that went upside down. I didn’t even attempt a waterslide until I was seventeen. Though my kids find it hard to believe, since then I’ve been white water rafting in Costa Rica, mastered ropes courses high up in the redwoods, parasailed over Lake Tahoe, and even skydived all before my 30th birthday. Since the birth of my first child though, my daredevil days have been nonexistent. Sometimes I wonder what happened to that brave version of myself, the one that traveled to the other side of the world without my parents at the age of sixteen. What happened to the me that stood up in front of hundreds of my classmates at graduation and read my very own poem? What happened to me that drove from Chicago to San Francisco with a friend at only eighteen? What happened to the me that ran for student vice president in the fifth grade? (I lost, by the way.) I used to take so many chances. I look at my boring old life now and I feel like a shadow of my former self.

Whereas I used to connect more with Simba, the bold little lion cub in the movie, The Lion King, I now resonate completely with his father, Mufasa. “I’m only brave when I have to be,” he explains to his young son. “Being brave doesn’t mean you go looking for danger,” he adds. It’s easy to blame the demands of motherhood or my ever-aging body for the loss of my affinity for thrills, but it’s not exactly like I want more opportunities to be brave. I’d rather not face danger on purpose, (anymore), thank you very much. I tell myself I got it all out of my system when I was young and I had far less to lose. I’m a “grown-up” now. I have to be responsible. I need to consider my family. I can’t afford to be brave anymore. Has anyone else ever felt this way? If you have, you’re not alone. But while you’re grieving the loss of your courage, I invite you to open a dictionary and see what the word brave means. Webster’s dictionary defines brave as, “having or showing mental or moral strength to face danger, fear, or difficulty.” I don’t know about you, but I can think of plenty of times I have faced “fear or difficulty,” since becoming a parent. Aren’t “fear” and “difficulty” basically synonymous with motherhood? When you look closely at the true definition of bravery, it’s really in the showing of mental or moral strength. Maybe I don’t need white water rapids to test my courage. Maybe my daily grind is already filled with plenty of opportunities to be brave.

In her book, Present Over Perfect, Shauna Niequist pens a chapter titled, “When Brave Looks Boring.” She talks about the comparison she made between herself and her brother, a single, adventurous, world-traveler. Next to him, she felt anything but brave. But it was her brother who first affirmed her, admitting his travels didn’t take bravery as much as building a marriage, a home, and a family did. Oh, man did it resonate with me. All my internal whining about wishing I could still be that brave twenty-something who embraced life to the fullest was silenced by a few short paragraphs. Like Shauna, I’m learning that being brave isn’t necessarily about DOING or GOING or TRYING something adventurous or even dangerous. More often than not, being brave is about hanging in there when the going gets tough, standing your ground, and taking deep breaths when everything in you wants to take the easy way out. So if that’s the case, each one of us can look hard and close at our own lives and find the moments in which we’ve shown tremendous courage, however boring they may seem.

I may not have strapped a parachute to my back since the age of 23, but by 25 I was confessing deep-rooted sin to my new husband and seeking professional counseling for the first time in my life. I was weaning myself off depression medication and stepping out of a ministry partnership with my spouse. Sometimes brave means facing the music, getting the help you need, and learning to stand on your own two feet.

In 2009 I quit a job I loved, a job I was groomed for, to take a position with better pay, better hours, and more long-term possibilities. It was terrifying to make the change from a retail career I knew everything about to an executive assistant for a company I knew absolutely nothing about. I walked into a new office with nothing but a smile and a knack for customer service, hoping for the best. In the end, it didn’t work out, but I made a valiant effort. Sometimes brave is trying something new, and failing big time.

In 2010 I hung in there when six consecutive adoption attempts went wrong. Getting up and dusting myself off after my world had collapsed so many times already required a level of fearlessness I’d never had before. Choosing to adopt a second child less than two years later, well that was downright audacious. Sometimes brave is pushing through the pain, the heartbreak, and the grief, and grabbing the frayed rope of hope that’s dangling at the end of the tunnel.

In 2014 my husband took a new job 900 miles away from our friends, our family, and our home. I followed him with our two-year-old daughter in tow and I built a new life, a new community, a new home from the ground up. It was exhausting and lonely. All this time I thought I just put on a brave face for my daughter’s sake. Now I see it was more than a face. Starting over in a city of strangers was one of the bravest things I’ve ever done. Since making that move I launched a ministry for moms at our church. I only knew a handful of people but I saw a need and I ran with it. I never thought much of it until now. Sometimes brave is wading into uncharted waters because you know there are people out there who need help.

Finally, eleven months ago I started a blog. I followed the call of my heart and the urging of my friends and I started sharing my love for writing with the world wide web. To this day I don’t even know how many people read it, but I know they’re out there. I don’t do it for any other reason than I love it and I’m called to it. Sometimes brave is daring to be vulnerable and authentic with the world. These were all defining seasons of my life, points where my life took a turn in one clear direction or another. If we look for it, we can find bravery there easily enough.

But where is bravery in our daily grind? For me, it’s in things like jumping headfirst into the “sex talk” with my nine-year-old. Any parent will tell you little gets our blood pumping faster than those discussions. Tackling those awkward moments takes courage; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Likewise, standing my ground in disciplining my kids requires genuine moral and mental strength most days (the core definition of “brave”). I stick to my guns. I won’t back down. I follow through no matter what kind of backlash I get from the big attitudes lashing out of their tiny bodies. I recently began letting my daughter attend birthday parties and playdates without me. For our list of reasons, this required a fair amount of courage for both me and my daughter. What is brave for you?

Ignoring a doctor’s assurances and rushing your child to the ER because you know something’s wrong is downright heroic. Every parent who has reassured their child everything’s fine when inside they know everything ISN’T fine is superhuman. Standing up to a boss, a co-worker, a coach, or a teacher (yours or your kids) when you’ve felt disrespected or devalued, is brave. Don’t downplay it. Staying grounded in a marriage that is in desperate need of help is the courage of another level altogether.

My kids and I consistently roll down our windows and talk to homeless people on the corners, asking their names and handing them provisions. A friend of mine commented on how bold that was. I suppose there is a certain amount of risk involved every time I approach a stranger on the street. There’s also a risk in trying new recipes, fasting from certain foods you’ve come to idolize, going without makeup for a week, or really anything that pushes you far outside your comfort zone and into a world in which you have to be mentally, morally, or emotionally strong. Our little acts of bravery are usually not glamorous, trendy, or even noticeable to anyone around us. “Sometimes, brave looks boring, and that’s totally, absolutely okay,” (Shauna Niequist, Present Over Perfect).

I have friends who have opened their homes to foster children when they already have several of their own littles under their roof. I know a single mom who was widowed at the age of 30 and is changing careers, moving across the country, and training up her little boy in the Lord all on her own. I know a beautiful fellow mama who is fighting stage 3 breast cancer, just trying to keep her head above water. I know military spouses who selflessly share their husbands with the front lines of duty and never complain. I have friends who go to bat for their children’s rights, advocate for medical needs, and demand change from our government. They are brave. Every last one of them. They are the Esthers and the Joshuas of my world. You may not know it yet, but so are you. You don’t have to shy away. You don’t have to be afraid. You’re already doing it, and you’re not doing it alone.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” -Joshua 1:9