The Art of Becoming Brave

The only thing that tells me it is water, is the sound it makes. 

Everything is black. The sound of ink. If I hadn't come through this exact location an hour before, I would have no concept of where I am. I can hear the shouts and laughter of others around me, and if I focus, I can see the faint, faded yellow light in front of me. 

Right. Left. Right. Left. My oar reaches deep into the blackness, and where it enters, the water glows. Hundreds of sparkles, teal luminescence... leaving no traces, but definitely real for one second -  possibly two, depending on how slowly we plunge our oars into the water. 

We are on our way back to the dock, and our kayak is soaked, inside and out. My shoes are soggy, my hair is plastered to the back of my neck, and my eyes are wide open to the darkness. I hear Tim's breathing behind me, and I know we are safe - but still, my senses cannot be blamed for the shiver they affect. 

Right. Left. Into the water, out of the water, we move forward through the dark. 

This is what it feels like, to go kayaking, in the dark, in a bioluminescent bay, in Puerto Rico.

- - -

If you had told me this would someday be a memory of mine... I doubt I would have believed you. But I've been trying something, lately.

It's something that doesn't come easy for me. It's something I struggle with, and often am on my face before God about. It's the practice of doing new things, with intention. Of dipping my toes in the water. Plunging in. Getting in the kayak... pick your metaphor.

It's learning the art of becoming brave. 

Now, I know there are thousands (millions) of people who are more "brave" than me, on a physical level. But I'm not one of those people for whom "bravery" and "extreme sports" are synonymous... Even though bravery does often have physical expressions (such as me deciding to kayak through a dark bay to find out if it glows), I'm not talking about just physical bravery.

And I'm also not talking about taking risks for the sake of taking risks, which is often what our country seems to define "bravery" as.

I'm talking about the type of bravery that may or may not ever be witnessed by another. The type that often builds itself up at night when you're praying to the ceiling, when no one else knows what you're facing, except God.

I'm talking about the bravery you learn in that moment, when it's made clear that the future of a relationship depends on your extending grace and forgiveness. Or the courage it takes to defend something that is right. The nerve it takes to confront in love, for the sake of Love.

Or the courage it takes, to simply try something new... To get in a kayak, in the dark, in Puerto Rico. To get plugged-in to a small group at church. To walk into a crowded room, alone.

For an audience of One.

- - -

Bravery. I've prayed for it, all my life. But within the past 3-4 months, I've been praying something a bit different. Instead of asking God to make me brave, I've been asking Him to give me opportunities to begin practicing bravery. 

One prayer is passive. The other is active. It has changed things.

As our pastor put it so plainly, this morning at church... we will be who we are becoming. None of us will wake up one day, and suddenly be something we haven't worked to become. It doesn't work that way spiritually, nor does it work that way physically. If I want to lose ten pounds, I need to go for a run. If I want to become more godly, I need to pick up my Bible and read it.

Becoming, takes discipline. Practice. Good choices, accountability, sometimes lots of prayer, or even sweat and tears.

But it works. We will be who are becoming.

- - -

There are a lot of things I desire to be. I desire to be healthy. To be wise. To be witty. To be a good wife. To be fit. To be someone others want to hang out with. But in each of these areas, often the starting place is for me to be brave, in some way.

Push myself to run, when I think I can only walk. Pray for wisdom, even when I think a situation is impossible. Buy those skinny jeans, simply because they are fun. Choose to go to that new class, even though I don't know a soul. Make plans with someone, instead of staying in.

Bravery.

Often looking less like an epic act of heroism, and more like a lifetime of quiet surrenders and small, important victories. A way of walking. A posture of becoming.

An art-form of trust... trust in God, and the plans He has.

It's one I'm learning to practice - one small step, one extended hand, one shaky effort, one precious, important victory at a time.

In the hopes that one day, I will find that I am that which I strove to become. In the hopes that one day, I will look back and realize... I finally became something I was always intended to be.