The Courage to Reach

Thunder shakes the windows, the old wood floorboards and our rickety table at the coffee shop, pebble-sized hail plinking against the panes. Safe from the storm, I dig deeper in the work on my laptop, focus on the indie music in my air pods, my friend Erica, busy with tasks on her tablet. We break for conversation, comments on the odds of getting struck by lightning, learn the odds aren’t too out of reach, of talking in tongues, the spiritual realm among us, and the joys of overflooding toilets and homeownership.

It’s been so long since I carried on regular, albeit random, conversations like this and paid attention to them, realizing this is part of my life, and I am living it. That my mind has been present, focused, steady even.

For agonizing seasons, crippling anxiety and fear strangled me, did their best to bend me and keep me keeled over in troublesome thinking. I wondered how I’d get through some days for months, wondered when—if—I would recognize healing and know that I am out of the woods. And, if I did find the shaft of sunlight directing me out, would the ground be steady enough to hold my full weight as I pressed down one foot, and then then other?

Perhaps the storm has passed, but has the wreckage? In the debris strewn all over the lawn, the splinters of logs broken off from once-sturdy trees, where do I begin to pick up this mess, eye the horizon for familiar landscape again?

Yesterday sparks the memory of this catalyst to questions. In my living room as I stare at my counselor across my computer screen, she asks a simple question that squeezes my heart and starts the tears. Unannounced, this brave body of mine reacts, recognizing I’m not quite in the clear. This leads to other examinations that take me into an emotional excavation that prompts me to ask myself a few more questions that catch my body and soul off guard, surprised at the way I respond again to the hitch in my heart and twist of my tears.

What do I want the courage to reach for today?

This question has a quick answer: I want to love my days again.

Before all this, before my brain went haywire and my body lagged like lead, I’d savor each small moment throughout the day—steam from my coffee, the soft blue liquidizing like the lake in my husband Eric’s eyes when we danced slow in the kitchen, the short conversation with the woman ringing up my yogurt and raspberries at the grocery store, when my hands pulled back the soft duvet and bed sheet and I slid my body into my cloud of a bed, the day replayed through my mind and I lay with my head plush in the pillow, thankful and satisfied.

It’s taken a long time to trust my body and brain again. I suppose I’m still subconsciously waiting for the next shoe to drop, protecting myself in an upside-down way to warn myself not to get too comfortable in case this precarious world of mine collapses on itself.

What can I do but wait through this healing and keep soothing my scared self that I’m still here and God has not once dropped me out of the palm of His hand?

Courage can be counterintuitive, like laying another desire of my heart on the altar at God’s feet and trusting in a character I’ve been tempted to misunderstand. Courage can come soft, like rain easing from the pavement and slow breath breezing through my lungs.

What do I want the courage to reach for today?

Courage. The strength and decision to act on a hope building to belief. To reach out my heart and see what it feels like in the hand of God.

Courage to reach, yes, but also, what is reaching out for me today? Where am I unaware that life has been moving closer?

Because life has been moving closer. Pieces, jumbled, blurred, subtly becoming clear in micro moments. Miniscule, the kind I have to squint up close to see, but see, nonetheless.

My phone tells me it’s 5:30 PM. Erica left half an hour ago. Apparently, I’ve been caught up in the coffee shop atmosphere, the music in my ears and the fact that I am typing away while thunder rolls and rain pads down the sky. Caught up in the musing that I am here, and the world is here around me.

Yes, I’ve tucked Bible verses in the pockets of my mind to hold to in the torrent of disbelief, the doubts and lies assailing me in endless hours. My anchor points, holding to the promise of God’s Word alive and active, counting on Him to fight on my behalf.

“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” Exodus 14:14

“So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10

But the Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen you and protect you from the evil one. 2 Thessalonians 3:3

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.” Psalm 91:1-2

They’ve been on my tongue, on repeat, until I could believe them myself.

As I’ve begun to heal, begun to grow, His Word has lit my path, even as I’ve wrestled with the fears that still shake my heart. But I am learning that honesty with Him is the best remedy, the quick sink into intimacy when I bare myself and hold my hurts out for God to receive and coax me deeper into myself, to meet who I am where He already is.

Courage is admitting what I want. To name the life that still rolls through me, the core of who I am, the desire to squeeze every ounce out of my days.

Courage is closing my backpack for the day and stepping into the rain. It’s walking down the pavement while fast falling droplets slide down my jacket and I notice the green buds popped on branches, color stark against the rusted sky. It’s the quiet voice within that just may be finding its song. A new song, but one that’s somehow familiar.