Courage

I have spent much of my life being afraid.   I have always been different, and while I wasn't an outcast, I never knew how to belong to a group.  I remember as a  young teenager I would start journals time after time during school breaks with lists of all the things I was going to change about myself, from my laugh to my clothes.  I shake my head as I type this.  It seems so very long ago.  And yet I still distinctly remember the sting of believing that God made me wrong, that I had an inherent flaw that I could not escape.

For my first twenty-five years or so I had few people in my life who saw me as something special.  I was not one of them.  It wasn't until my late twenties, starting my life anew, that I came to appreciate those things about me that stood me apart from others.  I worked hard to overcome my insecurities and look at myself for who I really am.  What I saw was a woman who had no idea how to be an adult.  I was (am?) a bit neurotic and too sensitive and made plenty of mistakes.  I also saw that I was beautiful and those things that make me different are actually now my favorite things about myself.  And while I didn't know how to be an adult on my own, I knew I could get there - that I could one day become the amazing woman God created me to be.

When I was 29, I met a man unlike anyone I'd ever known before.  He became my best friend.  I married him.  I followed him far far away.  Our journey began in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.  We then travelled to his home country of France.  After three years there, we moved to Scotland, where we have been for almost a year.

I have spent much of my life being afraid.  In France I was afraid of just about everything.  I spoke no French and was deeply intimidated.  The courage I fought so hard to find in Oklahoma seemed to leave me.  I was an alien in a foreign land.  I was afraid of roundabouts, which were everywhere.  I was afraid of going to the butcher.  Being a perfectionist, I had no interest in fumbling about in a language that sounded to me like nasal gibberish.  I was very very afraid of what people would think of me.  How silly.  Still, it was real to me and it hindered what I could do.

So.  I practiced roundabouts.  We lived in the small town Abbeville (prounced ab-ville or sometimes ab-uh-ville) in the north of France, where, with knuckles whitened from gripping the steering wheel too tightly, I would drive on and off one of the small roundabouts near our home.  It took a few months, but I went to the butcher.  He laughed at me once.  I was trying to ask what cut of lamb to use for a cous cous and the old man who I'd thought was nice went into the back and talked about me, which I could see.  The men he spoke to looked to find me.  I met their eyes directly and shook my head; they lowered theirs.  I was embarrassed, but I went back.  Eventually, we all became friends.  My French was never perfect, but to my relief, I realized that it didn't have to be.

While adjusting to my new surroundings my husband and I suffered great loss.  I thought the sadness might overtake me.  Quite frankly, it very nearly did.  But I didn't let it.  It was a careful and conscious choice.  One foot in front of the other, I overcame the sadness.  The loss has become a part of me, but I choose to focus on what I gained.  I experienced great love.  I gained insight.  Though for a time I struggled to see where God was during my greatest need, I slowly began to see He'd never left.

When I prayed, I heard no answer.  I started to wonder what the point of praying was.  Then a knock at my door came, literally.  Some of the neighborhood children brought me flowers for no reason.  We chatted.  They came back twice more with more flowers (that were really just weeds).  We had a picnic in the front lawn with chocolate cake and milk.  I gained a friend.  She was ten years old.  When I left France, she gave me a note and her favorite necklace.  God does not always answer our prayers with thunder and miracles.  Sometimes, He sends us little rosy-cheeked angels bearing flower-weeds.

Now, after all that, I'm not afraid anymore, at least not like I used to be.  I still have a lot of growing to do.  One thing God has reminded me of again and again is: "to whom much is given, much is required."  To this, I will respond with a great quote from Mother Teresa: "I know God won't give me more than I can handle; I just wish He didn't trust me so much!"  I say this with a smile.  Life abroad is wonderful and amazing and I have seen and experienced things I once thought I'd only ever read about in books.  It is also often difficult and sometimes lonely.  Still.  I am, among all women, most richly blessed.

I have found that courage doesn't necessarily mean forging ahead without fear.  Sometimes, true courage is carrying on in spite of it.