Bravery looks different than I thought.
Bravery isn’t strength. It isn’t being tough.
(Therefore, weakness isn’t cowardice).
Bravery is admitting weakness. It’s crying.
It’s facing the sin in my heart and grieving over it instead of just being strong and tough and never dealing with it.
Bravery is grief. It’s grieving my losses and my longings. Facing them. Letting them make me sad, disappointed, confused.
Bravery shows up in surprising ways: it looks like tears and reflection and processing and no quick answers but choosing to walk the path of Jesus anyways.
That’s bravery: continuing on the path of Jesus. Not being so strong and “together” that I don’t need him.
Bravery starts on the inside and moves out.
It’s using my voice even when I don’t know how to say it right.