What it Means to be Brave

I just spent a week on the brink of the world.

There is something about staring out over a different kind of frontier, one that was crossed by brave men so many years ago.

It takes a lot of courage to cross a new frontier.  The plains, the mountains, the ocean.  They all stare us down and dare us to come find what's on the other side.

What sits beyond the vast that separates us from the unknown?

The vastness of our great world, the majesty of our God, the infinite heart of the cross - if we are brave enough to stand on the brink, to look at where we sit and say it boldly...I want something more.  What could we find? 

Can we can say it, believe it, own it, and take our first steps towards an unknown pilgrimage...towards a holy that only stands on the other side of labor and backbreaking sacrifice?

It's pretty comfortable here, in this warm house, in my complacent state, leaning on my own understanding, loving the small way I know how.

Thankfully, we were never called to a life of comfort, but one of endless journeying and sacrifice. We aren't called to stand on the sand, stare at glory, and walk away from it.

Let's walk together.  Let's journey together.  Let's get in some ramshackle boats, nailed together by a bunch of women who know nothing about nails, and let's trust we won't sink.  Let's cross our oceans, our plains, journey over our mountains and stand in a place of renewal.  Let us never believe the journeying is always for someone else.  Let us move swiftly, labor lovingly, work tirelessly, and never quit until we look back at the ocean that separated us from our place of holiness.

Maybe we'll see it differently.  Maybe we'll see a shadow of ourselves on the other side.  A young woman, toes near the water, afraid to cross for the crashing waves.  We will close our eyes, open our arms wide to the salt, and give thanks for a safe pilgrimage, for the leading of our God, and for a journey worthy of death...that brought us to life.