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"I've never prized safety, Erich, either for myself or my children. I prized courage." Line from an obscure Jimmy Stewart movie.
Being brave is not something I ever really wanted for my kids. Oh, sure, I paid it lip-service. What kind of mom openly hopes her children will be cowards. But isn't this what I wanted? Children who lived lives of middle class comfort. Dressing primly and properly to attend church on Sunday, tithing the requisite 10%, then going on their happy way until next Sunday rolled around. Then, God set in my midst Mr. Great-heart, whom, upon hearing that there were countries where Christians were persecuted and didn't have access to bibles thought that he should just do something about that. He was 4 or 5. I verbally encouraged him, and, yes, I was proud that he'd do such a thing, but inwardly I was probably happy he was the only one of the five who did.
Lately, not so much. Lately I feel this desire to pray that all my boys will be that brave. That they will look at the injustice that the world perpetrates and feel called to do something, regardless the risk. If they do, I must do the thing I really don't want to do...be brave myself. Coz that's what it comes down to for a mom. If her kids are brave, she has to be twice as brave. She has to support them in their battle, and wage her own in her heart and mind. I didn't really want to be brave. I wanted a life of comfort and ease, like everyone around me in our middle class America. I wanted to call what I was living brave, when it really wasn't.