We can’t always be brave, but we can get out of bed in the morning, even when the demons of the night have held us captive in clammy moments of terror. When sleep is a foreign concept.
We can find reasons to live when our mind screams otherwise. Yes, this is brave.
We can sit with another as they face the end of their life with regrets, grieve their unrealized dreams, and cherish their memories.
Without words, we can gently hold the hand of the young mother about to lose her child. Our hands touching, being the strength allowing her to be present for one more moment. Yes, this is brave.
We can’t always be brave.
We can go to the street where a fire has devastated homes, and bless the survivors with words spilling out from the throat, from the heart, from the precious sanctuary of this moment. Only this moment. Yes, this is brave.
We can’t always be brave, but we can sigh deeply as we slowly breathe our way into forgiveness, even when bitterness and anger feel more comfortable.
We can love with the music of the wind on our faces, and create a new life when climate change is burning, wars exploding, and the future uncertain. Yes, this is brave.
We can’t always be brave, but we can speak the truth about injustice when doing so is bigger than our own safety.
We can continue to breathe, go to the grocery store, eat a meal, and get dressed when our hearts are broken and shattered. Shattered and broken. Yes, this is brave.
We can’t always be brave, but we can cry out for a witness, for accompaniment on the journey of despair. We can take the hand offered. And hold on.
We can sway, moan, groan, wail. We can sing. Yes, this is brave. All of it.
We can’t always be brave, but we can dance.
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