Of Candles, Courage, and War

Life Stuff

Sometimes life feels like a cruel enemy,

and refusing to let it get the best of us is a great act of courage.

Holding onto hope in the dark times is an act of war.

Courage and hope are twins.

When hope falls down, courage says,

“We can be valiant a little longer.”

When courage is crying in defeat, hope says,

“Let’s light a little candle, right here.”

And that lighting act of hope, daring—however weakly—

to once more make the hard choice,

is also a heroic act of war against the dark.

And every flicker of that candle in the darkest room

is a tiny shout in that dark.

One choice, one candle, can not dispel all the shadows,

but it can light a space.

Because courage and hope believe that darkness is never all there is,

for God is over all, and in Him is no darkness at all.

Courage nurtures the stirrings of faith,

day after disheartening day, that tomorrow might be better.

Courage looks every day in the face and says, “I’ll show up, even if it hurts.”

Courage assesses the mess of a mistake and says, “God can make a message out of this.”

Courage sits quietly with another’s pain and does not try to fix it.

Courage looks into the face of deep personal wrestling

and bravely allows space for it to be.

All of these are acts of battle.

And behind all of these rests hope, silent but alive, giving courage reason.

Courage knows that it’s okay

to dissolve into tears once in a while—or often—

knowing that its tears fall on the feet of the One who gives power to be overcomers.

Courage rejoices in the fulfillment of another’s dream—

perhaps the dreams of many others, one by one—

even while its own dream seems to lie dormant, even discarded.

Courage does not deny that the road is arduous,

but it refuses to pity itself.

Courage marches on, even when the march looks more like a shuffle;

even when circumstances make it appear as though

it might as well curl up in a ball, beside hope, and die.

Courage doesn’t always speak, is not always obvious.

Courageous and hopeful people live right next to you,

or sit beside you on the creaky pews of the local congregation.

This unseen courage is often the bravest kind,

but a kind Father always notices.

It takes enormous courage

to weep in secret, then turn a serene face to meet another day.

But the Father who sees in secret does not miss one shaky breath.

He tenderly surrounds our weakness with strength.

He answers hope with hope.

He teaches our fingers to light candles of war.

Through Him, we send the valiant flame of courage to answer the darkness.

March on with hope and courage, my soul!