A Lesson in Courage

 

I left my house early yesterday morning before anyone else was awake. A couple miles down the road I realized I had forgotten something on the kitchen counter and turned around to go back for it. I pulled up to the front of the house, punched in the key code and entered through the front door rather than opening up the garage. As I walked into the living room towards the kitchen, I heard my son sprint down the hallway and run down the stairs.

It warmed my heart that he would be so enthusiastic about greeting me that morning. I gave him a big hug, told him I loved him and headed back out to the car (after grabbing my water bottle off the counter, of course). It wasn’t until I got home later that night that I learned why he had come downstairs in such a hurry.

My son had not rushed out of his room and down the stairs to give me a hug before I left. He had been asleep and was awakened by our security system alert, “front door open,” and in his sleepy daze, assumed an intruder had entered the house! He never thought it was me because I always come through the garage. Nor did he expect me to be coming back home at all until evening.  

I asked what he planned to do when confronted with the burglar and he told me all he had was a pocket-knife and he knew he was in trouble, especially if the intruder had a weapon. But he knew he must do something to protect his family.

Somehow, in the seconds it took him to wake up, process what was going on, and grab a pocket knife, he was able to weigh the consequences of his actions and decided protecting his sleeping mother, two sisters and three little brothers was worth whatever cost was required of him. My son is ten. I don’t know how many grown men would have responded like that.

That is what courage looks like.

It is boldness without a guarantee – and not even the likelihood – of success. It is taking action, not because you have all the answers or know exactly what to do, but because you know something must be done. It is sprinting forward in the midst of fear because the alternative – doing nothing – is even more horrific. It is entering the battle, not because you are certain to win, but because you know you must put up a fight. It is giving up the right to wait until more information is available, until you are better prepared, or until you have all the right tools, because time is of the essence. It is embracing failure and pain for the safety and wellness of others.

Thank you, Bryson, for giving me a lesson in courage.