Roar

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“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow. ” ― Mary Anne Radmacher

I feel like this has been my life for the past few months. With the various changes and pressures swirling around my world, the best I've been able to do is to just try again tomorrow.

Even though I'm loathe to admit it, holidays make me feel lonely. I want to courageously walk out my singleness and remember that my life is filled with a great cast of characters. But when families hunker down and share all those special moments that families have, it's a reminder that I'm not on the same path. But that also reminds me that whenever I'm feeling down, it's usually because I'm focusing on me. But as Max Lucado would remind me, it's not about me. So the little voice in my heart says, "It's ok. You had a down day. But try again tomorrow."

The end of the year puts me in a self-analyzing mode. And I'm nothing but a perfectionist and overachiever. I made some stumbles this year, and I can start feeling very guilty about my fallibility. Truth be told, those critical thoughts roar in my ears sometimes. But then the little voice in my heart says, "It's ok. His grace is sufficient. Try again tomorrow."

Over Thanksgiving, we relocated my grandparents to Maryland to live with my parents. It's a huge thing, and I've found myself in an interesting place as an adult child -- seeing just how much my parents are stressed out, and wanting to do as much as I can (stealthily or overtly) to support them. I would be lying if I said it wasn't exhausting. But every day the little voice in my heart says, "You can do it. Try again tomorrow."

Which brings to mind the Tough Mudder -- this crazy 11-mile race I'm running later this spring. I'm intimidated, and I have to fight for every fitness victory. And when I have to bail out because I just can't complete what I wish I could, the little voice in my heart says, "That's ok. Try again tomorrow."

During my training runs I just keep telling myself, "One more minute. You can do anything for just one minute." And 50 minutes later, I've gone over four miles. And that's the secret, right? To just focus on the step coming next and remember I can do anything for one minute.

I can be joyful in the presence of my stresses for one minute.
I can make good choices with my actions for one minute.
I can take my mind off the hypothetical and celebrate my beautiful reality for one minute.

And when I can't. I can remember courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is just that little voice that says I'll try again tomorrow.

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