 |
Cross-Training: Courage
By Bruce W. Biesenthal
It happened at the municipal swimming pool. I wanted to dive off the high board. The protocol seemed simple. Prospective divers simply got in line, on the ladder, and waited their turn after they had climbed the 16 feet to the top. There were perhaps as many as 10 people on the ladder at any one time, all of whom were at least 35 years younger than I.
One little boy, at the top of the ladder, waited his turn to dive. He tiptoed cautiously to the edge of the board, and froze. He stood absolutely motionless. He could neither jump or dive, nor retreat.
And the hooting began – from the other kids on the ladder and the kids in the pool. “Hurry up!” they shouted. “Jump or back off!” they exclaimed. Some of the yells were insulting – “Sissy”; “Scaredy Cat”; “Baby”; and worse.
And still the boy stood, toes dangling over the edge of the board, unable to move. His little boy’s body was rigid – stiff as the board on which he stood. He had become a statue.
The hollering grew louder. Activity at the pool seemed to cease, as all attention had been drawn to the little boy on the edge of the board. The voices were almost a cacophony of sound.
And then, through the din of howling voices, one soft, female voice could be heard – not because it was louder, but because it was gentle. It came not over the noise of the other voices, but under it. It was the little boy’s mother. “Come on”, she said. “You can do it.” But still, he did not move. And then she said, “Remember why you wanted to do it.” And for the first time, there was slight movement in the little boy’s stance - a deep breath, a slight tensing of the budding muscles in his calves, a rise in his shoulders, a fraction of a second of resumed stillness, and then...
…a jump.
He hit the water feet first, almost as rigid as he had stood on the board. For a couple seconds, he remained underwater – then came bursting through the surface in a flurry of arms and hands and coughs. The sound he heard was clapping. The hoots had turned to acclamation. And he dog-paddled his way to the side of the pool, scrambled out, and melted into the crowd.
I thought about that little boy for a long time afterward – long after I had taken my own turn on the end of the high dive – long after I had left the pool – long after I had gone about the business and the busyness of life.
I kept picturing him – hovering on the brink of decision – paralyzed by the thought of leaping into the air, abandoning the firm board beneath his feet and exchanging it for nothing but empty space.
And I thought about the voice of his mother, slicing through the clamor of the derisive voices, and about what she said… “Remember why you wanted to do it.” None of us at the pool ever knew what that was – but he knew. And he made a choice – his goal was greater than his fear.
And at some point I realized he embodied what all of us experience. My image of him standing at the edge of resolve became symbolic of the challenges that I, and everyone else, face.
We often find ourselves suspended between an aspiration or a goal or a dream - and our fear. There is something we want to reach for – something we want to accomplish – something we want to become or achieve – something we might even feel called to do - but doing so requires leaving the security of where we already are. And there is risk of failure.
I’ve always loved the story of the disciples in the boat, in the middle of a storm, when Jesus walked by. They thought they were seeing a ghost. Jesus said, “Take heart. It is I. Have no fear.”
Peter responded with such a profound statement. He said, “Lord, if it’s You, bid me come to You.” How wonderful. I would have said something like, “Lord, if it’s You – stop my boat from rocking” – or, “Still the storm” – or, “Come get in my boat” - or, “Give me some kind of sign.” But Peter didn’t. It was – “Bid me come to You.”
And Jesus said, “Come.”
And Peter got out of the boat.
And he walked on the water. Peter walked on the water. Oh, after a few moist steps he sank, because he looked down, and Jesus had to save him, but, for a time, he actually walked on the water.
The other 11 disciples stayed in the boat.
What is it that causes some people to get out and walk on the water while others stay in the boat?
Courage? Perhaps.
It’s an interesting word – courage. It comes from the old form “corage”, which means “heart.” It is the heart that creates our dreams and goals. It’s the heart that moves us to do great things – whether those great things are an achievement of some sort, or forgiving someone who has hurt us, or even something as simple as offering help to someone in need. Fear is a heart attack. Fear attacks the heart. Fear threatens to take the heart out of us – causing us to lose heart.
Jesus’ words to the disciples were so empowering – “Take heart.” Don’t let fear conquer your dreams. Don’t let fear overcome the best you can do or be.
The little boy on the diving board was afraid – there was no question about it. His body language said it all. But his mother’s voice reminded him of his goal – and he made the choice to pursue his goal in spite of his fear – that’s courage.
Whether it’s Tommy Maddox, now the quarterback for the Pittsburgh Steelers, who sold his insurance business to pursue his dream of playing in the NFL, or Anne Abernathy, five-time Winter Olympian who gave up everything to follow her dream of competing in the Luge, or a little boy on a diving board, or a kid trying out for the varsity, or a mother going back to school – there comes a point at which the dream must outweigh the fear.
That’s the point of courage.
And if you find yourself out at the edge of the board, wanting to leap off and follow a dream, but suspended by fear, then just listen closely. Underneath the noise of fear, beneath the squalling rationalizations of why you can’t do what you’re about to, you just might hear the soft voice of Jesus, saying, “Take heart.”
And that’s the time to leap.
|
