My dog, Daisy, does not deal well with the unexpected. Garbage can on the sidewalk instead of the curb? She barks at it! A neighbor who she's seen many times before wears a new hat? Barking time! A construction vehicle is parked at the end of the street we walk down? She goes crazy! Daisy is not the smartest dog (yet also not the dumbest), but she barks at these perceived threats as a way of warning me and everyone else about them. She barks because she doesn't really know what else to do when confronted with a new situation. Now, I can't really explain to her that she doesn't need to fear these things, because I don't speak Dog. If I did, I could convince her to stop barking at every mail or UPS truck that drives past our front window.
So far, the best way of dealing with it is to tell Daisy in a soothing voice, "it's going to be okay." Then, I let her approach the garbage can/stationary vehicle/person and let her sniff and see it up close. She is usually able to determine that this person or thing is not a threat to her (except in the case of trucks, which she still views as mortal enemies for some reason).
In some ways I am not unlike Daisy. I also don't do well with change. My life is pretty safe and comfortable, and I don't really go out of my way to step outside my comfort zone. Drastic change takes courage, and I lack either the willpower or strength to strike out bravely into the unknown.
In the novel "To Kill A Mockingbird," the character Atticus Finch defines courage as "...when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what." That isn't a quality I really find in myself. What is the source of that type of courage, and how do I get me some of that?
The title of this post is taken from the Mormon hymn "Come, Come, Ye Saints," which was written by Mormon poet William Clayton. The third verse reads, in part: "Gird up your loins, fresh courage take./Our God will never us forsake." Clayton wrote the poem in Winter Quarters, Nebraska, before he set out as part of the first group of saints to head to the Salt Lake Valley. Along the way, he was assigned to chart the progress of the company and measure distances, partially in order to help the thousands of others who would also be making the journey. Initially, he counted the revolutions of the wheel by hand and used the wheel's circumference to measure distances. Eventually, with the help of others, Clayton invented a wagon odometer that would number the wheel revolutions.
The courage of the pioneers was measured one step or one wagon wheel revolution at a time. They just kept moving forward (in some ways, they didn't really have a choice). And really, the only way to take that fresh courage that we each need is to keep walking forward, one step at a time, even when we know we're licked before we begin. It reminds me of the final scene of the movie "The Martian," where Matt Damon's character is teaching a group of potential astronauts about how to survive the dangers of space: "At some point everything is going to go south on you. Everything is going to go south and you're going to say 'This is it. This is how I end.' Now you can either accept that or you can get to work. That's all it is. You just begin. You do the math, you solve one problem. Then you solve the next one, and then the next and if you solve enough problems you get to come home."
Easter is usually associated (rightly) with hope. But this Easter, I'm wishing you courage for whatever challenges, changes, or obstacles you face. Gird up your loins, fresh courage take! Keep walking forward. Maybe I can do the same.
