Brave

I was at the courthouse filing divorce papers yesterday. It did start me thinking about being brave, though. Because I need to be brave right now and I’m not. I know what to do but I’m not sure I have the courage to do it. To stand in my own truth, immovable. Like my hands, that morning at the bank. The notary was working on stamping the papers I signed. This is not pleasant. But I do feel curiously strong. “How does it feel?” Powerful. Our bodies will tell us what we need in the moment. Standing in my own truth. Immovable. Brave.

I went to the temple that afternoon. I sat with hands on my steering wheel and over and over again, heard words of truth and blessing and promise. My spirit soaked up those promises like the rain coming down because I recognized that for me, today, those powerful words were an infusion of courage, of perspective, of peace. I know what I know. Even when I am afraid to know it, I know.

This evening, I went to a bookstore downtown to read from a new book, When Women Were Birds. Now, there is a brave woman. I read about how Mormon women journaled their lives and their polygamous grandmothers. The author explored the mystery of her mother’s blank journals, three shelves full, and looked deeply at the notion of Voice. She said she’s done only two things religiously in her life: kept a journal and used birth control. I read and loved her beautiful words and wished I were brave enough to be the kind of Mormon woman who would choose to be like that. Brave means being willing to stand alone. It means standing in my own truth. Brave is voicing the truth, no matter the consequences.

We go in and out of brave. Apparently, even the brave do. I was heartened to read of how long it took her to face the feelings that arose when she discovered that the journals her mother had bequeathed to her were all empty. Years, she admitted. Sometimes it takes a long time to conjure the courage to acknowledge the truth. To say it. Or write it. To do the hard thing. To stand immovable – shaking in our boots, perhaps — but standing, nonetheless, in Truth. Brave isn’t fearless. Brave is being true to the truth despite our fear. It’s telling the truth to ourselves first, then voicing that truth to others, no matter what they think of us or do to us. Sometimes brave is being silent. Like all those blank journals.

I don’t know if you ever feel brave in the middle of a brave act. When you raise your hand in Sunday school. When you choose to have a child. When you choose to leave. Or to stay. To speak up. Or stay silent. Brave comes wrapped in fear. But it’s a gift, worth the risk of opening. Because at the heart of Brave is Truth. And Truth is the only thing that can make us free.