Praiseforlet’sallbebrave.

I firstmetAnnieDowns thesummershemoved toNashville,and I rememberthinkingshewasthebravestpersonIknew.It’snoeasythingtoleaveallthatisfamiliarandcomfortabletoventureintotheunknown.ButIhavewatchedGodhonor that decision and domore throughAnnie than I’m sure she could haveeverimagined.HerwillingnesstofollowwhereGodleadsisalloverthepagesofLet’sAllBeBrave.Youwillbe inspired, challenged, and,hopefully, led tostepout infaith tonewplaces inyour lifeasyoureadAnnie’swordsandfeelhercheeringyouonandreassuringyouthatGodwillmeetyouateveryturn.

MELANIESHANKLE,NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofSparklyGreenEarringsandTheAntelopeintheLivingRoom

ForyearsI’vesaidthatpartofourjobistobebraveandgofirstsothatwegiveotherpeople thegiftofgoing second. In thisbookAnniedidexactly that. It’syourturnnow.

JONACUFF,NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofStart

Therearecertaintypesofpeoplewhoarecapableofnudgingustowardcouragewithoutmaking us feel small or insignificant, andAnnie is at the front of theline.She isyour favorite friend, theonewho laughsat everydang thing,whotellsstoriesyouthinkmustsurelybeinvented(andyettheyarenot),andinthemidst of it all, youdiscoveryouaredreamingnewdreams.Shehasdone thatwithLet’sAllBeBrave,andbeforeyouevenmeanto,youareputtingyourYESonthetable.

JENHATMAKER,authorofInterruptedand7:AnExperimentalMutinyAgainstExcess

MyfriendAnnieisatreasure,andherbookisfulloflove,warmth,andcourage.Ican’twaittoshareitwithsomanyfriendssowecancheereachotherontothekindofbraveryAnnieiscallingusto.

SHAUNANIEQUIST,authorofBread&Wine

Annie is everyone’s best friend. Imagine sharing coffee, amidst outbursts oflaughter,asshestirsyourhearttobebrave.You’llwalkawaywithnewvision,someonecheeringyouon,andaskipinyourstep.

REBEKAHLYONS,authorofFreefalltoFly

I’ve never associated myself with the word bravery. But as I read Annie’spoetic, rivetingwords, it occurred tome that I’vemisunderstood the concept.For me, it was always BIG and DRAMATIC and FILLED WITHEXCITEMENT. It was jumping from a cliff into the water, conquering theheights—andsometimesthat’swhatitis.Butit’salsolearningtosayno,andrecognizing the way Jesus has gifted you uniquely for the journey you walktoday.It’slisteningforHisvoiceandsteppingoutinobedienceandfaith,evenbeforeyouknowthedetailsofwhat’s tocome.Onlya fewchapters in,Anniehadconvincedmeofsomethingradicallycomforting—thatbeingbravelooksdifferentforeveryone,andthereiseveryreasontobelieveIcandoitrightherewhereGodhasplantedme.

ANGIESMITH,bestsellingauthorofWhatWomenFearandChasingGod

AnnieDowns is a comedic artist, a relational genius, andbasically oneof thebravestwomenIknow.Herwordssoundlikefriendshipandfeel likecourage,offeringhopeforthoseofuswhowanttolivefreeinsteadofscared.Let’sAllBeBraveisfresh,relatable,andlife-giving—herbestbookyet.

EMILYP.FREEMAN,authorofAMillionLittleWays:UncovertheArtYouWereMadetoLive

I am so grateful for Annie’s voice and her courageous story in Let’s All BeBrave.Authentic,moving,andcompletelyrelatable,Anniehasdoneanamazing

job of encouraging others to cast off fear and embrace an adventurous life offaith,bravery,andvulnerability.

NISHWEISETH,authorofSpeak:HowYourStoryCanChangetheWorldandeditorinchiefofdeeperstory.com

Thisisthebooksomanyofusneedtoread.Findingcouragerightwhereweareiswhatwillchangetheworld.AnnieDownswriteswhatshelivesandbelieves,andwe can feel it on everypage.Anyone looking togrow in couragewill bebraverforreadingthis.

JEREMYCOWART,celebrityphotographerandfounderoftheOKDOTHISmobileappandHelp-Portrait

AnnieDownstellsthetruthbetterthanjustaboutanybodyIknow.InLet’sAllBeBrave,sheweavesGod’struthinandthroughherowntruestoriestomakeusthinkaboutwhatrealbraverylookslike.Andwhilethewholenotionofbraveryseemstoconjureupimagesoffairytalesorsuperheroes,Annieshowsthatreal-lifebraveryisreallyamatterofwhisperingyestowhateverpromptingGodputsonyourheart.Annie’sbeautifullywrittenwords,whichare filledwithhumor,tenderness,andgodlywisdom,willremindyouthatwhilerespondingtoGod’scall requirescourage, livingabrave life isworth thesacrifice.He isworth thesacrifice.Everysingletime.

SOPHIEHUDSON,authorofALittleSaltytoCuttheSweetandbloggeratBooMama.net

ZONDERVAN

Let’sAllBeBraveCopyright©2014byAnnieF.DownsePubEdition©May2014:ISBN978-0-310-33793-5

Requestsforinformationshouldbeaddressedto:Zondervan,3900SparksDr.SE,GrandRapids,Michigan49546

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataDowns,AnnieF.,1980–Let’sallbebrave:livinglifewitheverythingyouhave/AnnieF.Downs.

pagescmISBN978-0-310-33795-9(softcover)1.Christianlife.I.Title.

BV4501.3.D6972014248.4—dc23

2014004153

AllScripturequotations,unlessotherwiseindicated,aretakenfromTheHolyBible,NewInternationalVersion®,NIV®.Copyright©1973,1978,1984,2011byBiblica,Inc.®Usedbypermission.Allrightsreservedworldwide.

ScripturequotationsmarkedMSGare taken fromTheMessage.Copyright©1993,1994,1995,1996,2000,2001,2002.UsedbypermissionofNavPressPublishingGroup.

AnyInternetaddresses(websites,blogs,etc.)andtelephonenumbersinthisbookareofferedasaresource.TheyarenotintendedinanywaytobeorimplyanendorsementbyZondervan,nordoesZondervanvouchforthecontentofthesesitesandnumbersforthelifeofthisbook.

Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthispublicationmaybereproduced,storedinaretrievalsystem,ortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans—electronic,mechanical,photocopy,recording,oranyother—exceptforbriefquotationsinprintedreviews,withoutthepriorpermissionofthepublisher.

Cover design: hand-lettering and illustration: Kristi Smith–Juicebox Designs Interior illustration: Kristi Smith–Juicebox DesignsInteriordesign:BethShageneFirstPrintingJune2014

ForNashville

contents

anotefromtheauthor

anhonestmomentjuststartbelievenashvilleedinburghyourpeopleyourtalentsyourwordssayyessaynoholdonletgoathomearoundtheworldeverydayyouhaveeverythingyouhavethewhytherhythmjesusgood-bye

thankyousoundsgoodtome

Thisisanotherday,OLord.

Iknownotwhatitwillbringforth,butmakemeready,Lord,forwhateveritmaybe.

IfIamtostandup,helpmetostandbravely.

IfIamtositstill,helpmetositquietly.

IfIamtolielow,helpmetodoitpatiently.

AndifIamtodonothing,letmedoitgallantly.

Makethesewordsmorethanwords,

andgivemetheSpiritofJesus.

Amen.

BOOKOFCOMMONPRAYER

anotefromtheauthor

I lovewriting in coffee shops. I love the hubbub of drinksbeingmadeandcustomerspassingthrough,theconversationsallaround,andthesmell of hot drinks and baked goods. So for each essay in this book, I’veincluded the location where I wrote a portion, if not all, of that particularchapter. Think of me the next time you stop in at one of the coffee shopsmentioned.

Thisbookisfullofstories—theonesI’velived,observed,andheardfromothers. I retell them to the best of my ability, as memory serves me. A fewnamesanddetailshavebeenchangedinordertohonorthoseIlove,haveloved,orcouldenduplovinginthefuture.

anhonestmoment

March2013Mydiningroomtable,Nashville,Tennessee

I’mnotbrave.Ilackcourage.I’mthirty-threeyearsold,andIsometimescrywhenIleavemyparents’homeinGeorgiatodrivebacktomylittlebrickhouse inNashville. Ihavenever jumpedoutof aplane, and IonlyriderollercoasterswhenI’mtryingtoimpressaboy.

Somepeopleliveforanadrenalinerush.Iliveforasugarrush.Idon’tthinkitisfuntorisk,togamble,topossiblylose.Ilikesafety,smart

choices, and learning the easyway. Tellme it’s a bad idea and I’m going tobelieveyou.

Afewmonthsago,myfriendLyndsay’scarranoutofgas.(SomethingthatdoesnothappentomebecauseIdonotletmygasgaugegobelowaquarterofatank.Ineveroncesawthe“lowgas”lightcomeoninmyfirstcar.Idon’tknowifitevenworked.Neverriskedit.)ButLyndsayisanatural-bornrisker,andshepushesthattwo-doorcoupetoitsgassylimits.

SohercarcoastedintoNichole’sparkinglot,andLyndsaycarefullydirectedit into a slot. Itwasout of gas, out of fumes, literally just rollingbecause thewheelsareround.BeforesittingdownfordinnerwithNichole,Lyndsaycalledherboyfriend,whobroughtoveracanofgas.Whileshewasstillatthetable,hefilleduphertankwithafewgallonsofgasandthendrovehome.Whenshewasreadytoleave,hercarworkedfine.

Lyndsay toldme thenextday,“Thatdidnothurtenoughformenot todothatagain.”

She’s the valedictorian at the School of Learning theHardWay.And shewearsitlikeaMs.Tennesseesashandcrown.

That’showrisktakersroll.ThatisnothowIroll.ButIwanttobebrave.AndI’mgoingtoaskyoutobebravetoo,evenifyou,likeme,don’ttaketo

itnaturally.I’mheretoaskyoutopleasedothatthinginyourheartthatscaresyou to death.Tomake thatmoveor leapor step or soundyouwouldn’t havemadeaweekago.

Thereisnoformulaandtherearenorules.ThereistheBible,ourguidebookfor all things, but other than that, being brave is organic and spiritual and auniquejourneyforeachperson.

Iwon’tbemakinga listofbrave thingsyoushoulddo. Iwon’tbesaying,“Hereisexactlywhatcouragelookslike”or“Ifyouwanttoreallyriskinawaythatimpactsthepeoplearoundyou,dotheseparticularthings.”Idon’tthinkthatworks. I don’t think you needme to tell youwhat to do. I think you know. Ithinkyoujustneedalittlepregamewarm-up.Alittlesomethingtooomphyoualong.Anunderstandingofthemapyouareholding.

I had lunchwithmy friendsChris and Jimmy thisweek, andwewere talkingabout this very subject.AndChris said, “Courage implies action, like you aregoing somewhere or going to do something.”Courage.Maps.Movement.Wetalked aboutwhat itmeans to be on yourmap andoff yourmap andwhetherthere’samapatall.

Ileftthatbarbecuelunchbuzzingwithhopeandideas.Ilovetalkingaboutwhatcouragelookslike(probablymorethanIlikeactuallylivingit).Ithinkanappreciationforbravepeopleandbravemomentshasbeeninmeforever.Tothisday,my favorite Steven Curtis Chapman song is “Burn the Ships” fromwaybackinthemid-90s.It’sasongaboutSpaniardssailingforMexicoin1519,anduponarrivalandinthemidstofmanyhardshipstheywishedtheycouldgoback.Insteadtheydecidedtoburntheirships.Staythereforever.Andfigureoutwhatthatlifewouldhold.

Brave.That stuck with me when I first heard the song as an awkward middle

schooler—sometimesyousetsailwithoutaviewofthedestination,trustingthetools you’ve got. And once you get there, you stay. You move forward, notbackward.Youburnyourships.

Inmymind,whenIthinkaboutyouandmeandwherewearegoing,Iseeshipssailingandmapswavinginthebreezeandforksintheroad.IseeairplanearcsontinytelevisionscreensandIseenavigationaltoolsstrewnacrossadesk.

Iseeaction.Movement.Travel.Xmarksthespot,butit’snotabouttheX.(Also,it’snotaboutyourex.)It’s

aboutgettingthere.It’saboutthebravethingsyouhavetodobetweenhereandthere to make you the person your X deserves. (Again, not what your exdeserves.Youhavegottogetoverhimorher.)

But here’s the problem: I’m known for getting lost. I cannot be trusted tolead if we need to get from here to there. So if you’re on a journey or anexpeditionoranadventure,I’mgoingtogetyoulost.

IfIhadmypickingsofwhatflawstobeknownfor,I’dgoforsomethinglike“toopretty”or“toonice.”Insteadit’susually“toodirectionallychallengedtobeinchargeatthismoment.”(Oranymomentoftravel,really.)MamaalwayssaidI’dmarryamapmaker—itwouldbetheonlywaytobalanceoutthedeficitinmyskillset.Soanycartographersoutthere,giveagirlacall.

Ilovemaps.BeforeSiriwouldtalktomeonmyiPhoneandtellmewhentoturn right andwhen to turn left and redirectme because somehow I had stillmissed the turn, Ihada lotofmaps inmycar. I stillhavea fewbecause,youknow,I’mmeandIgetlostandIcan’tgettoomuchdirectionalassistance.

Ineedmaps.Andsodoyou.Mapsofthemallbecause,seriously,Ijustneedto pop into Gap for a breezy white cardigan. Maps of the airport becauseAtlanta’sairportispracticallyitsowncity.Mapsofyourtownandmapsofyourstate.Mapsoftheplacesyou’vebeenthatyouneverwanttoforgetandmapsoftheplacesyouwanttogoto.

Your life,start to finish, isamap.AndweareHERE.That’sall Iknow. Idon’tknowwhereyou’vebeenandIdon’tknowwhereyourmapwilltakeyou.I only know therewill bemomentswhenyou feel like themaphas turnedorchangedandmomentswhenyourealizeyou’vereadthismapwrongallalong.Youwillcrumpleitupandthrowitdown,onlytoreturntoitfordirectiononceyoufinishyourcryfest.Igetit.Iknow.

Butit’syourmap.Notmymap.Ormycousin’smap.Oryourspouse’smap.It’s yours. And there is something so sweet about God doing life that way.Giving you your own rivers to cross andmountains to climb and forks in theroadsofyourlifethatIwillnevercometo.Youget tobebraverightthere, ineachof thoseplaces.Braverybegetsbravery. If you’ll bebrave, I’ll bebrave.

AndwhenIambrave,youfeellikeyoucanbetoo.WeareholdinghandsandIpromiseIwon’tletgo.

Let’sallbebrave.

juststart

March2013MountainBrookStarbucks,Birmingham,Alabama

I thinkthehardest thingaboutwritingis theblankpage.Orcomputerscreen.It’ssaidtobeawriteristohavehomeworkeverydayfortherestofyourlife.Yourememberthatfeeling,don’tyou?Whenyouhaveapapertowriteoranassignmenttoturninandyouknowyoucandoitifyoucanjust.get. started. I find the same to be true if I’m creating a presentation for aconferenceI’mspeakingatorifI’mtryingtowriteamessageonaFather’sDaycard.IknowwhatIwanttosay.Ijustoftendon’tknowwheretostart.

Myfavoritehamburger inNashville is the turkeyburgerwithagluten-freebunatBurgerUp in12South. It’salwayscookedperfectly,and theyhave thishoneymustardaiolithatwilljustblessyou.TheownerofBurgerUpisMiranda.She’sabitofalegendinourneighborhoodfortakingaboringstretchofstreetandaddingsomesubstantialeateries.Iwrotemyfirstbookalmostsolelyathercoffeeshop,FrothyMonkey.NextcameBurgerUpandthenasandwichshop,andnow?Josephine.

Josephine, the newest restaurant to situate itself on 12th Avenue South,hasn’t evenopenedyet,but everyone inourneighborhood isbuzzingabout it.They’regoingtohaveaSundaybrunchthatisprettymuchallthepermissionIneedtoeatnowhereelseafterchurchexceptright thereinoneofherperfectlymadebooths.

Every time I run into Miranda on the street or in Burger Up, I ask howJosephineiscomingalong.Shealwaystellsmeaboutanotherdecisionshehasmade—thestyleofpatiofurniture,thefoodsshehastraveledacrossthecountrylookingfor,therightcheftobringtotown,thekindofnapkinsandcutlery.

Everydecision requires her to start somewhere.Themenuwasblank.Thewallswere blank. Even the title of the restaurantwas blank.But one day shemade that first decision toward offering us a new neighborhood favorite, andonce things got started, they haven’t stopped. Her courage shows up ascommunity tables, delicious food, and warm hearts all up and down theneighborhoodthoroughfare.

I’m flying toMinneapolis today.Travel is amajorpartofmy life and jobrightnow,whichmeansfewerturkeyburgersfromBurgerUp,butluckily,onanairplaneseemstobewhereIget lotsofwritingdone.Sittinginawindowseatwithmy laptopopenandAllSons&Daughterspouring truth intomyears—thisisprimewritingtimeforme.

AsI’mbuzzingoversomefarmland(I’mguessingsomewhereinIowa),I’mthinkingabouthowharditistostart,whetherit’sanewbook,anewrestaurant,oranyotherdreamyoumayhave.Tostart thejourneytowardthat thing. . . Idon’tknowwhatitisforyou,butit’snotajourneytocourage.Themomentyoutake that first step, the moment you start, little seeds of courage, the ones Ibelievearealreadyplanted there rightnow,begin tosprout inyourheart.Youaren’theadedouttofindcourage.It’sinyou,itisblooming,anditiswithyouasyoutravelandsayyestothingsthatseemscary.Remember,it’snotonlytheXthatmatters;it’sgettingthere.

Atmyhomechurch,thehighschoolstudentshostandrunthemiddleschoolretreat.It’sareallyneatexperience.Asanadultleaderafewyearsago,IlovedwatchingmysisterSally,aneighteen-year-oldsenior,betheretreatdirector.Shenailed it. Itwas the onlymiddle school retreat I ever attended, but I’m prettysureshewasthebestretreatdirectorever.Thecoolestpartaboutbeinganadultleader was I literally just had to supervise, not really plan or lead. It wasawesome.

Wewereatoneofthoseretreatcentersthathavecabinsandbunkbedsandtwoshowersforeverytwentypeople,anditwasasrusticasyouarepicturing.

AndIlovedit.Yes,Iabsolutelyloveretreats.Youknowwhy?Ilovewhenallmyfriendsaretrappedinthesameplacefordaysatatime.Isthatweird?

OntheSaturdaynightofthismiddleschoolretreat,Icrawledintomylittletwinbunk,shovedupnexttoanothertwinbunk,andclosedmyeyes.Itwasn’tthirtysecondslaterthatIfeltsomeonetapmyshoulder.

Becauseweareapeoplewholovetoprank,IwassureIwasaboutto(1)besprayedinthefacewithsomesortofliquidor(2)gettoparticipateinpranking

someone else. Instead, itwasMallory, another senior helping lead the retreat.Because it was March, Mallory was just a few months from graduating andheadingofftoAuburnUniversity.

She askedme to scoot over, so I did. Iwasworried— Is something sad?Somethingwrong?Tosnuggleupnexttoyourleaderinatwinbedmeansthatsomething isn’t right. So I lay there on my side as Mallory stared up at thespringsonthebunkaboveus.Lightfromthemoonbarelysnuckinthroughthecurtains,butitwasenoughformetowatchasshewasobviouslywrestlingwithsomethinginherheart.

“Idon’twanttogotoAuburn,”shewhispered,andIheardthetearsdrippingonto my pillow. I waited, thinking she had more to say. When she didn’t, Iresponded.

“Okay,Mal.Youdon’thaveto.”“Ithink,”shestammeredslowly,“Iwanttobeamissionary.Iwanttogoto

YWAM.”Hervoicewasstillshaky.“Okay,Mal.Youcandothat.”Isaiditquietly.Iwantedittofallsoftlyinto

herheart.Ofcourse,Iwasn’therparentorthefinaldecisionmakerinherlife,butIknewall thatwouldshakeout.Shedidn’tneedmetohelpherfigureouthowitwouldworkout;sheneededmetotellherthatitcould.Iknowwhatitistoneedtosaythebravething,whetheritactuallyworksornot.Tojuststarttheprocess.

Mallorydidn’tbeginherjourneytowardcouragerightthere.Thatlittleglowof couragewas growing in her heart for days,maybeweeks.And then in thehoursandminutesbeforesheactuallygotupoutofherbed,itgrewfeet,didn’tit?Feetthatbroughthertome.

Somewhere, at somepoint, she startedbeingbrave—probablybefore sheevenrealizedit.Itwasn’twhenshetoldme.Itwaslongbefore,whensomethinginherheartbegantobeatwithadifferentrhythm.

You just have to start, my friend. That thing that is whispering on yourinsides?Thatconversationyouneedtohaveorthatplaceyouneedtogo?Thatjobyouwanttotryorthatministryyouwanttoattempt?Thatmajoryouwanttopickatcollegeorthatmissiontripyouwanttogoon?

You’vegottostartsomewhere.Sodo.Tellsomebodyyouwanttobebrave.

TodayIvolunteerasaleaderforthecollegeministryatmychurch.Itisoneofthegreatest joys ofmy life. I love that after four years of living inNashville,virtuallyblindtothecollegescene(besidesnotingthemassivedeclineintrafficduring the summers), those students are now one of my favorite reasons forlivinginthistown.

EachSundaynightafter theserviceends,weheadtogether to thegymandeatcereal.Yep,cereal.Collegestudentstotallydigit.It’shilarious.Ourpastor,PeteWilson,andIhavealittlegameweliketoplay.Westandbehindthecerealtableandtrytoguesswhichcerealthestudentswillpick.Thereareusuallysixorsooptions—thestapleslikeHoneyNutCheeriosandFrostedFlakesandtheclassicslikeCinnamonToastCrunchandLuckyCharms,andthentherearethewildcardsthattradeout,likeCap’nCrunchandReese’sPuffs,forexample.

Hereishowthegameisplayed.Anewyoungcollegeguywillcomeovertothecountertoplinedwithcerealandmilkandsupplies,pickupabowl,andwe’llintroduceourselves.“I’mAnnie.ThisisPastorPete.What’syourname?”Andthestartledstudentwillsay,“Uh,John.”

Ismileandcontinue.“John,we’resogladyou’rehere.Now,PastorPeteandI have a little competition going.We’d like for you to look at the six cerealoptionsandpicktheoneyouwant.BUT.Don’tsayitoutloud.Justthinkit.Andthenwe’dliketoguesswhatyouaregoingtopick.Youready?Havethecerealinyourmind?”

Atthispoint,thestudentisusuallyquasi-entertained(becauseI’mobnoxiousandPeteisreallycool)andwantstoplayalong,sohepickswhichonehewouldlike—andweguess.

“CinnamonToastCrunch?”It’susuallymygo-toguess.“Nope,”Johnreplies.“Cap’nCrunchBerries?”PastorPetemakesaleft-fieldguess.“Yep!”Johnsays,andfillshisbowl.NowI’lltellyouthis,PastorPetehasaprettysolidguessingpercentage.But

I’dliketohaveaformalinvestigationinitiatedbecauseIamalmost100percentsurethatat leasthalf theguessesPastorPetegetsrightarebecausethestudentchangeshismindbasedonwhatthepastorthinksthekidwants.

Andjustsoyouknow,Igetaboutoneoutofeveryeightcerealguessesright.

Terriblewinningpercentage,Iknow.Buttheydon’tlieformeliketheydoforPastorPete.

Also,onapersonalnote,thisismyfavoritetimeoftheSundaynightevents.Iget totalktoeverystudentandconnectwithhimorherweekafterweek.Assillyasitsounds,thisisabigpartofmyministry,andIloveit.

Lastweek,PastorPetewasoutoftown,soanewvolunteer,Paul,stoodwithmeatthecerealtable.ItellPaulhowPastorPeteandIhavethislittleguessingthingwedo,andIsuggestheandItryitforalittlewhile.Sowestartguessingsome of the students’ cereal choices. I’m totally offmy game and go 0 for 7right off the bat, which leads to a lot of students rolling their eyes and myconfidencegoingdownthedrain.Ouch.

PaulandIdecidetotakeabreakfromguessing.Wejuststartchattingasthestudentskeepgettingcereal—when,outofthecornerofmyeye,Iseeoneofmycollegebuddies,Will,mixCocoaPuffsandCheerios,andIthinkthatisjustacrimeagainstallthingscereal.Iturnmyhead,pointmyfinger,andsay,“Nosir,Will,thatisgross!”BecauseapparentlyIbelieveI’mallowedtoguessandjudgecerealchoices.

Afewminuteslater,asPaulandIcontinuetochat,helooksatmeandsays,“Idon’tknowthatI’veevertoldanyonethis,butIthinkIwanttowriteabook.”

And there is themoment, right there among collegekids and sugary carbsand inappropriatecerealcombos.Themomentwhencouragestoppedbubblingonlyontheinside.ThemomentwhenPaulbelievedenoughinhimselfandintheGodwhomadehimthathetookastepofcourage.Hestarted.

Ididn’tplantowritebooks.Today’scalltocourage?Ineedtofinishwritingthisbook andbewilling towrite about some things I don’twant to share but feelnudgedbyGodtodoso.Butin2006,whenthiswholejourneybeganforme,itlookedlikeeightpages.

Ihadtostartsomewhere.The day I finished BethMoore’sBelieving God study, I sat down at my

computerandpoundedoutaneight-pagedocumentofmylifeasastoryteller—froma childhood full of exaggeration to an adult life ofwanting to be full oftruthbuttellingtheBESTstories.IwroteabouthowGodwasrevealingtome,throughMrs.Beth’steaching,thatthiswasthedirectionmylifewasabouttogo.

God’sbravemomentformethatdayinFebruary2006wastowriteoutwhatIwas feelingwith regard tosharingstories.Heknowsme.Heknowsyou.Heknowsweneeddreamsinpiecesbecausewewouldbetooscaredofthewholepuzzle.HadIknownI’dbeanauthorandaspeakerbackthen,Iprobablywouldhavecrawledundermycoversandstayedthereforayearorfive.I’mheretodaybecauseofthelittlestartsandthebravemomentsdottedthroughoutmywritingcareerthathavegrownintothis.

IthinkofKingDavid,waybackwhenhe’sakidcheckingonhisbrothersinthebattleagainstthePhilistines.Whenhegetsthere,everyoneisscaredtodeathofGoliath,thisbeastofamanwhoisfightingfortheotherarmy.

YoungDavidtheshepherdtellsKingSaulhe’llgoagainstGoliath.EveryoneisstunnedbecauseDavidisakidandtherestoftheIsraelitearmy,fullofadultdudes, isafraidofhim.David’sresponseshowsus the importanceof thedailystepsofcouragethatleadtothebiggerstory.

ButDavidsaidtoSaul,“Yourservanthasbeenkeepinghisfather’ssheep.Whenalionorabearcameandcarriedoffasheepfromtheflock,Iwentafter it, struck itand rescued thesheepfromitsmouth.When itturnedonme,Iseizeditbyitshair,struckitandkilledit.Yourservanthaskilledboththelionandthebear;thisuncircumcisedPhilistinewillbelikeoneofthem,becausehehasdefiedthearmiesofthelivingGod.TheLORDwhorescuedmefromthepawofthelionandthepawofthebearwillrescuemefromthehandofthisPhilistine.”

SaulsaidtoDavid,“Go,andtheLORDbewithyou.”

1SAMUEL17:34–37

And go he did! You can read what happened in this epic battle betweenDavidandGoliathintherestof1Samuel17.It’swortharead,evenifyou’veknownthestoryyourwholelife.

David,asashepherdboy,foughtalion.Andabear.Andrescuedhissheep.He never killed the lion in preparation for the bear.He didn’t kill the bear inpreparationforGoliath.Hejustchosetobebraveateveryturn—todohisjobandprotectthesheep.Andasthechallengesgrewinscope,sodidDavid’sbeliefin the ways God had uniquely created him, and more importantly, DavidbelievedwhollyinwhoGodisandintherealitythatDavidhadaroletoplayonthisplanetthatwouldrequirecourage.Justlikeme.Justlikeyou.

I’vedreamedofthisbookforalongtime.Iwanttotelltwostorieswithmylife.

1.Godmadeyouonpurpose.2.Godmadeyoutobebrave.

In2006,Iwasn’tdreamingofwritingbooks.Icouldbarelyimaginewritingout the story of how I wanted to tell stories! Then I started a blog that tookcourage every day to write. Then I wrote a Bible study for a group of highschoolgirlswhocameovertomyhouseonMondaynights.Thenthoseprinted-outlessonsbecamePerfectlyUnique,abookreadbythousandsofgirlsaroundtheworld.Andthencamemynextbook,SpeakLove.Andnowwearehere.YouandI.Andwearefightingagainstthefear.

Mylion.Mybear.MyGoliath.Ohmy.Davidwasn’tdoneafterGoliath. Iamnotdonebeingbraveeither.Neither

areyou,Ihope.Myprayerforyoutodayisthatyouwillopentheeyesofyourhearttothe

mapandthenextbravethingandthestepyouneedtostart.Tellsomeoneyourdream.Maybeevenatthebottomofthispage,orinthemargin,youcanwritethatfirststep.MakethatfirstmovetoresearchorlearnorprayaboutthethingthatislikeaGod-struckmatchlitonyourinsides.

Maybe for you, it’s writing a note. Singing a song.Making a phone call.Havingaconversation.Composingastory.Writingacheck.Bookingthat trip.Sendinganemail.Goingonadate.Readingabook.Signingup.

I’mtryingtolistasmanyoptionsaspossible,butyouknowthethingGodisdoinginyourlifebetterthanIdo.It’stimetogetquietbeforetheLordandaskhimwhatitlookslikeforyoutolivealifeofcouragetoday.Tostart.

Juststart.

Bytheway,Mallorydidn’tgotoAuburn.ShewenttoAustraliawithYWAM.

WewouldoftenskypeandtalkaboutthatdayatthemiddleschoolretreatwhenGod changed everything in her plans. After completing her course, Mallorycamebackhomeandmarriedagreat,godlyguy,andnowtheyhaveadaughter.TheyaremissionariesintheMiddleEast.EverydaytheytellpeopleaboutJesusinacountrythatisclosedtoChristianity.

Justlookatthat.Lookwhathercouragestarted.AndIcantellyoufirsthandthatthemomentsofmygreatestfears—those

timeswhenIwassureIwasgoing towimpoutunder thepressureof itall—havealsobeentheopendoorstothegreatestchangesinmylife.SoIstepout,fulloffear,buttrustingthatGodisontheothersideinnewandwonderfulways.Andsofar?Healwaysis.

believe

October2012

12SouthFrothyMonkeyCoffeeShop,Nashville,Tennessee

Ihavealotofrespectfortennisplayers.Tennisplayerslikethemselvesa lot.Theyhaveastrut.Aswag.Theymayplayfora tennis team,but when it is time to swing the racquet, it’s just one. Alone. Don’t hearmesayingtheyareself-centered.That’snot(always)true.WhatIamsayingisthattennisplayersareconfidentenoughinthemselvesthat theyarewillingtowalkoutonacourtaloneandwin.Alone.

Igrewupplayingsoccer.Iadoresoccer.I’monegirlonafieldofeleven.Icanplayandhaveanimpact,butifwelosethegame,Icanlookaroundthefieldlike,“Sheesh,girls.Whatjusthappenedthere?”Because,youknow,itcouldn’tbemyfault.Ahem.

I’mabouttogetmybragon.Prepareyourself.I’m a good soccer player. Inmy prime, I could kick a soccer ball with a

decentamountofpower.OnceinhighschoolIslammedonefromcenterfieldthat bounced off the crossbar of the goal with a ping that could be heardanywhere on the field. Coach Moser jumped up and down like crazy. Irememberitlikeitwasyesterday.

It’snotoftenthatacoachcelebratesamissedgoal.Soeitherhewasthebestcoachintheworld(becausehisenthusiasmobviouslystuckwithme)orhenevereverexpectedmetoscoresoheknewthatmomentwasthebestitwasgoingtoget.

We’llgowiththeideathathewasthebestcoachintheworld.IlovedplayingforCoachMoserbecausehealwaystrustedmetomakegood

decisions on the field, and he relied onme for strong throw-ins and strongerleadership.Butwhenitcametimetotakepenaltykicks,Ididn’tdoit.Heneverasked. Inevervolunteered. (Foryounon-soccer loversout there,penaltykicksarewhenoneplayertakesoneshot,unguarded,againsttheotherteam’sgoalie.)Innineteenseasonsofteamplay,Itookzeropenaltykicks.EventhoughIwouldhavescored.Probably.Atleastonce.

I’veneverbeenafraid tobe the centerof attention,unless I can fail.ThenI’mtheonehidingbehind,well,anythingbiggerthanme.

Nowasanadult,reflectingbackonmysoccerglorydays,Icanseetherootoftheproblem.Ididn’tloveme.Ididn’tbelieveinmyself.Ididn’tthinkIcoulddoit.Andevenmoredeeply?Ididn’tbelieveIcouldmessupandstillbeloved.Ididn’t think Icouldsucceed,but Ialsodidn’thave thecourage to fail. Ihadlessconfidencethananyothergirlonthatfield,certainlylessthanthegoalieontheotherteam.Soitwasalwaysteamplayforme—sharethewins,sharethelosses.

But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not the happy-on-the-outside-insecure-for-days-on-the-insidegirl.The lies aregone (for themostpart), and instead Isee the truth of howGodmademe andwho hemademe to be. I don’t fearfailurebecauseitdoesn’tdefineme.Neitherdomysuccesses.Iusedtowanttohideinthemomentsthataskedmetobebrave.

NowIwanttotakeapenaltykick.

Myparentshaveapondontheirproperty,andallduringmygrowing-upyearswe fished that pond. In fact, twenty years later, my mom still has the fish Icaughtwitha jigglyplasticworm lurehangingonherwall. (Iknow.The factthatshestillhasthatten-poundbassfromthe1980shanginginthelivingroomshows howmuch she sacrifices lovely décor and the respect of her friends todisplayherchildren’strophies.)

WhenDadwould takemy sisters andme fishing, we had our own poles,oars,andlifejackets,andwesangsongs.Irememberasongaboutagirlwearingabikinitoschool,andIremembersingingaboutPete’sdragon.

ButthesongIstillsingsometimesisaboutanant.

Thesongiscalled“HighHopes,”madefamousbyFrankSinatra.Apparentlymydadwantedafishingboatfullofcrooners.I’llsummarizethesongforyou,onlybecauseIcan’tsinginthesepages.(Honestly,anytimewearetogether,feelfree to request the ant song. I love it. I’ll sing it—you probablywon’t evenhavetoask.)Theversestalkofanimalsthathavetodotheimpossible,suchasanantthathastomovearubbertreeplant,alarge,treelikepottedplantwithbig,waxy leaves.Thechorusgoes like this:“Buthe’sgothighhopes . . .he’sgothighapplepieintheskyhopes.”Andthenthesongremindsusthatanytimewegetlowandaretemptedtoletgo,weneedtoremembertheant—“Oops!Theregoesanotherrubbertreeplant.”*

Antscan’tmovepottedplants.It’sjustnotpossible.Butwhattheantknewisthatyourmusclesdon’talwaysdeterminewhatyou

can do.Your heart does. He believed in himself in away I often don’t. Andbecause of who his heart said he was, he did things that were impossible.Courageisbelieving.Thencouragebecomesaction,doing.

OneofthebeautifulthingsaboutHollywoodthesedaysisthatsomepeoplearesendingtherightmessage.Whilethereisanoverwhelmingamountofgodless,discouraging, and sinful images flashing before our minds, we do see a fewglimmersofhope.

IlikeitwhenTVadsremindustobelieveinourselvesandbeconfidentwecandoanythingwewant todo.You’veseen theones I’mtalkingabout—anNBCstarsitsawkwardlyonthearmofacouchandsaysintothecamera,“Youknowthosedreamsyouhave?Youcandothem.Believeinyourself.”AndthentheNBC“dingdingding”jingleplaysasastarcrossesthescreen.Themoreyouknow,people.Themoreyouknow.

Here’ssomethingIknow:Ishouldn’tbelieveinme,atleastnotinthewaytheythinkIshould.I’vebeenmelongenoughtoknowthatIamnotsomeonetobebelievedin.Iscrewup.Ihurtpeople’sfeelings.Icaretoomuchaboutsomethingsandnotenoughaboutothers.

Iget lost.Iamnotperfect.AndIdon’twant topourmyhopeor trust intosomeoneasfaultyasmyself.

SowhileI’mgratefulforwhatHollywoodissaying,Idon’tthinkitistotallytrue.

I believe in themeGodmade and in themeGod canmake. I believe hemademeonpurposeanddidn’tmakeanymistakeswhenitcametomycreation.I believe he is doing a good work in me, and in you. And that though I amflawed,GodislovingmeandrefiningmeandremindingmethatGodinmeiswhereIcanplacemytrust.

And that is theplacewhere I findmycourage. It’s like ifyoudrivedownThisIsHowGodMadeMeRoaduntilitintersectswithThisIsWhoGodCanMakeMeAvenue,thereisapileofcouragewaitingthere.(IsworeIwouldn’tdocheesymap-relatedsentenceslikethis,butcanIjustthisonce?)

Thebetter youknowyou, thebetter you can find that intersection and thebetteryoucanresist temptation tosinorwimpout. Iknowmytendenciesandfears,andIalsoknowmygiftsandhopes.It’swherethosemeetthatIoftenfindGodcheeringformetomakethebravechoice.

YouhavetobelieveintheOnewhomadeyou.IamconfidentinwhoGodmademe,butcertainIcouldn’tdothislife—orbebrave—onmyown.

Godisperfect(wearenot).Heseesthebigpicture(wedonot).Heknowseverything(wedonot).SoIchoosetobelieveinthis—thatIamwhoIamonpurpose, that theOnewhomademehasapurposeandhasunconditional loveformeandthoseinmylife.

I’mnotsayingifIhadbelievedthesetruthsinhighschoolIwouldhavebeenthe highest scoring defender in the history of my school’s soccer program.Believing God about who you are doesn’t make you a superhero or an All-Americanathleteorarockstar.

ButifIwouldhavebelievedthesethings—reallybelievedthematmycore—Iwouldhavebeenbraveenough to try.CoachMosermighthavecalledonme for a penalty kick. Imight have beenwilling to take a few shots. To riskfailure.Tojusttry.

IbecameaChristianat averyyoungage.Fiveyearsold. IgrewupattendingyouthgroupandbeingreallyinvolvedineveryactivityIcould—frombeingina small group to being in choir to working Mother’s Morning Out in thesummers.

Actually, we spent a lot of time hanging around Marietta First UnitedMethodistChurchinthesummers.We’dbugtheyouthpastors,filmvideosfor

summercamp,hangoutintheSundayschoolrooms,playbasketballinthegym,and walk to lunch at Wendy’s. As a teen, my church friends were my bestfriends,andmostofmyfavoritememoriesfromthatseasonoflifeinvolvethosepeopleandthatplace.

Inalltheteachingandtrainingandtimespentinchurch,atsomepointinmyyoungeryears,mytheologygotskewedandIstarted tobelieve thatChristianssomehowgotranked—notbasedontheirsinortheirbankaccounts,butbasedontheircalling.

Youwanttobeamissionary?Youget5outof5stars.Topnotch.Creamofthecrop.

YouwanttobeaHollywoodmoviestar?Youget1outof5starsbecause,you know, you’ll probably be really rich and famous, and that just can’t beChristian.Oryouwanttohaveanormaljobatabank?Okay,that’s2outof5stars,becauseyoucanwitnesstopeopleinthedrive-through.Sorryyouaren’t5outof5,butyouarestilltotallyaChristian;youjustaren’tsacrificingasmuchasthemissionary.Godstilllovesyousomuch,butyoujustaren’tasawesomeorsomething.

Everyotherjoborcallingfallssomewhereinthisrange.MylittleconfusedChristianmindwassurethatGodrankedpeoplelikethis.Idon’tknowwhereIgotthisidea.Itwasn’talessontaughtinmytenth-gradeSundayschoolclassorsomethingmyparentsinstructedusonoverdinner.ButIrememberhowitfelt.

MysisterTatumgotsavedwhenshewaseleven.Iwas thirteen then.SoIhadbeenon theJesus trainforawhile,but itwasallnewtoher.AndI’ll tellyouwhat,TatumhadoneofthoseconversionswheretheoldTatumwasreallygoneandawholenewTatumwasthere.Itwasamazing.

Andprettysoonaftershegotsaved,sheknewshewantedtobeamissionary.And suddenly, Iwas a second-classChristian.Shewasnewand Iwasold

hat.ShewasreallybraveandIwasreallynormal.Iwantedtoteachelementaryschool.Shewantedtoliveinahut.Andmostlikely,shewasgoingtobereallyhotandsweatyinwhatevermissionfieldshechose.

I hate being hot. I always thought missionaries ended up in really hotclimates.SoIdecidedmissionaryworkwasnotformeandresignedmyself tothefactthatIwasnevergoingtobeasgoodatbeingaChristianasTatumwas.

IcouldworkashardasIcould,maybeevenget4.5outof5starsifItaughtschool in really dangerous areas or worked a lot of extra hours, butunfortunately,I’dneverbeatthetop.

Justtobeclear.Mytheologywassuperoff,andthiswholelineofthinkingiswrong wrong wrong. I see that now, but as an impressionable child, seeingcertainprofessionscelebratedrepeatedlyinthechurchskewedmyviewabit.Idon’tthinkitwasintentional,butatsomepoint,aconversationgoingonaroundmeinfiltratedmythoughtsandbledintomyunderstandingofGodandhisplanformylife.

AsIgrewupandbegantoseeChristianitywithmuchmoreclarity,Ilearnedafewthings:

1.Noteveryplaceontheplanetishot,sonoteverymissionaryismovingtoahotclimate.Noted.

2.Ifwewereallmissionaries,theworldwouldnotworkright.Whowouldprayforthem?Financiallysupportthem?Givethemacomfortablehometoreturntoafterayearonthefield?

3.Goddoesn’taskallofustobeforeignmissionaries.Heasksustobeus.

4.Andwhosayswhatyouaredoingrightnowrighthereisn’tGod’swork?

That’swhywehavetobelievethatGodmadeuseachonpurpose.Ifweareeach as unique as the Bible says we are, then our calls to courage are eachequallyunique.

Tatum’scalltocourageatonetimelookedlikemovingaroundtheworldandsharingaboutJesus.Mycalltocouragehaslookeddifferent.Forawhile,itwasteaching. For a season, itwas coaching. Then itwasmoving andwriting andspeaking.Andtherearemorecallstocomethatarespecificforme.

But if I embrace them and step into them as they come, I can change theworld.

Socanyou.Weeachjusthavetobebraveinourownways.

Maybeyoudowanttobeamissionaryinaforeigncountry.Myfriend,thatis brave. It really is. But so is being a stay-at-homemom.And so is being acounselor. Or a professional athlete. Or a writer. Or an event planner. Or atechnician.

Couragelooksdifferentforeachofus.If we want to see God glorified all over the world, we need to be brave

enoughtoseecourageinallitsdifferentforms.Andweneedtodothething.Ican’tseeintoyourlifetotellyouwhatthatthingistoday—butIknowenoughto understand that the brave decisions you make at fifteen affect the bravechoices you make at twenty-five — and they are different from the bravemomentsyoufaceatthirty-fiveandfifty-five.

ToseeyourselfthewayGodseesyouisthefirststepinbeingbrave.If you are seeing yourself the way God sees you, then you can see your

strengthsandweaknesses.Andyoucan see theyaredifferent frommine.Youcanseetheuniquewaysyouarewiredandtherarecombinationofqualitiesanddesiresthatmakeyouuniquelyyou.

Andyou,myfriend,haveauniquecalltobebrave.Sowhenyouhearmesay,“Believeinyourself,”thisiswhatIwantyouto

think about. Don’t believe in yourself in such a way that you think you canaccomplishanythingonyourown.Youcan’t.Tobelieve inyourselfmeans tobelievethatGodmadeyouandthereisnoonelikeyou,thatyouhaveauniquecalltocourage,andthatyoucandothethingthatisstaringyouintheface.Gotit?Let’slistit.

Believinginyourself,aswewanttodefineithere,isactuallytobelieve:

1.Godmadeyouonpurposeandunique.2.Godhascalledyoutobebrave.3.Godwillequipyoutodoit.

TobelieveintheOnewhocallsyoutobebraveistoadmitthatyou,likeme,arepronetogetlostandthatJesusistheway,thetruth,andthelife.

We’regoingtoexplorealotofsidesofcourage.Likepeeringatsomesortofkaleidoscopecrystal,notwopeoplearegoingtoseethesamethingwhentheylookforabravemoment.Godisthatcreative.

It’snotyourjobtoseethesamerefractionoflightandcoloronthewall.It’syourjobtobebraveenoughtolookthroughthekaleidoscope,evenifwhatyou

seesurprisesyou.

When I thinkaboutcourage, I thinkaboutGideon.Theone from theBible. (Idon’tknowanotherGideon,butIfiguredyoumight,sojusttobesafe,Iwantedtogoaheadandclearthatupforus.You’rewelcome.)

InJudges6,alltheIsraelitesaremisbehavinginseriousways—thekindofwaysthatseparatethemfromGod.TheLordgivesthemovertotheirenemies,and they are living in fear— hiding away and being defeated and robbed allover the place. Then the Israelites begin to cry out toGod for rescue (classicmove, Israelites, classic). God decides to show mercy and deliver them,defeating the other armies by using the Israelite army.AndGideon, this littleunlikelyguy,isabouttohaveauniquecalltocourage.

StartinginJudges6:11,weseeGideonthreshinghiswheatwhilehidingoutin awinepress (instead of separating thewheat in a normal public place).Anangelof theLordappearsandsays,“TheLORDiswithyou,mightywarrior.”This statement surprisesGideon because,well, he’shiding,which is not yourtypical“mightywarrior”behavior.ButtheLordtellsGideonthatGideonistheguywhowill lead thearmytosaveIsrael fromtheMidianites.Whenhehearsthis,GideonimmediatelystartsexplainingtoGodwhyheisthewrongguyforthejob—hisistheweakestclanandheistheweakestoftheweakestclan.ButGod knows. God knows he’s picked the right guy and tells Gideon asmuch.(YoucanreadthewholestoryinJudges6:11–16.)

Poor guy.Doyouhearwhat he is saying?Gideon is the runt of the litter,prettymuch.Andtheruntisn’tsupposedtolead.

Butthatisn’tthewayGodworks.Gideon is a unique man with a unique call to courage. And if you keep

reading, you’ll see that God really pushes Gideon to be brave as he shrinksGideon’s army from a respectable thirty thousand-plus men to a mere threehundred men. How many on the opposing side? Judges 7:12 says they were“thickaslocusts.”Yikes.

You’ve got to read thewhole story, because theway theLord rescues thepeople and defeats the other armies using just three hundred men is totallyfascinating.(CheckoutJudges6–7.)

AndourbuddyGideon?Heleadsthem.Theself-labeledrunt,whowasonce

tooscaredtoeventhreshwheatonapublicthreshingfloor,wasnowtheleaderofanarmy—avictoriousarmyat that.GodbelievedinGideon.It tooksomeconvincing, but Gideon began to believe in Gideon and in who God madeGideon.Andthen?Inthatmoment?Gideonwasbrave.

Godbelievesinyoutoo.Hebelievesinallthewayshemadeyouunique.Hebelievesinallthedreamsbubblinginyourheart.Hebelievesinyourabilitytotakeholdofthetinyledgethatisyournextcalltocourage.

Ibelieveinyoutoo.Ibelieveyouhavepickedupthisbookforareason.Youwant to be brave. In your middle place — I like to call it the “knower,”somewherebetweenyourchestandyourbackbone—youknowyouwanttobebrave.

Youaren’ttherunt.Youaren’tasubparChristian.Youhaven’tsinnedyourwayoutofyourcalling,andyouhaven’tlostyourchancetomakeadifferenceforChrist.

You are one of a kind, made on purpose, deeply loved, and called to becourageous.

*“HighHopes,”musicbyJimmyVanHeusen,lyricsbySammyCahn.

nashville

April2013PortlandBrew,Nashville,Tennessee

I’maGeorgiagirlatheart.IsleptinaUniversityofGeorgiaT-shirtformorenightsinmiddleschoolthanIcaretoadmit.I’vebeencheeringfor the Atlanta Braves since Dale Murphy wore the uniform in the 80s. Myparents still live in the same house they built in 1980 on the property mygrandparentshaveoccupiedsincethe1950s.IgrewupinMarietta,acutelittleSoutherntownwherethesameguyhasdonemyparents’drycleaningforthirtyyears and thewaitresses fromPoFolksRestaurant came tomygrandmother’sfuneral. You know, Mayberry kind of stuff, but with more cliques andmonogrammedpursesandhighschoolfootballgames.Forme,mychildhoodinGeorgia tastes like salty boiled peanuts and fresh-picked blackberries, smellslikehoneysuckleontheothersideofthelake,andlookslikeWednesdaynightsupper in theFamilyLifeHall of FirstUnitedMethodistChurch right off theMariettaSquare.

When itwas time to pick a college, I looked no farther than eightymilesdowntheroadtomymother’sandgrandmother’salmamater,theUniversityofGeorgia. With lifelong friends studying there and my home church’s youthpastornowacampusminister,itwasaperfectplaceforme.

I graduated from theUniversity ofGeorgia and stayed inAthens for threeyearsafterthat.YouwouldtooifyouknewAthens.IloggedabillionhoursatJittery Joe’sCoffee Shop and cheered for thoseDawgs during football gameslikeIliterallywasonthefield.(Istillstrugglewiththis—beingoverlyinvestedinsportsgamesI’msimplyaspectatorto.SoconsiderthatawarningnexttimewearetogetheronafallfootballSaturdayafternoonorataVanderbiltbaseball

game.)Ialsostayed inAthensbecauseourchurch inMariettahadgone througha

majorlypainfulsplitthefallofmyfreshmanyearofcollege.Relationshipsweresevered, and I felt church-homeless. Because of the nastiness of the split andbecausemyfamilywaspartofthecrowdthatleft,Iwasnolongerwelcomeinthe building I had grown up in and knew like the back of my hand.Unfortunately,Ialsodidn’tfeellikeapartofthenewchurchthathadformedinmyabsence.

Iliketostaycomfortable,andAthenswascomfortable.Igraduatedandgotajobteachingfifthgrade inaneighboringcounty,butmylifewas inAthens—myfriends,mychurch,myhome...

UntilmybestfriendHaley’sweddingrehearsalbackinmyhometown,whenMark,alongtimefriendandtheyouthpastoratthenewchurch,leanedoutthedriver’ssidewindowofhis truckandsaid,“Annie, I think it’s timeforyoutomovebackhome.”Itwasalmostoutofnowhere,thoughwehaddiscussedabithow Imissed home now that somany friendswho had grown up therewerebuildinglivesaroundthatsamedowntownsquare.

Hewasright.Itwastime.ImovedbacktoMariettaattheendofthatschoolyear. Iwas twenty-five,sevenyearsoutofmyhometownnest,andnowIwascominghome.Iwasmature(self-described),single,andreadytoputdownsomeroots.

I bought a house. I invested in our local church by volunteering with theyouth group, and I got a great teaching job atWoodstockElementarySchool.Fourthgraders.IlovedthelifeIhadbuilt.

I’m sure it wasn’t the perfect experience that I recall, but my mindremembersitfondly,andI’mokaywiththat.Iwashometostay.

InOctober 2007, I started to feel something unsettled inmy spirit. That’s thebestwayIcandescribeit.IwouldprayandprayandneverfeellikeIknewwhatwasup,butIknewsomethingwasstirring.Afterweeksofthisweirdfeeling,IfeltlikeIhadtoreallypressintoit.Icouldn’thandlethetensionanymore.

Inmy adorable little house, Iwalked up the steps tomy bedroom and satcross-leggedonmyfour-posterbed.Withmyjournalinhand,Ibegantowrite.Iwroteoutaprayer,askingGodtodirectmeandaskinghimwhatwaschanging.

IsensedIwassupposedtomakeachange.Ifeltitbeingwhisperedinmyheart,butIjustdidn’tknowwhatthatchangewas.

“Should Ichangechurches?” Iwrote inmy journal-cursive,amorebubblyandexpressivescript thanmyeveryday. I sat there,mullingover thequestion,notfeelinglikethatwasit.SoItriedagain.

“Should I sell my house?” Nope. That didn’t check out with my insideseither.SoIkeptlisting.

Iwroteaboutchangingjobs,changingsmallgroups,changingfamilies(justkidding).

Twenty-ish questions down the line, I wrote, “Am I supposed tomove toNashville?”

And it tookmy breath away.What?Whywould I evenwrite that? I hadvisitedNashvilleforapproximatelytwentyhoursoneothertimeinmylife,butcertainlyhadn’teverbeentherewithhopesorplanstolivethere.

While it was only a three-and-a-half-hour drive north from Marietta, theworldscouldn’thavebeenmoredifferent.Inmymind,Nashvillewasallcountrymusicandbighairandaneon-litdowntown.Tobehonest,Nashvilledidn’thaveany more descriptors than that because I didn’t think about it. Marietta washome,andGeorgiawasallIknew.

Isatonmybedinmyhouse inmytownandknewIwas losingmymind,andIknewIwasright.Itwasaweirdcombinationofemotions.

And with that, my prayers changed rapidly and drastically. While thelisteningandquestioningphasewasfullofpeaceevenwhilebeingtense,Iwasnowfullofpanic.“Please,no,God.Please,please,no.Don’tmakemedothat.Don’tmakemeleavemyfamilyandmychurchandmyhomeandmyfriendsandmylife.Please.Ican’t.Ican’tdoit.Ican’tleavethem.I’msorryIeverstartedthis.Canwebothpretendlikethisneverhappened?”

It was about losing everything. I was terrified. I barely like to go to thebathroomalone—Icertainlydidn’twanttomovetoanewstatealone.Tolivein a place other thanGeorgia felt absolutely foreign andunnecessary. Imean,haveyouseenthatorangeTennesseefanshavetowear?IknewIcouldn’tbearit.

Itoldnoone.Ididn’tutteraword.Maybe,justmaybe,IhadmadethewholethingupandifIjustkeptquietaboutit,thenudgingandthewhisperswouldgoaway.

SoIsecretlyprayedforweeks.“Lord,pleasetellmeI’mwrongandImadethisup.”IcannottellyouhowmanytimesIapologizedforstartingthatprayerthatdayinOctober.Iwasfuriouswithmyselffornotjustignoringthewhispersinmyheartuntil theywentaway. Ididn’twant theanswer Ihadgoneafter. Ididn’twantitatall.IcriedmyselftosleepnightafternightasIthoughtthroughallthemanythingsthismeant—leavingmyfamily,sellingmyhousethatIhadonly owned for three years, not being around to seemybest friends’ childrengrowupinfrontofmyeyesonadailybasis.

But itneverwentaway.Thatonequestionwritten inbubblyscriptgrippedme.Nashville?Seriously?

It was November. I knew I had to teach school through the spring. Itwouldn’tbeuntilthenextsummerthatIcouldmovetoNashville.

ByChristmas,IrealizedIneededtostartsayingthisstuffaloud.Firstonafamily drive toBirmingham, I toldmy parents through tears. Tomy absoluteshock,theyagreed.“ThatsoundslikeaGodidea,Annie,”Iremembermymomsaying. I wanted them to disagree, to tell me I was crazy, to tell me all thereasonsitwasabadidea.

Buttheydidn’t.OnNewYear’sDay,Itoldmytwobestfriends,HaleyandMolly.Wesaton

Haley’slivingroomfloorasIsharedthestory,andthankfullytheywereonmyside—thesidethatsaidthiswasalunaticideaandIhadforsurejustmadeitup.“Ifyouwanttobeawriter,”Haleysaid,“can’tyoujustdothatinAtlanta?TherehavegottobealotofAtlantawritersaround.”Forasolidtwentyminuteswebrainstormed.And thenwestoppedand the tears leakedaswerealized thetruth.Godwasaskingmetobebraver thanIhadever thoughtpossible,and itwasgoingtobringsadnesstousall.

Ithinkthatwasthehardestpartforme,really.Realizingthereweresomanyother people— family, friends, students,my small group, coworkers—whoweregoingtobeaffectedbythischoice.Iwasn’ttheonlyonewhoselifewouldbedisruptedbymyleaving.

BeforeItoldthegeneralpublic,IfiguredIshouldvisitthecity.Peoplewerealready going to think I had lost my mind for leavingMarietta. They wouldreallythinkIhadfallenoffthedeependifItoldthemIwasleavingforacityIhadneverspentafulldayin.

Therewas onemarried couple, friends from college,who lived there, andthoughwehadn’t spoken insevenyears, I shot themaquickemail inwhich I

explainedthatIwouldliketovisitNashvilleontheMartinLutherKingholidayweekendinJanuary—but“don’tworry,Idon’twanttomovethere;Ijustwanttovisitfortheweekend.”

(Nowwhenwe talk about it,Mandy andKevin say they knew right awaythatGodwasup to something thatcouldendupwithme living in their town.Fine,theywereright.)

Theweekendarrived,andaftermyteachingdayendedthatFriday,IhoppedintomylittleredcarandheadedtowardNashville.I turnedontoI-75Noff theBarrett Parkway overpass, and I wasn’t even out of my hometown zip codebeforeIbegantoweep.IfIhadn’tbeensurebefore,thatmomentmademesure.TheHolySpiritfilledthatcar,andIknewIwasdrivingtothecitywhereGodwasaskingmetolive.

Icriedtheentiredrive.Threeandahalfhours.NowIknowthiswasn’tleavingforaspothalfwayaroundtheworld,butthis

Georgiagirlwouldbemovingfartherawayfromhomethansheeverdreamed.

Ineverfeltbrave.Ineverhadamomentofextremecourageorbelief that thiswasgoingtobethebestdecisionIhadevermade.

Ijustdidthenextthing.Quitmyjob.Soldmyhouse.Packedmybelongings.Saidgood-byes.Pointed north until I crossed the state line and didn’t stop until I saw the

trademarkoftheNashvilleskyline—theBatmanbuilding.Thereare somany stories, somanymomentswhenGod injected faith and

assurance intomydeflatedheartbecauseheknew Ineeded it.Heknew Iwasjust wimpy enough to back out without a few shoves in the months before Imoved.

Akindemailfromafriend.AconnectiontoaNashvilleresidentthroughamutualfriend.

An hour-long car ride with my friend Gary, who simply said, “Move toNashville.Ifitdoesn’tworkout,movehome.”(Ah,Garyremindingmenottobeafraidtotryandevenbewillingtofail.“Takethepenaltykick,kid,”hewassaying.)

JustasamplingofthetinygiftsGodgavemetoremindmetobebrave.ThefirstSundayinAugust,Iloadedmycarandmymom’svan,andtogether

wedrovetothisnewtownemptyoffriendsandhistory,andsheleftmethere.Andallofasudden,itwasdone.Thethingthathadbeeninthefrontofmy

mindandprayersandworrieswasnolongeroffinthefuture.Itwashere.Iwashere.

Nofriends.Nochurchfamily.Nofamily.Noideawherethepostoffice,grocerystore,orhospitalwas.Nolife.I won’t bore you with stories of the weeping and gnashing of teeth that

occurredforthefirstweeks(okay,fine,months),butitwasterriblypainful.CanIsaythisagain?Ineverfeltbrave.IneverfeltlikeIhadwhatittookto

bethere.ButIhadnochoice.Ihadanewaddress,anditwastimetolivethere.SoIsaidyestoevery“let’sgrabcoffee”offer,andIhadmetsomepeople—

Jason, anotherAnnie, andMarisa particularly—who generously shared theirfriendswithme.ImademyselfgotochurchwhenIwantedtolieonmybed.IforcedmyselftodrivetotheKrogergrocerystoreinmyneighborhoodwhenmycarwantedtopointtoGeorgia.Isawhowotherpeopledressed—waytrendierthanmyformerlifeasanelementaryschoolteacher—andrealizedIneededtomakesomeadjustmentstomywardrobeoffleecepulloversandjeans.

IjustdidthebestIcouldtolivesomewherethatwasn’thome.Dayafterday,Ijustdidthenextthing,tookthenextstep,saidthenextyes.

AndGodbuilta life forme inNashville that Icouldnothavedreamedupformyself.

ThreeyearsafterthatfirstprayerthatledmeonthisNashvillejourney,Iturnedthirty.

InthebackyardofDaveandAnnie’shouse,eightofmydearestgirlfriendssataroundabeautifullydecorated tableas tenorsoguysfromourcommunityservedusadeliciousmeal.Lightswerestrungfromthetrees,andmyfriendSkipmoved fromangle to angle, professionally photographing thewhole thing.Nodetailhadbeenoverlooked.ItwasthemostperfectpartyI’veeverhad.Fromthemutedgolddécor to thegrapefruitandavocadosalad,DaveandAnniecreatedaneveningperfectlybuiltforme.

The plates were cleared and the boys stood on the deck steps and sang“HappyBirthday,”and,beingthattearsaremygo-tomodeofself-expression,Ijustcried.Ithankedthemallandtoldthemthetruth.IneverthoughtNashvillewouldbemyhome,and Inever thought Iwouldhavepeoplewhoknewmesodeeply.Andyet,herewewere.

We cleaned the plates and cleared the tables. Within an hour, almost ahundred people had come through that backyard to celebrate my milestonebirthday.

Ihadneverfeltsooverwhelminglygrateful.Itwastheperfectnight.Nashvillenow?Yearsafterthatmovingday?It’smyhomeineveryway.I

amabetterAnniethanI’veeverbeenbefore—lesscomfortable,tobesure,butmoreconfident.IknowGodbetteranddeeper.Iknowmyselfbetteraswell.

MovingtoNashvillenevermadesense,butitwasright.Idon’tknowallthewhysofNashville,butIseeinmylifeeverydaythatthestoryGodistellingisbestsetinthistown,personallyandprofessionally.Icametothiscityreluctantlybrave at best, a total wimp in all honesty.When I first heard God about themove,I thoughthewasaskingmetogivehimeverything.Andinmanyways,thatwastrue.Butthetruerthing?Godaskedmetoopenmyhands,andhegavemetheworld.

edinburgh

April2013JJ’sMarket,Nashville,Tennessee

As a sophomore in college (and for most of my collegecareer), I loved spending time in the offices of my campus ministry, theUniversity of Georgia Wesley Foundation — it felt cool and trendy andChristian.(You’rewelcome.)Acampusministryisachurchforcollegestudentsset on a college campus, and with so many of my youth group friends alsoattendingUGA,everydayIstoppedbythatbuildingwaslikeahomecomingofsorts.Alongthewallshungphotosofmissiontripsfrompastyears.Oneday,Istood in frontofoneof thosepictures—agroupofcollegestudentsclumpedtogetherinasunflowerfield.Thesunwasshiningontheirheads,almostmakingthe curly blonde girl look like she was glowing. Across the bottom it read“SCOTLAND.”

IhadheardofScotland.Thatwasaboutit.During aWednesday night service atWesley that fall— justweeks later,

really — the mission trips were announced for that school year, and I sawSCOTLANDasanoption.Yeah,Ithought,IwannastandinthatfieldandtakethatsunflowerpicturetohangonthewalloftheWesleyFoundation.

Itwasn’tsuperspiritual.IknewtheBiblesaidtogointoallthenationsandsharethegospel(Matthew28:19),soitwasmoreaboutpickingfromthelistoftrips thatwouldbeofferedfor the interestedstudents thatsemester. Iprayed,Iremember that.But therewas nohugeSCOTLANDbanner flyingoutsidemybedroomwindoworanyotherweirdsignalfromtheheavensonthisone.IjustknewIwantedtogoonamissiontrip,andthatwastheonethatstoodouttome.

SoIsignedup,andwithinweeks,ourteammetandstartedmakingplansfor

thetrip.Igrewupgoingonshort-termmissiontrips(onetotwoweeks)andIalways

lovedthem,butIneverfelt likeIwasgoing tobeafull-timemissionary.Youknow,Ihatebeinghotanddirty,andmyideaofcampingismakings’moresinthe fireplace . . . inmyhouse. I thoughtmissionaries needed to be tough andruggedandwillingtolivewithouttheinternet.Thatwasn’tme.Sothistrip,twoweeksinlengthtoaBritishcountry,feltveryAnnie.IlovedtheideaofgoingtoaplacethatwaschillyandhadStarbucksandspokeEnglishandneededtohearaboutJesus.Therewasagreatneedtospreadthegospelandagreatopportunitytopartnerwithministriesalreadydoing thataround thecityofEdinburgh,andtherewas thechallengeofraisingenoughsupport financially togoon the trip.We worked and raised money and prayed and packed, and before I knew it,finalswerefinished,Iwashalfwaythroughmycollegecareer,andIwasheadingofftoGreatBritain.

InMay2000,theplanelandedatEdinburghAirport,andthoughtiredfromtravel, Iwanted to keepmy eyeswide open.We drove to the flats owned byYWAM (Youth with a Mission). The ministry base was in Leith, thenortheasternseasideareaofEdinburgh,anditwaswherewewouldstay.Itookin the sights and the jaw-droppingbeautyof thegreenhills andoldbuildings.Wewalkedfromthebaseto thedocksandpickedtheonlyopenrestaurantforourdinnerspot.Ihadrhubarbpieandtotallyhatedit.

Forthenexttwoweeks,wespenttimeministeringinWesterHailes,apoorneighborhood just outside of the city center (or centre, as the Scots spell it).Helene,theministrydirector,spenttimeeducatingusonthisuniquecommunityand gave us opportunities to hang out with them. We did VBS-type camps,Sunday services, and prayer walks. We got some time to sightsee, playedUltimate,andatedeep-friedMarsbars.

I don’t remember themoment. I wish I did. I wish I could tell you rightwhereIwasstandingorsitting,whatIwaswearing,orwhatscenerywasinmyview.ButIrememberwhatIsaidtoGod.Isaid,“Ifthisisbeingamissionary,Icandothis.Becausethisplacefeelslikehome.”

And it did.Maybe itwasbecause they spokeEnglish—andmypreviousmission trips (toCostaRicaandFrance)werechallenging forme in that area.Maybeitwastheweatherorthepeople.Idon’tknow.

ButwhenIleftthatcountry,IknewIwouldbeback.AndthenIforgotScotland.

Forsevenyears,Ilivedmylifeanddidmythingandneverthoughtaboutgoingback.Therewouldbeglimpses,momentsoflongingorhopingorsomething,butitwas never long or thought out. Instead, Iwould hear something Scottish orwatchamovieorseeasignandthink,“Ilovethatplace.”

Itdidn’ttakemuchcouragein2007whenanopportunityarosetosignuptohelpleadacampforChristianyouthnearGlasgow,Scotland.SoIwent.AndIlovedeverylong-sleeves-in-the-summerminuteofit.Italsodidn’ttakecouragetogobacktothatcampin2008.Theonlyminuteofsheerpanic,whencouragewouldhavehelped,wasat theendof that2008trip, inavan,drivingbyLochNess.Ihadjustbeenbaptizedinthatlake,andwewereheadingtodinner.TomFraley,anAmericanpastorandmissionaryinEdinburgh,turnedaroundfromtherowofseatsinfrontofme,lookedintomyeyes,andsaid,“Annie,doyouwannamovehereandworkwithus?”

IwasliterallyfivedaysawayfrommovingtoNashville.WhenIgothomefromthistrip,Iwouldpackmyfinal thingsandloadmycarandleaveMarietta, thehomeIhadalwaysknown,anddrivetoTennesseetolivethere.

IsaidnotoTom.Inthatshockedandquickkindofway.Notnow.Maybesomeday,butnotnow.

But that idea never left my head. Every six months or so after that, as IsettledintoNashvilleandbuiltmylife,theFraleysandIwouldskypeoremail.Tomwouldsaytheywerereadyformetocome,butIwouldhavejustsignedaleaseforanewplacetoliveoragreedtoafreelancewritingjobthatrequiredmetobe inNashville.Or Iwouldcall to say Iwas ready tocomeover,andTomwouldsayIwaswelcome,butthetimingprobablywasn’tthebest.

Ididn’treallywanttoleaveNashville,butsomethingstilltuggedatme.AndIwasn’t as afraid this time.Becausehere’swhat I learned frommoving thosethreehoursnorthofMariettain2008:WhenGodtellsyoutobebrave,hewillmakeitwork.Itwon’tbeperfect.Itwon’tbeeasy.Butitwillbeyourstoryandyourbeststory.

SoEdinburghdidn’tseemlikethelunaticdecisionitwouldhaveafewyearsbefore,whenIwasstillthatAnniewholivedinherhometown.

But nonetheless, because I am, by nature, horriblywimpy, I found a goodmiddlegroundtomovingacrosstheocean.(Youknowthosepeoplewhodecidetomovesomewhereandsellalltheirstuffandthenmoveandfigureitoutwhentheygetthere?Yeah,that’snotme.)Tomandhiswife,LeighAnn,andIsettledonaplan. Iwent toEdinburghforamonthand livedwith them.Iwent in thedeadofwinter,whendaysareterriblyshortandflightsareterriblycheap,totrythewholeexperienceonforsize.Nomissionteamfullofhometownfriends.Noshorttwo-weekstay.JustmeinaforeigncountryforanentiremonthtryingtofigureoutifIwantedtotakethisstep.

IlandedonaTuesday.ButFridayeveningonmywayhomefromdinneratmynewfriendMary’s

house,IknewIwasgoingtomovetoEdinburgh.

At the end of thatmonth overseas, I came home toNashville and took a fewmonths to get things in order, sell or store my belongings, and eat a lot ofMexicanfood.IpostedamapofthecityofEdinburghinmyroomandreadoverit, memorizing every street near my future flat and our church and markingwhere each of my friends lived. And then three days after my thirty-firstbirthday,threeyearsaftermovingtoNashville,IcriedintheAtlantaairportasIsaidgood-byetomyparentsandgotonaplanethatwastakingmetoalifeIhadonlydreamedaboutandprayedfor,neverknowingitwouldactuallyhavelegs(or,Iguess,wings).

But Iknew itwouldbeokay. Ihad seen,with themove toNashville, thatchanging citieswhen it isGod’s idea endsupbeing an awesome idea. It isn’tfree.Itisn’talwayseasy.Butit’sagoodidea.

AndIwasluckierthistime.IalreadyhadpeopleinScotlandIloved,thankstoprevioustripsandmymonth-longstay.HarryandAnne,acouplewholiveonthewestcoastofScotland,arepracticallymyfamily.HarrytookmetomyfirstrealBritishsoccermatch(Go,Rangers!)andboughtmeateamscarftoproudlywear. I am indebted to him forever. Tom and Leigh Ann, the pastors ofCrossroadsChurch,knewmeandlovedmewell.ThischurchtheywereplantingwastobeaplaceforuniversitystudentstohearaboutChrist.Theyhadcreatedachurchplantteamofvolunteersfromapartnerchurch.Thatteamwasmadeupofsomefolkswhohadbecomemybest friendsearlier thatyear—Estherand

Harry,Leisa,James,Kenneth,Melissa—andIcouldn’twaittogetbacktothemand joinTom as amember of the church staff. I had a community I loved inEdinburgh,andIwaseagertoreturnhometothem.

I landed in Edinburgh in July with a return ticket to Atlanta booked forThanksgiving, the tail end ofNovember.Thanksgiving is the one holiday thatmymotherinsistsweallbepresentandaccountedfor.Inmythirty-threeyearsofexistence,IhaveonlymissedhalfofaThanksgivingDay,thankstoattendingtheMacy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in 2009. (Don’t worry. I flew home toAtlantathatafternoontobewithmyfamily.)

The plan was that the November flight from Scotland would just be tocelebrate the holidays and then I’dmove back to Edinburgh long-term in thenewyear.

Edinburghbenefited from those lessons I learnedbyuprootingmy life thefirsttimeandmovingtoNashville.ImovedintotheMorningsideneighborhoodandbegantolivetherelikeIwasgoingtobetherefortherestofmylife.

I quickly learned to maneuver my local Tesco, the grocery store on thecornernearmyflat.IalsolearnedmywayaroundWaitrose,theWholeFoods-esque fancygrocery store,because if there isone thing Iwill splurgeon, it isingredients. I figured out the bus routes (after a major melt-down due tomemorizingthebusstopsonthewrongsideofthestreet).Iboughtacellphonewithmap capabilities, for obviousAnnie reasons. I lovedmy Scottish friendslikeIwasneverleavingthem.

Iwashappy.Blissfullyso.

ThefallinEdinburghisbeautifulandcrispandthedaysgetshortinablink,butthose early afternoon hours take on a golden hue that I’ve never seen before.AfterlunchonedayinearlyOctober,IsatattheStarbucksacrossthestreetfromtheEricLiddellCentrewithjustmyjournal,myBible,apeachmuffin,andasoychai.

Ifelt totallyalive.IfeltmorealivethatdaythanIhadinyears.Itwaslikeevery internal cylinder was firing and I was the optimum Annie. I began tojournal,askingGodwhatitwasthatwascausingmyhearttoliveinaperpetualstateofpure,happyexplosion.

IlistedthreethingsthatweretruebecauseIwantedtofindthereasonbehind

thisandholdtighttoit.

1.IlivedinEdinburgh,Scotland.Ifthiswasit,thethingthatmademefeelsoalive,thenmy

suspicionswouldbetrue—Iwasstayingbecauseitwasthebestplaceformylifeandmyheartand,tobehonest,mybody.IwasgettingsomuchdailywalkingexercisethatIfeltthehealthiestIhadinyears.AndIlovedlivingthere.

2.Iwassingle.WhileIcertainlyhopedthiswasn’tit(becauseIwantedtoget

marriedandhaveafamily),Ihadtocallaspadeaspade.Itwasapossibility.ThefactthatIwassimultaneouslyfeelinglikethebestversionofAnnieandalsobeingsinglewasanewemotionforme.Ididn’tfeellikesomethingwaslacking,andthatwasworthnoticing.

3.Collegeministrywasabigpartofmylife.IhadnotspenttimewithcollegestudentssincetheyearafterI

graduatedcollegeandworkedatUGA’sWesleyFoundation.ButhereIwasmentoringanddisciplingandhangingoutwithcollegestudentsonadailybasis,andIrememberedhowhappyitmademethenandhowfulfillingitwasnow.

IlookedthroughthelistandaskedGodagain,“Whatisit,God,thatmakesmefeelsoalive?”Whileallthreeofthosethingsweretrueformethatday,andthecombinationofthemwasmakingmeintothebestme,IknewmynextstepwasgoingtobedeterminedbythatlistandthequestionIwasaskingthatday.Ihad todecideonewayor theother:WasIbookinga flightback toEdinburghaftertheholidays,orwasmytimeinthiscitydonefornow?

Andquietlyinmyheart,Iheard,“Youcandocollegeministryanywhere.”AndIknew.Isatbackinmychair,a little inawe,andsaidout loudtono

oneandeveryone,“Oh.I’mgoinghome.”Iknowthissoundscrazy,butithadn’tcrossedmymindbefore—thatImightnotkeeplivingthere.Butitwasclear.Iwould go home toNashville and find away to invitemyself into the lives ofcollegestudentsthere,eventhoughIdidn’tknowasingleoneofthem.Iknewmy church had some sort of college ministry, so I just hoped I could getinvolved.Ididn’tknowhowitwouldhappen,butatthattableasthesunsetoverEdinburghbeforedinnertime,IknewwhenIflewhomethatThanksgivingafter

working at CrossroadsChurch for a semester, Iwas going back toNashville.AndIknewIdidn’twantalifewithoutcollegestudentsinit.

Itwasapainfuldeparture,evenknowingitwastheright thingtodo.ItbreaksmyheartoverandoveragainthatsomeofthepeopleIlovethemostareontheothersideoftheocean.ItellpeopleoftenthatnomatterwhereIam—Marietta,Nashville,Edinburgh—IamhomeandyetI’mnothome.Chunksofmyheartlive in each city, and it won’t be until heaven when everyone I love will bewithinreach.

Becausewhen I left those friends inScotland thedaybeforeThanksgiving2011,IknewIwasleavingforgood.

TodayIdon’tliveinEdinburgh.IliveinNashville.

Elevenyears.ElevenyearsandtwomonthsafterthatfirsttriptoEdinburgh,thetripwhere

myheartfoundahomeandmyknowerconnectedwithalanditseemedtohavealwaysknown,mymappointedmethereagainanditbecamemyliteralhome.AnaddressonMardaleCrescentandeverything.

IsawGodinEdinburghlikeIneverhadbefore.Instrugglesthatthreatenedtoshredpartsofmyheart,infriendshipsthatfeltlifelong(andaregoingtobe),invisionsfromGodforourministryandforthecityandtheuniversitystudentsthere.Ilearnedhowtoleadfromsomeofthefinest.ImademistakeslikeIwaspaidtodoit.IwasmorefiercelyindependentthanIeverknewpossible.

It broke me to move to Nashville in 2008, when I left Marietta andeverythingthatwassafeandhometown.ItbrokemeintoonehundredpiecesandIsawthemlyingonthefloorofthatfirsthouseinwhichIlivedon11thAvenueSouth. I thought they’dneverconnectagain.But theydid, inbetterways, inamosaic that made me more me. But Edinburgh? It bent me. I didn’t shatter.NashvillechangedmeinwaysthatmadeEdinburghpossibleandmorebeautiful.

Iwent toScott andFaith’shouseoutsideofEdinburghcity centre for teaoneafternooninSeptember.Faithaskedmeaboutmystory—whathadmehereandwhere it all started. I told her of that first trip to Edinburgh when I was asophomoreatGeorgia,ofHelenewholedusandtaughtussowell,ofhowIfeltathome.Ihadlookedforthatministry,googlingeverythingIcouldtonoavail,and I said that toher.Faith’s face litup.“Iactuallyknow thatministry, and IknowofHelene.”Icouldhavecriedrightthere.FaithtoldmeofWesterHailes(Ihad forgotten thenameof thehigh-risebuildingneighborhood)and toldmehowtomakecontact.

SoImapped it,only tosee thatmyflatwas less than fourmiles fromthatvery place, the placewheremy first “worldmissionary” heartwas born.AndthankstoFaith’sresources,IemailedHelene.Ithankedher,mainly,andaskedhertolunch.IwantedhertoknowIwasthere,inmanyways,becauseofher.Itwasthosefirstweeksin2000,theonesthatopenedmynineteen-year-oldhearttoapeopleandaplacethatwouldbotheventuallybemyhome.

yourpeople

May2012PortlandBrew,Nashville,Tennessee

In the fifth grade, my best friend, Amanda, and I had anawesomeideaon thebusride toschool. Itwas themorningofApril1,andasfifthgradersandthetopdogsatNicholsonElementary,itwasourjobtopulloffanextremelyawesomeAprilFools’Dayprank.

Withthebusridetoschoolbeingonlyabouttwentyminuteslong,itwasn’teasy to come upwith themost amazing prank ever. But we felt like we hadbrainstormedaprettysmartidea.BecauseIamtheepitomeofarulefollower,Idecidedthatassoonaswearrivedatschool, Ineededtoaskmyprincipal if itwas okay for us to gather the four fifth-grade classes together to prank ourteachers.Herewastheidea:theprincipalwouldcallallthefifth-gradeteacherstothefrontoffice.Thenwewouldallswitchtoadifferenthomeroomfromourown and put our heads down.When the teachers returned, their own studentswouldnotbesittingquietlyintheirclassroom.

Iknow.ThefactthatthisisthecraziestideaIcameupwithshouldtellyousomuchaboutmyrebelliousstreak.

The principal totallywent for it (duh, I’m totes persuasive), and about tenminutesafterIgottomyclassroom,theintercomsummonedallfourteacherstothe office. Amanda and I, in homerooms across the hallway from each other,peeked out the door and watched as the four teachers turned the corner.Wequickly shooed our classmates into other classrooms, and everyone actuallycarriedoutouridea—theyputtheirheadsdownandsatinsilence.

(Ididnotseethatpartcoming.)Butastrangethinghappened.Threeoftheteachersreturned,andtheprank

wasahitwithstudentsandteachersalike,butmyhomeroomteacherdidn’tcomeback. So when everyone returned to their homeroom and the announcementsstartedandwestilldidn’tseeher,anotherfriendcameupwithanidea.

“Let’s all hide,”Nick said, “andwhen shegets here, shewon’t be able tofindus.”

Therewasoneclosetfullofpaintsandpaperandteacherythings,andsothetwenty-something of us ten-year-olds sardined into it. The door barely closed.Butitdid.Anditwaspitch-blackdark.Andwhentheannouncementsplayedthesong “I’m Proud to Be an American,” as happened every single day duringOperation Desert Storm at Nicholson Elementary, we sang at the top of ourlungssoshewouldfindus.

Tothisday,itissuchafondmemorybecauseitfeltlike“our”thing—ourlittle class had pulled off a prank the likes of what Nickelodeon afterschoolspecialsweremadeof.NothingmakesyoufeelconnectedtothepeoplearoundyoulikesingingatthetopofyourlungsfromthelakesofMinnesotatothehillsofTennessee.

BobGoff calls them capers, and I like capers, especiallywhen they bondpeopletogether.AmandaandI,next-doorneighborsourwholechildhoodlives,livedoutmanycapers.Werodeourbikesthroughthewoods,rananimaginarystoreoutofherplayhouse,andchallengedeachother to spring thehighestoffthe diving board and into the neighborhood pool.Andwith her bymy side, Ialwaysfeltbrave.Youaremypeoplewhenwepulloffacapertogether,whetherornotitinvolvesnationalpride.

I lovemypeople. I couldwrite anentirebookon that,whichprobablymeansthischapter isgoingtobetoolong,butIdon’tcare.Iwanttolivebrave.SoIpursue opportunities and look forGod’s open doors, but I only can because IhavepeoplewholovemeandwithwhomIbelong.

Weallneedthat.In February 2009, I had only lived in Nashville a fewmonths, but I had

managed to finish writing a book, make some friends, and blow through mysavings.Iwasreallypoor—Imean,barelygettingby,havingtoaskmyparentsfor money, carpooling to save gas, selling-things-on-Craigslist poor. And sowerealotofmyfriends.Thatyear,manyofuswereonthefirstfewstepsofour

creativecareers,andthosefirstfewstepslooklikeshufflingintheporridgelinewithOliverTwist.Inannied.IworkedatarestaurantcalledTheLocalTaco.ItookjobsIfoundonlineforeditingorwritingcopy.Andyetendsjustweren’tmeeting.

Myfriendsfeltitintheirlivestoo,andthemostfrustratingthing,especiallyin a town likeNashville that is full of young adultswhohavemovedhere ontheirowntochasetheirdreams,wasthatweallwantedtobetogether.Wedidn’twanttoeatathomealone,butwecouldn’taffordtoeatout.

Andsobeganfamilydinner.OurSundayritualstartedoutsimpleenough.Muchliketheclassicchildren’s

taleStoneSoup,weallbroughtwhatmeagerthingswecouldinattemptstoturnoutadecentmeal.Jasonbroughtapoundofgroundbeef.WhileLaurabrownedit,Emily chopped an onion.Weboiled noodles and added carrots (thankyou,Claire) and a variety of fresh garden veggies (from Joel, who is a famoussongwriter,sohe’srichenoughtobuyfreshvegetables).Andwithalotofwater,thatsoupsatisfiedus.

EvanmakesthemeanestgrilledcheesesandwichthissideoftheMississippi.Thanks to Betsy, who brought a block of sharp cheddar cheese;Marisa, whoprovidedaloafofbread;andmygarlicsalt,weallateourfill.

Irelaxedintothatfamilyspotlikeithadalwaysbeenmine.Andweekafterweek,weatetogether.AnemailwentouteachSundayafterchurch—“FamilyDinner: Italian Style” or “Family Dinner: Everything Starts with an R!” or“FamilyDinner:BreakfastStyle.”

Therewouldbea flurryof replies throughout theafternoonas towhowasbringingwhat. I would check in beforemyweekly Sunday nap andwake upwiththetypicalendresult:Joelwasbringingsomethingfancy,andIwashostingagain.

Itwasn’talwaysaperfect setup.Whenyoufilla familywithyoungartistspursuing their dreams, emotions tend to run higher than usual (creatives areknown for that) and people get their feelings hurt. There were times whenfriendsgot leftoutor toomanypeople showedupbut forgot food to share sotherewasn’tenough to feedeveryone.But formonths,our tradition lived.Wemade room for each other everyweek.We prioritized each other—with ourtime,ourmoney,andourgroceries.Wemanagedourbudgetsallweeklongsowecouldmakesurewe’dhaveenoughleftoverforthelettuceorthecheeseortheburgers—forwhateverwevolunteeredtoprovide.

There was a night in the spring when grilled chicken salads were on themenu. The lights strung from the corners ofmy back porchweremaking thewholenighthazy.Thegirlssatoutthereandlaughedastheywatchedtheboystestthestrengthofthetireswinginthebackyard.

I’m sentimental about 2009. Someone recently pointed out I am aboveaverage in sentimentality and below average in the ability to controlmy tearswhenfeelingsaidsentimentality.Ask,well,anyone.But2009issostuffedwithmemoriesofpeopleand times together that it justgetsmeworkedup.WhenIthinkbackon thoseSundaynights, I feel emotional.We started as agroupofchurch-mouse-poorfriendswhojustwantedtheabilitytoaffordtoeatmeat,andthenasweworkedandgotbetterjobs,familydinnerslivedon—andwelivedlikeafamily.

That group of people became aweekly community forme—over Skip’stacos or Jason’s grilled chicken or Laura’s angel food cake or Evan’s grilledcheese sandwiches (which are good enough to get emotional over all bythemselves).Sundaynightsfedmybodyandmysoul.

Butitwasmorethanthat.Itwasanincubatorforlittleseedsofcourage.PhilandSonniewerehavingtheirfirstchild,andwecouldtalkabouttheirfearsonSundaynights.Skip lefthisday job topursuephotography,andwecould talkabout his leap onSunday nights. Iwas beginning a new career I didn’t knowhowtomaneuver,andaround the table,on theporch,oron thesofawecouldtalkaboutit.Andfriendswouldgenerouslygivetheiradviceorcondolencesorcongratulations.Bestofall,nomatterhowhighIfleworhowfarIfell,Sundaynightalwayscame.

Ibelongedthere.Ithinkthat’swhatIneedmosttobebrave—aplacewhereIbelong.And

youonlyfindthatplacewhenyoufindthosepeople,whetherit’ssingingaboutAmerica in an elementary school closet or hovering over awarm pot of soupreadytofeedtwenty.

No one is brave alone. Every superhero has someone they come home to;everyBiblecharacterhassomeonetheydependon.Jesushadhisdisciplesandhis family. Batman had Robin. Paul had Barnabas. Ruth had Naomi. TheIncredibles had each other; Superman hadLois Lane.Moses hadAaron,Hur,andMiriam.Noah had his family. Sowe seemodeled, even in theBible, thetruththatthebravestamongusdonotstandalone.

Mytwobestfriends,HaleyandMolly,havebeenthereformeoverandover

againsincewemetaskidsatchurch.WhetherIactuallywasbraveorawimpinneedofahugoraCokeIcee,theystoodbesideme.We’vewalkedthroughhighsandlows—immensepainandworryandillnessandbetrayalandalsoweddingsandbabiesandlaughterandyearsuponyearsofeveryemotion.Theyhavebeenbraveformeandwithme.IhopeIhavedonethesameforthem.

IfyouthinkI’mfunny,(1)thanksand(2)thankmydad.Dadisalotofthings,includingvery,veryfunny.Wetalkonthephonealot,andweoftensharejokesbackandforth.Forexample,ifItellastoryatdinnerwithmyfriendsandtheylaughalot,Iwillalmostalwayscallmydadthenextdayandtellhimthestory,includingdescribing thereactionfromtheothersat the table. I thinkbecauseIam like him, I’m always convinced he’ll think my jokes are funny too. (Hepretendsto,at least.)Whenit’s timetohangup,he’llsay,“Bigkiss!”andtheappropriateresponseis,“Littlewave!”

Iknow. It’sweird.And I actuallydon’t do it, thoughmy sisters arebetterpeople who tend to respond in the way my father requests. Instead, myconversationswithDadendlikethis.

Dad:“Bigkiss!”Annie:“Yeah,loveyou,Daddy.Seeya...”thenItrailoffintooblivionand

hangup.ButthereisanotheroneofDad’sfill-in-the-blanksthatIactuallyreallylike.

He’llsay,“Wholovesya?”—andthenbeforeIevenhavetimetoanswer,hesays,“Dada.Dada.”

Nowmindyou,noneofushavecalledhim“Dada”inapproximatelytwentyyears,butitstillworks.

WhydoIlikethatsomuch?Ithinkit’sreallynicewhenotherpeopleremindyouthatyouareloved.Itmakesyoubrave.When you know who loves you, you know your safe places. You know

whereyoucanrest.Youknowwhereyoucangowhenyoufail.(I’msorryifI’mthefirsttotellyouthis,butbraveornot,youaregoingtofail.)Knowingwholovesyoualsoletsyouknowwhoyoucantrustwithyourbraveideasandwhowillholdyouaccountabletobeingbravebutnotbeingfoolish(ifyouletthem).

IhadlivedinNashvilleforapproximatelytwentydaysin2008whenIdrovehometoMarietta forawedding.Peoplehadbarelymissedmypresence,but itwaslikebreathingagainformetobeinatownwhereIwasknownandloved.Theweekendflewby,andsuddenly itwasSundaynightandIneeded toheadbacktoNashville.

Istoodatthefrontdoorweepingintomydad’sarms.Ijustcouldn’tgoback.Itwastoohard,toodifferent,tooempty.“Okay,”Dadsaid,“youdon’thaveto.We’llfigureoutawaytogetyourstuffbackdownhereandyoucanstay.We’llhiremoversorsomething.We’llworkitout.Butisthatreallywhatyouwant?”

Iknewitwasn’t.IknewGodwasgivingmethechancetobebrave,andinsome roundabout parentalwisdom and hijinks,my dadwas doing the same. Iknewintheconversationthathewasgoingtolovemeeitherway—stayorgo— and that he and my mom would support either decision. I knew it wasbreakingtheirheartstoseemesodistressedandsad.AndyetDadofferedmeachancetobeawimpandofferedmeachancetobebrave.Whereitmighthavefelt better for all of us if I had stayed home, Dad didn’t make that the onlyoption.He could have.Manyparents do.But he didn’t.Hiswords gaveme achoice.Hislovetoldmetobebrave.

Somehow I drove away that day. Probably because my parents told me Ididn’thaveto.

Youmayalreadyhavealistofpeoplewholoveyougrowinginyourmind.Ormaybeyou’restillspinningyourwheelstothinkupjustafew.Maybetodayis a good day to figure outwho loves you. Their lovewill give you courage.Maybe today isagoodday to tell theonesyou love thatyou love them.Yourlovewillgivethemcourage,likeadepositinthebankoftheheart.Idon’tknowhow it works, the science and math of it all, but I know that love given iscouragegained.

When I decided to pursuewriting as a career,my friendShannon toldmeabout a conference in California called the Mount Hermon ChristianWritersConference.Shesaidweshouldgotogether.IwasanabsolutenewbiewithnoideawhatIwasdoing,butifShannonsaidweshouldgo,Iwasgoingtogo.

Ibookedmyflightandmyhotel—andthen?Shannoncouldn’tgo.Itwasoneofthosephonecallsyouabsolutelydonotwanttogetwhenyou

arealreadyfeelingtotallywimpyandlikeyouwanttohideandforgetaboutthewholething.ButIcouldn’t.Themoneywaspaid.Iwantedtobeawriter,andsoIwasgoing.

Iknewnoone—Imean,noone.ButmyfriendKathleenhadfoundoutthata blogger she likedwasgoing—Melodee.So she sentmeMelodee’s pictureandsaid,“Findherandbeherfriend.”

Ididn’thaveanybetterideas,andMelodee’sblogmadeherseemlikeaniceperson,soatlunchonmyfirstdayaloneatawriter’sconferenceinCalifornia,IstalkedheruntilIfoundher,walkeduptohertable,andprettymuchaskedhertobemyfriend.Itwasterrifying.Sittingwithherwere twootherwomenwhowerelegitimatelyMelodee’sfriends—SarahandLinda.AlsoatthetablewasadudenamedBrad,whohadcomealone—apastorfromCanada.Theyinvitedmetojointhem,soIdid.

Andfortherestofthatwriters’conference,afullweek,wewereinseparable.We were the Hermonistas. And we belonged together; we belonged to eachother;wehadpeople.Braveryandbelonginggohandinhand.Wesattogetherthatweekandtoldeachothertobebrave,whileweourselvesweremusteringupall thecouragewecould find. Ibolstered them.Theybolsteredme.We foundeachotherandtoldeachothertobebrave.

Buthowtofindthem—thepeoplewhowillstandwithyouandholdupyourarms or cover your mouth when you should shut up — seems to be thechallenge. The people are easier to identify than youmay realize— you justfollowyour path and look around, because the braveones?They are theonesparalleltoyou.Theyareyourpeople.Justlikeeveryotherhobby—panningforgoldormountainbikingorbakingorbookclubbing—yousteptowardthethingthatscaresyouandyoudoitandthenyoulookaround.Thosepeoplestandingbesideyou?Theyarebravetoo.Theymustbetobewalkingalongsideyouonthecourageouspath.

yourtalents

May2013PearlCup,Dallas,Texas

April and I met at Signature Nails, my favorite local nailsalon,where Iwas getting amanicure.April is twenty-two and inmy collegesmall group, but she is a working woman, our church’s pastoral coordinator.She’skeepingGod’speoplegoing to the rightplaceat the right timewith therightthingsinhand.

Letmetellyouaboutmynails.Theyaretiny.Imean,likereallytiny.Andforalotofmylife,Ibitmynailslikecrazy,butinthelastcoupleofyears,I’veprettymuchquit.Imean,IstillbitethemifIgetsupernervous.OrifI’mfeelingsuperinsecure.

OrifIameditingabook.Butonyournormalrun-of-the-millday,I’vequitbitingthem.(I’m takingabowrightnowbecause I thinkyoushouldbeapplaudingme

formostlydefeatingabadhabit.)And now I love gettingmy nails painted. They are still stubby and small,

evenontheirbestdays,butIliketopaintthem.Ahem,getthempainted.It’sagooduseoftendollarseveryfewweeks,Isaytomybudget.

WhenAprilarrivedatSignature,Iwasstillpickingoutmycolor.Agray?Apink?Somethingsoft. Itwasalmostsummertime,andwithbeachtripscomingup,IknewIwantedacolor thatwouldworkasanoptical illusiontoconvincepeoplethatIwasactuallytan.

(Idon’ttan.Iburn.I’maporcelaindoll.I’dhavebeenahitwiththefellasinthe1800s.)

I ended upwith an Essie brand color called Baby’s Breath. It’s a creamywhitethatleanstowardpeachwithahintofshimmer.Prettymuch,Iwantedtopurchasetheentirebottleimmediatelybecauseitistheperfectshade.

Alas, I didn’t. I let some guy namedLuke trim andmassage and clip andpaintmystubbynailswhileAprilsatbesidemeasBettypaintedhernailsaracyhotpink.

Afterward,asournailsdriedunderthatweirdbluelight,IaskedAprilaboutbeingbrave.Isteppedintomysmallgroupleaderroleandasked,“Whatpartofbeingbravedoyouwantustotalkabout?Like,rightnow?”

“Iwantyoutotalkabouthowyoufigureoutwhattodowithyourlife.”Ohsure,April.Nobiggie.AndthenIalmostpassedoutbecausethatseems

HUGEandliketheabsolutelymostnecessarythingtobebraveaboutandmaybeI’mnotsurehowtodoit.ButIknewwhatIneededtotellher.Thestorycametomymindimmediately.

AfewmonthsagoIwasridingonaplanefromheretotherereadingFreefalltoFly by Rebekah Lyons. (Will you please read it? You should. Please.) I wassitting in an aisle seat, which I never do. I’m a window girl. I feel like thedifferencebetweenanaisleseatandawindowseatisthedifferencebetweenanairbusandanencounterwithGod.Anaisleseatjustguaranteesyouyou’llgettoyour destination. A window seat with a view of the ground from a cruisingaltitudeofover ten thousand feet showsyoupartsofGod’screation thatblowyourmind.

Asweflew,Idevouredthatbook.Herwriting is justbeautiful.AndthenIcametothechapterwhereshewritesabouttheparableofthetalentsinMatthew25.Arichmanisheadedoffonajourney,sohebringstogetherhisservantsandpassesouthismoneytothem.(Interestingtactic.Let’sseehowthisplaysout.)Hegivesoneguyfivebagsofgold,anothertwo,andanothergotone.

Theguywithfivebags?Hegets towork,andwhenhisbossgetsback,hehasfivemoretoofferhim—tenbagsofgoldtotal.Theservantwithtwobagsdoesthesame—hegetstoworkandbringshisownertwicewhathehad.Buttheguywithonebagofgoldjustburiedit,dugitupwhenbossmangothome,andhandedbackthatsamebagofmoney,probablystainedbythedirt.

Therichmanisthrilledwiththefirsttwodudes—obviously—andinvites

them to celebrate and share in the wealth. He’s less pleased with the third.Actually,he’sfuriouswiththatone-buried-talentguy.

IreadMatthew25:14–30thatday.Ihadreadthestorymanytimes.Fivetoten(thatwasgood),twotofour(thatwasgood),onetoone(andthatwasbad).TheNIVcallsthem“bagsofgold,”butmanyhistoricaltextscallthem“talents.”Atalentisabagofgold.

ButthenasIreadRebekah’sbook,sheaskedmetothinkaboutanytalentsinmylifethatIhadburied.Like,realtalents,thewayweusethewordnowinourmodernculture,meaning things Iwant to try todowithmy life,basedonmydesiresandskillsandgiftings.(Theoldbaitandswitch,Rebekah.Wellplayed.)Andthenshesaidtomakealistandwritethemdown.

Ittookmybreathaway.Iclosedthebook,lookedtotherightandtotheleft,andtriedtobreathenormally.Ididn’twanttodothis.

To be fair, I’ve made a few brave career choices— quitting teaching topursue writing, quitting a great job at a nonprofit organization in NashvillecalledMochaClub to step out into full-timewriting and speaking.*But therewasatalentIhadburiedinmyheartthatIdidn’twanttobringup.

It’s that thing you want to do with your life that you quietly googlesometimesortellonefriendonceincollegeoraskyourmomaboutinpassingonce,hopingshewillactuallythinkit’sagreatidea.

IwanttobeonTV.Ifeeldumbeventypingittoyou,justlikeIfeltdumbwhenItoldmymom

andmy friend in college andwhy I quietly google “how to be on theDisneyChannel” and then clear my history because if anyone saw that I would bemortifiedandprobablymakeupsomeexcuseaboutdoingresearchforabook.

I don’twant to be an actress. Iwant to host a television show that youngadultslovebutisn’tcheesyordirty.(Nojoke,mystomachisinmythroatjustwritingthis.Butit’swhatIwanttodo.)

Atone timeIgenuinely thoughteveryonewanted todo thiswith their life.Asanelementaryschoolkid,Iwouldpracticemyautographinthesteamed-upmirrorinmybathroomafterashower.Iwouldbikearoundourconcretecarportandpracticeansweringinterviewquestionsandinterviewingothers.

ButasIgrewup,Igentlylaiddownthatdream,slidsomedirtoverit,andstompeditdownabit,untilitwasgoodandburied.

Andthen,thatdayontheairplane,Rebekahkickedatthedirtandmademe

seeit.Andthenshehadthegutstoaskmetopickitupanddosomethingwithit.

Howdareshe.

Iwent to a classoncewhere the teacherwasSethGodin, business expert andbestselling author. It was a five-day intensive course called the NanoMBA. Ilearned a book’sworth of knowledge thatweek, but one ofmy greatest take-awayswastheimportanceoffailure.

WhenIpitchedanideatoSethGodinabouthowtogetmorepeopletoshareMochaClubwiththeirfriends,helookedrightinmyeyesandsaid,“Andwhatif that fails?” Iwas like,“Uh . . .my lifewillbeover? I’llbeembarrassed? Idon’tknowwhatI’lldo?”Andmyarmpitsstartedtogetsweaty.

Heresponded,“No,you’llbefine.You’llcomeupwithanother idea.Thisisn’tyourlastidea.It’sokaytofail.”

Ibelievedhimthatday.Istilldo.SethisoneofthemostnaturallybravepeopleI’vemet.Hetriesthingsallthe

time—somegoreallywellandsomedon’t.Buthekeepstryingbecauseheisacreatorandhe isdoingwhatmakeshimhappy,and thenhe’s sittingbackandlettingtheworlddecideifitmakesthemhappytoo.

That conversationwith one ofmy business heroeswas just the prep I neededbefore Rebekah challenged me to find my hidden talent. (This does notnecessarilymeanI’mactuallytalentedasaTVpersonofsorts.ShejustshookupthedesireIhadtriedtobury.)

Thefearonthatplane?Thefeelinglikesomeonehadjustcaughtmepickingmy nose or reading something inappropriate? It meant that something wasburied.Ihadbeenbusted.

AndIknewit.InEugenePeterson’srenditionofthisparableinTheMessage,themasterof

theservantssaystothefirsttwo,“Fromnowonbemypartner”(Matthew25:21,23).Andthathitmerightintheguttoo.

WhatdoIwantmostwithmylife?Tobedoing the things thatpartnermewithGod.Iwanttobehispartner.WhenIlookbackonmylife,thegreatestjoywillbetotalkaboutthetimesIwaspartneredwithGodinwhathewasalreadydoing.IcanfeelitnowwhenIfallintothosemoments—thefeelingthatwearepartnerswhoaredancingtogetherprofessionallyandperfectly.

Andwhether the result is successor failure, I think the trying iswhatgetsyou a partnership. Neither of those two servants went gangbusters makingmoney for theirmaster.They justdoubled their investmentby the timehegotback. Iwonder if the first guy actuallymade seven talents but lost two in theprocess—sothatwhenthemastergothome,hehadtentohandhim,evenifatonepointhehadtwelve.

Maybe failure is in that story.We’ll neverknow.We justknow that thosefirsttwodudesdidtheworksotheycouldhandtheirmastertwicewhathehadhandedthem.

Chewonthat,y’all.

Ihaveasmallgroupofpeoplewhoadvisemewhenitcomestoworkandlifedecisions.Icallthemmyboardofdirectors,thoughweneverwearpowersuitsorsitatalong,fancyboardroomtable.Weusuallysitatmydiningroomtable.TheyhaveuniquejobsthatmakethemexpertsinareasinwhichIwishtogrow.Oneofthemembersofmyboardusedtoworkforatelevisionstationandhasallthe contacts one might need to begin to pursue this dug-up talent. So as wegathered for our most recent meeting, I made a list of our agenda items andlightly scripted “TV show” in tiny print at the bottom, almost hoping wewouldn’thavetimetogettoit.

(Areyou,like,beyondimpressedwithmynaturalcourage?Iknow.Metoo.)(Sarcasm.)Wegotthroughthemeeting,andtheycouldallseethatlastlittlelinewaiting

tobecheckedoff.SoIspilled thebeans. I lifted that talentoutof thedirtanddusteditoffandhelditouttothemwithfearandtrepidation.Andforthenextforty-fiveminutes,wetalkedabouthowtomakethattalentdouble.

Andoh,amIscared.Itsoundslikeworkanditfeelslikevulnerabilityanditsmellsofgettinginovermyhead.

ButitalsolookslikebeingbraveenoughtohonorthetalentsmyMasterhas

givenme,whetherIdoubleit,tripleit,orcomebacktohimempty-handed.“AtleastItried?”I’llsay,withquestioninginmyvoice.AndIthinkGodwillcallmehispartner.

Sowhatareyourtalents?Willyouletmekickupthedirtatyourfeetalittlebit?WillyoustoplookingoveryourshoulderlikeI’vebustedyouforreadingaboutsex inCosmopolitan and lookme in the eye and tellmewhat talents you’veburied?

I’mnotsayingyouhavetobebraveenoughtoevendoanythingaboutityet.Justbebraveenoughtosayit.Andthen?Youwon’thavethehearttoburyitagain.Here’swhat, and I told you thiswhenwe firstmet some pages ago.You

know the thing. You know what your call to courage is. As we grow inknowledgeandunderstandingofhowGodmadeus,wealsogettogrowinourunderstandingofthetalentshe’sputinourhands.

My television confession is more than just a random example. It’s achallenge to you. I’m looking you in the eye and saying, “Hey, I dug upmytalent.Willyou?”

Willyou?Proveit.

*MochaClubisacommunityofpeople(utilizingacommunity-basedwebsite)whogiveupthecostofafewmochasamonthtofunddevelopmentprojectsin Africa. We work in five main project areas: clean water, education,economicfreedom,orphancare,andhealthcare.

yourwords

October2013Mydiningroomtable,Nashville,Tennessee

Shewasstandingoutside,leaningagainstthewallofthefast-food restaurant we always passed on the way back to our neighborhood. Shelooked upset, so I slowed down, and my friend Heather said, “Hey, stop.Something’swrong.”

Iturnedintotheparkinglotandparkedbesidethegirl.IsatinthecarwhileHeathergotoutandslowlyapproachedtheteenager,whowasonhercellphone.Shewasbawling.Absolutelyundone.

Icouldn’thearthem;Heatherjustwrappedherarmaroundthegirlandspokeandlistened.Aboutsevenminuteslatershegotbackinthecar.Thegirlstayedwhereshewas,stillonthephone.

“Whatwasthatallabout?”Iasked.“Idon’tknow.Sheneversaid. I just toldher itwasgoing tobeokay, that

Godlovedher,andthenIprayedforher.“Idon’tevenknowhername,”Heathersaid.Wegotbackontheroadandkeptdriving,headedtoagoing-awaypartyfor

a friend.Heather nevermentioned that girl or thatmoment again, but I thinkaboutitallthetime.

Iwonderaboutthatgirl.IwonderabouttheimpactHeatherhadthatdaywhenshewasbraveenough

togetoutofthecarandcomfortastranger.Idon’twonderifitmattered;Iknowitmattered.Iknowhercouragechanged

thathurtinggirl.Ourwordsalwaysmatter.

IfwegobacktothebookofGenesis,wheretheworldbegan,weseethatGodstarteditallwithwords.Hespoke,andthingsbecame.Light.Land.Lizards.Allwithaword.Andwearemadeinhisimage.Wespeak,andthingsarecreated.

Hewasbraveenoughtomakeyou,braveenoughtomakeme,braveenoughtomakehumanswhowouldallbreakhisheart.

Proverbs18:21tellsusthatourtongueshavethepoweroflifeanddeath.Iseethatinmylife.Iseethatinmyfriendships.Iseethatinthememoriesofpastthingssaidtome.

Ifthereareseedsofcouragelivinginallofus,waitingtobloom,wordsarethesunandthewaterthatcheeronthoseseedstotheirfullness.

Last year, I pressured about ten of my girlfriends to buy a month’smembershiptoabootcamp.Weweregoingtogetfit inApril2012ifitkilledus.

(Tobenoted—italmostkilledme.)Itwasnoregularbootcamp.Itwasabootcampoutsideat5:00a.m.about

twentyminutes from our neighborhood. So each of us had towake up in theearly4:00sandthengoexercisebeforethesunwasevenup.

How I convinced these people to do it Iwill never know.But I did.AndMonday through Friday we would carpool out to the middle of nowhere forsquatsandpush-upsandrunningandsit-upsandothermisery-filledexperiences.

Asthemonthwenton,theteacherrealizedacoupleofthingsaboutme:

1.Ididnotenjoybeingthere.2.Iamtheclassclownalmostalways.

Soin typical teacherversusclassclownbehavior,shestartedputtingmeatthefrontofthelineorcallingonmetoleadthestretchesorstaringatmealltoooften.Ihatedit.AsmuchasIlovebeingthecenterofattention,Idonotpreferitwhen I’mexercising.Leavemealoneand letmedomy forty squats inpeace,lady.

Ononeofthelastdaysofthemonth,wehadtocompleteanobstaclecourse.Aswasthecaseeveryday,Iwasthelastpersontofinish.Theendofthecoursewasasprintaroundconeswhileholdingaweightedball.Ibegan,andtheteacherranbesideme,absolutelyscreaminginmyears.

YOUCANDOTHIS,ANNIE!DON’TQUITNOW.YOUARESOCLOSE!YOUWOULDN’THAVEMADEITTHISFARAFEWDAYSAGO!FINISHSTRONG!AsmuchasIhatetoadmitthis,itworked.Herwordsinmyeargavemethe

push I needed to complete the course, get inmy car, and never comeback tobootcampagain.

Justkidding.Iwentbackforthelasttwodays.Evenwhenyouareatyour lowest, like Iwas in that last legofbootcamp

torture, theplacewhereyou thinknoonecanhelp,akindwordcangoa longwaytohealandtorescueandhelpyoufinish.

I sat with my counselor two weeks ago, and, as counseling appointmentstend togo, Iverballyvomitedeverything Ihadbeenprocessing for theweekssinceourlastmeeting.

WhenIwasdone,shelookedmestraightintheeyesandtoldmeitwasokaytomourn.

“Wait,” I said. “Idon’t think I agreewith that. I think I’msupposed tobefinethatthisisGod’splanandthatItrusthimandthatheisworkingallthings...”

Sheinterruptedme.“Thedreamsyouthoughtwouldcometrueinacertaintimeframeneverdid.

Yousawalifeforyourselfthatyouwillneverhave.Youcanmournthatloss.”Noonehadeversaidthattomebefore.ButIneededtohearit.KateandIsatdowntoalunchofmeatandtwoveggiesatthelocalplacethat

isjustashortthree-minutewalkfrommyhouse.Itoldherhowthisonesituationwithadudehadn’tworkedoutatall,buttherewashopeoverhereandhopelostoverthere.

“Ijustreallythinkit’sgonnaworkforyouoneday,Annie.Ido.”Ineededtohearthat.IneededtohearthatIwasn’taloneinmyjoysandmysorrows.Itwasbrave

ofthemtosaythething—togivemepermissionandhope,andbothofthoseconversationsbuiltsomethinginme.

Your words matter. The statements youmake to others, the ones that get

planted in people and cause somethingnew to grow, that require a littlemorecourage?Theymatter.TherearethingsthatIneedmypeopletosaytomeinthisseasonofmylife,justliketherearethingsmypeopleneedmetosaytothemintheirseason.

For themonthofOctober2013, Ichose towriteabout“31Ways toSpeakLove”onmyblog,andOctober17happenedtobethedayofapostencouragingmyreaderstosayarandomwordofkindness.Iwroteitonadaywhenmyreallifewaskindaspinningoutofcontrol—unhappyfriends,schedulingmistakes,bigmeetings toplan for, financialworries.Onmysideof the screenwashurtandchaos,andyetIhadtotypeandpublishencouragementandnormalityontotheworldwideweb.SoIdid.

Notmanyminutes later,Adamtextedme.“Randomwordofkindness,”hebegan.Andforaboutthreemoresentences,hespokeintomycareerandmylifeandremindedmewhyI’mhere.The timingcouldn’thavebeenbetterormoregodly.Iswallowedthewordslikemedicine,knowingtheywouldhealandgrowsomethinginme.

“Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to thebones”(Proverbs16:24).Andtosaygraciouswordsisbrave.Tospeaklifeintosomeoneelsetakescourage.Whetheryouarecorrectinginlove,standingupforthevoiceless,prayingforthesick,orpraisingandlovingothers,yourwordsarechangingtheatmosphere.

Don’tbeafraid.Bebrave.Saythethingsthatwillspeaktruthandheal.Holdyourtongueinangerorfear—thosearethetimeswhenacowardspeaks.Butwhenthemomentcomestosaythegraciousthingthatwillmarkaheartforever?

Sayit.Speaklove,andwatchasbeautifulthingscometolife.

sayyes

April2013PortlandBrew,Nashville,Tennessee

Because I fear risk and beingwrong,making big decisionscan be a bit of a downer for me. Moving to Nashville took me ten months.MovingtoScotlandtookmeelevenyears.(Iknow,you’reimpressed.WhatamIhavingfordinnernextweek?I’llstarttoilingoveritandprayingforrevelationtonight.)

But one thing I always knewwithout doubt? Iwanted to teach school.Assoonasmyyounger sisterswereold enough to sit up in chairs, Iwasmakingthemplayschool—takingspellingtestsIcreatedonprinterpaperorcompletingsimplemathworksheets.

WhenIbecameaGeorgiaBulldog,earlychildhoodeducationwastheonlymajor I wanted to pursue. All I had dreamed about was being an elementaryschool teacher and running my own classroom, grading papers and makingstudentslineupinorder.

I’mbossybynature.Beinga teacher isagreatoutlet forbossypeople likeme.

MidwaythroughmysenioryearatGeorgia,rightbeforeIbeganmystudentteaching experience, Bob Beckwith, my campus pastor at the WesleyFoundation,cametomewithanopportunity.Wesleyallowsstudentstostayonaftertheirsenioryearasinterns,anunpaidposition,andBobwantedmetocomeonboardasthewomen’sministryintern.Iwasinvolvedasacellgroupleaderforthreeyearsandworkedcloselywithotherstudentsinleadershippositions,soIwasalreadyvolunteeringalotofmytimeintheministry.AsopportunitiescametoleadandhelpwitheventsatWesley,I’dsaythelittleyestobeapartofwhat

Godwasdoingonthatcampus.Andnow?Abigyeswasrightinfrontofme.Mydreamofteachingelementaryschoolwasinview,andallIhadtodowas

fillouttherightcountyapplicationsandmeetadozenprincipalsandpraytoGodthatoneofthemwouldtrustmewithtwenty-ishchildren’sbrainsfor180daysofinstruction.

On the other hand, interning sounded awesome.Manyofmygood friendswere interning, including my best friend and roommate, and I had grown somuchwithinthatministrythattheopportunitytoturnaroundandservefeltrighttoo.

Butitwasunpaid.I had raised support before formission trips, themost ever being $1,500.

Godhadmadeaway,butnotwithoutmuchpanic,sweating,andcheckingcashbalancesoftenfromfaithlessme.TointernatWesleyIhadtoraise$15,000.

Fifteenthousanddollars.While I’m a big believer in trustingGod guiding us tomake decisions—

survey the situation, get wisdom from others, pray for direction, and then bebrave enough to step out— for this one, I knew Iwanted an answer. I knewtherewasarightandawrong,andIwantedGodtowhisperthattome.

Okay,tobefair?IwantedGodtowriteit intheskyinhotpinkbecauseifI’mabouttotrytoraiseagazilliondollars,Ineedasign.Likearealsign.Maybestuckinmyfrontyard.

Itoiledoverthedecision.Iprayed.Iaskedforwisdomfromtrustedfriends,myparents, andprettymuchanyonewhowould slowdownenough forme toyell,“DOYOUTHINKISHOULDINTERNATWESLEYNEXTYEAR?”

Itwasn’t thathardofadecision.Now, lookingback, ifsomeoneaskedmyopinion, I’dquickly say, “Yes, do it. It’s just ayear.Youwill learn somuch.Godwilltakecareofyou.Nobiggie”—thesekindsofthings.

Butinmysweetlittletwenty-one-year-oldheart,itwasthebiggestdecisionIhadevermade—pursuemydreamcareerthatincludedasalary,ordelayitforayearandmakeapproximatelyzerodollars.

On a Saturday morning right before Christmas break, I sat in my comfywhitechair thathassurvivedeverymoveofmyadult lifeandstill lives inmybedroomtothisday,andIopenedtheBible.

WhilehewasinBethany,recliningatthetableinthehomeofSimonthe Leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very expensive

perfume,madeofpurenard.Shebrokethejarandpouredtheperfumeonhishead.

Someofthosepresentweresayingindignantlytooneanother,“Whythiswaste of perfume? It could have been sold formore than a year’swagesandthemoneygiventothepoor.”Andtheyrebukedherharshly.

“Leaveheralone,”saidJesus.“Whyareyoubotheringher?Shehasdoneabeautifulthingtome.”

MARK14:3–6

SheofferedittoJesus.Herheart,hersacrifice,andoneyear’swages.IknewIwasbeingaskedtosayyestothis—togiveupayear’swagesasan

offeringtoJesustoservethecollegestudentsattheUniversityofGeorgiaandtoministertoJesushimself.

Saying yes changes everything. Walking through the door, agreeing in themoment.Sometimesitisjustwhatisneededtoshowyouthenextbigyes.Isaidyes to interning atUGA. I said yes tomoving back toMarietta. I said yes toNashville. I said yes toEdinburgh. I said yes to collegeministry inNashvilleafter returning fromScotland, inamajor lifecirclekindofway.Today inmyNashville life, nothingmakesme feel more like the Annie I want to be thanwhenI’msurroundedbycollegestudents.Eachyesledtothenextyesthatledtotoday.

It’sthecircleoflife,y’all.AndnowIshallliftatinylionintotheair.(Justkidding...LionKingjoke.)

Wehave tosayyes.Evenwhen it’sscaryorcostlyorunknown.Wedon’tscrewupbysayingyestothewrongthings;wescrewupbylettingallthefloatsintheparadepassusbyandneverjumpingononeofthemforaridetotheend.

IstoodinRobandEmily’sguestbathroom,gettingreadyforadateIdidn’twanttogoon.Ilivebyarulethatifaguyisgoingtobebraveenoughtoaskmeouttomyface,thenIwillbebraveenoughtosayyes,evenifI’mnotlovestruckinmomentone.I’veneverbeenaboy(althoughI’velikedalotofthem),butI’ve

hearditisreallyintimidatingtoaskagirlout,soItrytosalutethatcouragewithayes—thefirsttimeatleast.

Robwaslyingonthecouchwatchinggolf,andIwasquicklychangingforthedate,havingscurriedfrommyjobatMochaClubandneedingtobereadyinaboutfifteenminutes.Iswitchedoutfitsintwoshakesofalamb’stailandthenopenedthebathroomdoortotalktoRobasIputonmymakeupandputmyfourbillionhairsinsomesortoforganizedfashion.

As I continued to get ready, Rob askedme lots of questions:Who is thisguy?Howdid youmeet him?What did you learn from your online stalking?Whydidyousayyes?

Beforetheinquisitionwasover,Iwascrying.Ididn’twanttogoonthisdate.Ihadonlystoppeddatingawonderfulguya

fewweeksbefore,and“gettingbackoutthere”feltlikepouringsaltinawoundinhopesitwouldheal.MyfriendDawnhadsetmeup.Itrustedher,lovedher,and believed in her set-up skills, and she also knewmy heartwas in rejectedrecoverymodeandhopedthatcoffeewiththisstrangerwouldhelp.

SoIsaidyes.Butitwasbreakingmyheart.Itwasa finedate.Wehadgoodconversation, andhe thought Iwas really

funny,sothatalwaysgoesfarinmyheart.Weneverwentoutagain.It didn’t help. It didn’t heal. But it did build something in me — the

knowledgethatlifewasgoingtogoon.Iwasgoingtobeokay.Andalittleyescanbeastepintherightdirection,evenifitisn’taleap.

SomewouldsayItriedtojumpontheparadefloatasitpassedbybutmisseditjustabitandendedupwithsomescrapesandbruisesfromtheasphaltoftheroad.But at least I jumped, and I knewwhat it felt like to take off, even if Ididn’tappreciatethelanding.

Mypeoplehavesaidmuchharderyeses.MovingtoIndiatostartanorphanageas a single woman, then in twelve years having adopted over forty children.Giving up your solo music career to join a group of unguaranteed success.Givingupthelifeyouknowasasinglepersontogetmarried.

You’ve heard before that saying yes to one thing is saying no to all the

others. It’s true, I think. If I say yes to a sushi dinner with my Vanderbiltbaseballplayers,I’msayingnotoMexicanwithmyfriends.IfIsayyestoacity,adate,afriendinneed,I’msayingnotoalltheotheroptions.

It seems that Jesus did that for us over and over again. He said yes touncomfortablethings—likebeingfriendswithtaxcollectorsandeatingintheirhomes.Likelettinga“woman. . .wholivedasinfullife”(Luke7:37)breakabottleof expensiveperfumeoverhis feet inanactof loveandgratitude.LikeconsideringJudasoneofhisbest friends,evenwhenheknew,heknew, Judaswouldbetheonetoturnonhim.

What’syouryes?Ihavetowonderifthereisaquestionlingeringoutthereinyourheartthat

you don’t knowhow to answer. It could be big, like a location change, a jobchange, or a relationship.Ormaybe it is a yes to inviting one friend over fordinner,attendingoneZumbaclassat thegym,ormakingonerequest forhelp.Whatiswaitingforyouonyourmapjustontheothersideofthenextyes?

It’s a powerfulword. I venture to guess it is oneofGod’s favoritewords.He’s always sayingyes tous ifonlywe listen. (My friendBrian toldmeof abooktitledTheGospelofYes.Ireadit,andItotallyrecommenditifyouwanttoreadallthewaysGodissayingyestous.)He’saboutgivingandrestorationandlove.Thoseallscreamyestome.

Someofyouarenaturallyadventurous,andsayingyesisyourfavoritething.Ihadafriendrecentlytellmethatthegreatestthinginhislifeisgettinginacarandjustdrivinguntilheislost,turningwhicheverwaythecarseemstowanttogo.He’sayesguy.Helivesonhismap,evenwhenhedoesn’tunderstandeveryturn,andhedancesfreelywhenthemusicplays.

Buty’allknowthat’snotme.Yeses,inbigwaysandinsmallways,arehardforme,especiallywhenIcan’t seewhat isbehinddoor#1.But it is theyesesthathavechangedeverything.Jesusmodeledthat.Weseeitinourheroesofreallife,likeLeonoraWhitaker,thepersonthebookChristyisbasedon.

IthinkofLeonoraandhowsheleftherfamilyandhomeintheearly1900sto go alone, as a young single woman, to teach school in the mountains ofTennessee. Long before phone lines, emails, or FaceTime, she said yes to achancetoeducatethoseinneed,evenwhenitmeantleavingthosesheknewand

loved.IthinkaboutwhenDaveBarnessaidyestoputtinghissong“GodGaveMe

You”onChristian radio, even though thatwasn’twherehismusichadplayedbefore, never knowing that one night country star Blake Shelton would bedriving through the back roads ofOklahoma, hear the song on the radio, anddecidetorecordit,thusgivingDavehisfirst#1songever.

Connordidn’tknowwhenhesaidyestoplayingbaseballinhissenioryearatVanderbilt (insteadofgoing to themajor leagueswhenhewasdraftedas ajunior) thathewouldhavehisbestyearon the fieldandoff inNashville, thusearninghimahigherdraftspotafterhisseniorseason.

Ashleydidn’t knowwhen she saidyes tomoving toKansasCity to be aninternattheInternationalHouseofPrayerthatthemanwhowouldbecomeherhusbandhaddonethesame.

Thegroomsaysyes.Thepregnancytestsaysyes.Thecollegeacceptancelettersaysyes.Thejoboffersaysyes.Butwillyou?Ihopeso.Ireally,reallyhopeso.Ihopeyou’llbebraveand

sayyes.Sayyestothegym.Sayyestotheopendoor.Sayyestothesituationsthatstretchyouandscareyouandaskyoutobea

betteryouthanyouthinkyoucanbe.Sayyestothemomentsthatwillonlycomeonce.Sayyestoserving.SayyestoJesusineveryway—everychanceyouget.

sayno

July2013PortlandBrew,Nashville,Tennessee

I’m terribleat sayingno.Tobe fair, I’m terribleat a lotofthings, but saying no might be at the top of the list. In fact, I have come torealizethatifIsaytomyself,“Youabsolutelycannothave/say/dothatthing,”Itendtoendupseeking/saying/doingit.WhetherIpromisemyselfIwon’tshareaboutthetextmessageacuteboysentmeandthenimmediatelytellsomeone,orwhetherI’mtryingtodecideifIshouldstayinorgotoaconcert,evenifIhaveto be up early the next morning— you better believe I’m at the concert—becauseIjustdon’tliketosayno.

Butbravepeoplelearntosayno.Most people wouldn’t think of saying no as a quality of someone brave.

Sayingyes iscertainly themoreheraldedoption,butsometimessayingnocanbethetougherchoicebyfar.

I’moverweight.Idon’t liketalkingaboutit. Ithasbeenafactsincethefourthgrade,it’ssomethingIstrugglewithprettymucheveryday,andifItalkaboutit,itmakesitmorerealorabiggerdealorsomething.Idon’tknow.Ijustknowitmakesmesadandmad.

I’vebeenonadiet,orwantingtobeonadiet,sinceIwasinthesixthgrade.For thoseofyouwhokeepcalculationsathome, that isapproximatelytwenty-one-plusyearsatthispoint.Morethantwo-thirdsofmylife.

Gosh.That’sstaggeringtorealize.Whatawaste.

In2003,Iwasdiagnosedwithpolycysticovarysyndrome(PCOS).Amongsome other really lovely side effects, PCOSmakes it difficult to loseweight,process insulin correctly, and have a regular period. In fact, according to thewebsiteWomensHealth.gov,asmanyasoneintenwomencouldhavePCOS,soyoumaybesittingnexttosomeoneinclassorchurchorpassingsomeoneinthegrocerystoreaislewhoisstrugglingjustlikeme.

If you’re in the grocery store, she’s the one wishing her cart was full ofmuffinsinsteadofveggies.Lookintohereyes.Youwillknow.

IspentmostofmyadolescentyearsthinkingthatbecauseIwastreatingmybodybadly,itdidn’tworkrightinmanyareas.ButitendedupIhadadiseaseworkingagainstmeaswell.

Don’t getmewrong; I also didn’t eat well. It was a fairly regular FridaynightintenthgradewhenIwouldgotoArby’swithsomefootballplayerfriendsandmanagers(Iwasamanager...),andIwouldorder—getreadyforit—

1.largeroastbeefsandwichwithliquidcheddar

2.largecurlyfrieswithmoreofthatliquidcheddar3.largeCoke

4.mediumJamochashake

Andnokidding,Ithoughtnothingofit.Themoreshockingtruth?Itisonlythetinyshredsofself-controlIpossessthatkeepmefromstillthinkingthatmealwould be a good idea.Would it taste good? Totally.Would it ruinmy soul?Possibly.

(Justkidding.Sorta.)Speakingofmysoul,Ithoughtfoodfedit.Theplacesthatfeltemptyinme,

Ifilledwithfood.Lonely?Eat.Sad?Eat.Celebrate?Eat.Yes,yes,yes.Neversayno.Neverdenyyourself.Eat,eat,eat.Whynotjustsayno?Whynotjusteatlessandmovemore?Whynotjustup

mydisciplineandlowermyintake?

I justwas never good at it. That’s themost honest answer I can come upwith.Itriedandfailedandtriedandfailed,andbecauseIwasn’tdiagnosedwithPCOSasateenager,Iwouldtryandfail,andthecycleofdoingallIknewtodoanditnotworkingatallmadeforlotsoffrustration.

Repeatedfailurecanreallymakeyouskittishtotryagain,can’tit?It’strueinrelationships;it’strueinAmericanIdoltryouts;anditistrueformeinhealthyliving.

It seemed that nomatter howhard Iworked inhigh school and college toloseweightandappreciatemybody,itneverworked.Itjustplainneverworked.AndsoIlostthecouragetotryagain.

Whatfor?Denymyselfdelicioustreatsforlongperiodsoftimetostillwearthesamesizepantsandstilldislikemyform?Yeah,nothanks.

BeingdiagnosedwithPCOSfeltlikealightattheendofthetunnel.SothisiswhyIcan’tgetskinny,Ithought,andthisiswhyIhatemybody.Andyetforyearsafterthisdiagnosis,whileGodchangedmyhearttowardhowIfeltaboutmyself,myhabitsdidn’tchange.Myeatingdidn’tchange.Andmybodydidn’tchange.

IonlycaredaboutmeandwhatIwanted.Iwantedtosayyestoallthethingsandnotononeofthethings,andIdidn’tcarethatitwashurtingmybody.

Yousee,thebiggestsideeffectofPCOSisinfertility.Andguesswhat?I’mnotsleepingwithanybody.Icertainlywasn’tsleepingwithanybodyinhopesofprocreating. So I didn’t care that poor eating habits and lack of exercisewerecontributingtoPCOScontinuingtorageagainstmysystems.

Yeah, Iwasunhealthy,but Ihad triedand tried todiet, always failed, andhatedsayingnotomyselfandthethingsIwanted.

UntilJanuary2013.ThegirlsandIgotupearlyonaSaturdaymorningandheadedtoanew(to

us)brunchspotcalledGardenBrunchCafé,locatedinwhatsomewouldcallthe“less attractive” part of Germantown. We sat at a table for six and orderedmimosasandcoffeesandsodawatersallaround.

Lookingoverthemenu,itdidn’ttakemelongtozeroinonbananasFosterpancakes.Ihaveathingforpancakesandbananasindependentofeachother,sothe idea that theywould be combinedwas a blessing I did not know how topreparefor.

Our food came, and I surveyed the table. There were a variety of meals

served,includingotherpancakes(amen)andgritsandomeletsandsausageandfruit.OntheoppositeendfromwhereIwassitting,Kelleyhadorderedsalmon.Forbrunch.

Ishookmyheadina“blessherheartbutI’mgladIdon’tlivelikethat”kindofway.AsIdoveintomysugary,fruitypileofbeautifulcarbohydrates,LauraaskedKelleywhythesalmon.

Kelley started into a story I hadn’t heard before. I knew she hadmultiplesclerosis, and I knew the severity the diagnosis carried. But then she begantalkingaboutherprogressingsymptomsandhowherfingersandtoeshadbeenbecomingnumbmoreoftenthaneverbefore.Shesaidshehadchangedherdiet,sayingnotoalotofthingsatherdoctor’srecommendationinhopesthatcleanereatingwouldhealherbody.

Andithad.Thesymptomsandnumbnesshadsubsided.YouknowinActs9when it talksaboutsomething likescalesfallingfrom

Saul’seyesandherealizedhesawJesusandbelieved?Yeah,thathappenedtome.

IhadaGod-givenmomentofclaritywhenthescalesfellfrommyeyesandIrealizedall theyesesIwassayingtounhealthyfoodwereinadvertentlysayingnoestothethingsIwantedmoreinmylife—likeahealthyfuture.

Right there, hovering over a plate of bananas Foster pancakes (which IpracticallylickedcleanbecauseIknewthingswereabouttochange),Idecidedtosaythebravenoesthathadalwaysscaredme.

Sayingyestofeedingmybodythefoodsitneedsmeantsayingnotofeedingmybodythethingsitcraved,andifyoudon’tthinkthattookcourage,youhaveneverdealtwithaddictionorseenmeatabuffetofpastries.

I thinkoneof thebiggestmistakesChristiansmakewhile reading theBible isforgettingthatnoneofthecharacters,exceptJesus,knewhowthingsweregoingtoend.SowereadaboutNoahandimmediatelypicturetherainbow.WefocusonthefactthatJonahgotpukedoutofthewhalewhileforgettinghedidn’tknowthatwascoming.We thinkof thedisciplesand themiracles theysaw, like thefeedingofthousandsofpeoplewithjustalittlebreadandfish,andforgettheydidn’tknowthatstorywouldturnoutsoawesome.

Itdidthough,didn’tit?ItrytothinkalotabouthowmuchthepeopleintheBibledidn’tknow.With

that filter in place, we can identify courage much easier in the face of theunknown.

I am deeplymoved by the story of Shadrach,Meshach, andAbednego inDaniel 3.These dudeswere Israeliteswhowere captured as slaveswhen theyweremereteenagersandtakentoBabylonwithDaniel.

WeseethemsaynotomeatsandrichfoodsfortendaysinDaniel1,andattheendofit,theyarehonoredfortheirstrength,especiallyinthefaceofeatingmuch less than the other soldiers in training.Later, they are honored byKingNebuchadnezzar,whogivesthemimportantrolesinhisservice.Thekinglikestheseguys.Hethinkstheyaresmartandstrongandbeneficialtohiskingdom.

Years later, ourboys are administrators over all ofBabylon, andDaniel isserving at the royal court. (Quite amove from being captive teenagers, huh?)KingNebuchadnezzarbuildsamassivegoldstatue—ninetyfeethigh,ninefeetwide (Daniel 3). That’s like what? A very skinny seven-story building?Gracious.And thenhedecides that everyone in townhas tobow to the statueand worship it whenever the music plays, and anyone who doesn’t will bethrownintoablazingfurnace.

So.He’sanextremist.Igetit.Ourguys—Shadrach,Meshach,andAbednego—worshiptheonetrueGod

andhavenointerestinbowingtoanythingelse.Theysaynowhentherestofthepeoplesayyes.Theydon’tbowwheneveryoneelsedoes.

Can you imagine that courage? To stand when everyone else bows?Knowingtheresult,knowingwhoyouareandhowmuchyouarerespectedandyetchoosingtogoagainstyourboss,namely,theking,inalife-threateningway?

That’samajornothatriskedeverything.Butthat’snotthepartthatmovesme.Whentheyaretattledonfornotbowingandarebroughtbeforetheking,he

is furious.Like,whoa furious.Like, “Youaremy topdudesandyougottadowhatIsay”kindoffurious.Likewhentheoldestkidinafamilydoesn’tfollowtherulesanditmakestheparentsextra-madbecausetheyoungeronesareseeingit?Yeah,that.

Let’spickitupinverse13ofDaniel3.

Furious, King Nebuchadnezzar ordered Shadrach, Meshach, and

Abednego to be brought in. When the men were brought in,Nebuchadnezzar asked, “Is it true, Shadrach,Meshach, andAbednego,thatyoudon’trespectmygodsandrefusetoworshipthegoldstatuethatIhavesetup?I’mgivingyouasecondchance—butfromnowon,whenthebigbandstrikesupyoumustgotoyourkneesandworshipthestatueIhavemade.Ifyoudon’tworshipit,youwillbepitchedintoaroaringfurnace, noquestions asked.Who is the godwho can rescueyou frommypower?”

Shadrach,Meshach,andAbednegoansweredKingNebuchadnezzar,“Yourthreatmeansnothingtous.Ifyouthrowusinthefire,theGodweserve can rescue us from your roaring furnace and anything else youmightcookup,Oking.Butevenifhedoesn’t,itwouldn’tmakeabitofdifference,Oking.Westillwouldn’tserveyourgodsorworshipthegoldstatueyousetup.”

DANIEL3:13–18MSG,emphasisadded

Evenifhedoesnot.EvenifGoddoesn’trescueusfromthis,westillsayno.Theysayabraveno;thekingsaysheisgoingtokillthem.Theystillrefuse.

Oh, I want to see this scene played back on the big screen when we get toheaven.Iwanttoseetheirfacesandheartheirvoices.Iwonderiftheyshook.Iwonderiftheywereshouldertoshoulder,pressingintoeachotherforstrength.Iwonderwhoactuallyspokeup.

AndwhoeversaiditsaidthethingIhopeIalwayshavethecouragetosay.IknowwhatGodcando,butevenifhedoesn’t,Istillwon’tworshipidols.I

willstillworshiptheonetrueGod.Theboysdidn’tquestionGod’scharacterorstrength.Theydidn’tserveGod

becauseofwhathedidforthem;theyservedGodbecausehe’sGod.TheywerebravebecauseofwhoGodis,notbecauseofwhathecoulddoforthem.

IknowGodcanhealmyfriend’sillness,butevenifhedoesn’t...IknowGodcanfixrelationships,butevenifhedoesn’t...IknowGodcanprovideahusband,butevenifhedoesn’t...IknowGodcanprovideformefinancially,butevenifhedoesn’t...IknowGodcananswerthisprayer,butevenifhedoesn’t...IknowGodcanhelpusgetpregnant,butevenifhedoesn’t...

IknowGodcanrescueus,butevenifhedoesn’t...IknowGodcanhealmybodyandmakeitpossibleformetohavechildren,

asIfeeditwhatitneedsandsaynotothethingsthatmakememoresick,butevenifhedoesn’t...

Right?EVEN.IF.HE.DOES.NOT.Can you say that?Can you say it andmean it?Can you say the hard no,

knowing itmay cost you a lot?Knowing thatGodcan change everythingbutmaynot?

These three said it, knowing their lives were on the line, and they neverlookedback.Atleast,theydidn’tlookbackenoughthatitwastoldtous.Whoknowswhatwasgoingoninsidetheirsouls,butoutwardlytheystoodthere.

Andreally,isn’tthatallthatmatters?Theykeptstanding?Theysaidnoanddidn’tfalter?Theywerebrave.Theysaidno.Andevenwhenthevoicesoffearmusthavebeenwhisperingtothem,theydidn’tlisten.TheystoodthereintheirnoandbelievedthatGodisstillGod.

Andforit,theywerethrownintothefurnace.

That’sthechoicetheymade,thenotheysaid.Itwasbrave,butinthemomentwhentheroadsplitandtheycouldgoleftorgoright,theytooktheroadthatsaidyestoGodbutnototheeasierway.

Tworoadsdivergedinayellowwood,AndsorryIcouldnottravelbothAndbeonetraveler,longIstoodAndlookeddownoneasfarasIcouldTowhereitbentintheundergrowth;

Thentooktheother,asjustasfair,AndhavingperhapsthebetterclaimBecauseitwasgrassyandwantedwear;ThoughasforthatthepassingthereHadwornthemreallyaboutthesame,

Andboththatmorningequallylay

Inleavesnostephadtroddenblack.Oh,Ikeptthefirstforanotherday!Yetknowinghowwayleadsontoway,IdoubtedifIshouldevercomeback.

IshallbetellingthiswithasighSomewhereagesandageshence:Tworoadsdivergedinawood,andI—Itooktheonelesstraveledby,Andthathasmadeallthedifference.

ROBERTFROST,“THEROADNOTTAKEN”

Allthedifference.Allthedifference.Theroadisalwaysgoingtosplit.Thereisalwaysgoingtobeanotheroption

or another map altogether. There is always going to be a no that may beexpensivebutright.

IthinkaboutJeff,theyoungmanIlikedformostofmycollegeyears.HadIstayed inmycollege town,wherehe still lives, I totally thinkwewouldhaveendeduptogether.ButsayingyestoNashvillewassayingnotoAthens,and,asfarasIcantellfornow,thatwasanotoJeffaswell.

One of the hardest days ofmywriting careerwas endingmy relationshipwithmyfirstagent.He’sagoodagent,butweweren’tworking.Toomanytimezonesbetweenusand toomanycommunication issues. I’ma talker. Iwant tomeetandtalkandbeinthesameplaceandbesuccessful.Wewerenoneofthosethings.

Butsayingnotocontinuingourrelationshipmeantwhat?Itmeantmycareerwasover.Hewastheonlyonewhohadeverexpressedinterestinmywork,andhewasallIknew.Toenduswas,inmanyways,torecognizethatmydreamofbeing an author might die along with this partnership. I called him. It was alongerconversationthanIexpected,butIhadtosay“No,thisisn’tworkingforme” and “No, this isn’t going to continue.” And we walked away. For tenmonthsIthoughtthiscareerwasgoneforever.

Alotofcourageousnoesmakeforsomebeautifullybraveyeses.AndIguessweneverknowwhichones come first untilwe are standing at the crossroads,right?Itmaybeeasiertodeterminetheyesroute,knowingitmeanssayingno.

Ormaybeitisthenoyouaresureof,sothattellsyouwheretosayyes.AndI’mjustnotsureyouaregoingtogetitrighteverytime—sayingthe

rightyesand therightno. Idon’tget it rightall the time.Butcouragedoesn’tequal right;courageequalssteppingoutand trying.Bebraveandsayyes.Butalsobebraveandsayno.Jumponthefloat.Walkintothefurnace.Standup.Sitdown.Getonthatflight.Saythethingthatcourageasksyoutosay,evenifit’sthewordno.

holdon

May2013StumptownCoffeeonSW3rdAve.,Portland,Oregon

Iwas calling the cable company to see about changingmyplan.Here’s the situation: I pay forwaymore television than Iwatch. I don’twant to cancel cable. I like being able towatch the local news at times (youknow,especiallyduringVanderbiltbaseballseason),andyetIalsowouldliketokeep Food Network because that PioneerWoman can cook somethin’ fierce.Also,Bravo—TheRealHousewivesofAtlanta.Sorry,I’mnotsorry.

SoIwasonthephonetryingtofigureoutifthereisawaytohavetheactualservices I want frommy cable provider and not pay a gazillion dollars for ahundred channels that just get betweenme andKimZolciak. (Also,TheRealHousewives of Atlanta star ismarried to anAtlanta Falcon,which is a goal Ihavepursuedmywholelife.SoIlikeherforthattoo.)

The cable company put me on hold. And there I sat— for twenty-eightminutes.

Inthosemoments,Ineverknowwhentohangup.Icouldbetheverynextcaller they speakwith,or it couldbeanotherhalfhour.And if I sithere,willtheygettomesoon,orifIhangupandcallback,willIsomehowskipovertheline of customers on hold and immediately get to speak to a customer carerepresentative?(TowhichI’dalsoliketosaythattheyplayfastandloosewiththeideathatthey“care”aboutthe“customer.”Butthat’sneitherherenorthere.)

Worst-case scenario? I will sit on hold all day long, waiting to speak tosomeone,onlytorealizeIhavebeenforgotten.

When do you hang up? Forme, it wasminute twenty-nine. And I’m stillpayingmoreforcablethanIwantto.

Whenyoucometothatcrossroad,themomentwhenyoucouldholdonorletgo,whatdoyoudo?Howdoyouknowwhattodo?

Morethanwitheveryotherwordyou’vereadinthisbook,Ihopeyourememberthis: The road to courage is lit byGod’swisdom.His word in the Bible andthroughtheHolySpirittoyouandthroughothersishowyouknow.Youtapintothat.Youaskforthat.Youdigintothat.

Hisword is a lamp for your feet (Psalm119:105).Your feet.Right underyou.Lookdown.Takethatstep.It’srightinfrontofyou.

Andwhenitcomes toholdingonor lettinggo, I thinkyou lookdownandseewherethelightleadsyou.

TheprophetIsaiahwrites,“Whetheryouturntotherightortotheleft,yourearswillhearavoicebehindyou,saying,‘Thisistheway;walkinit’”(Isaiah30:21).

It’s his still, small voice deep in your knower. It’s godly wisdom from afriend.It’saverseoraquoteoramomentofclaritywhenyoujustknow.Youwillknowwhichwaytowalk.Ipromiseyouwill.

Isayallthattosaythis.Onlyyoucanknowtherighttimeinyouruniquestory,butmayIpushyouandencourageyouandsay,Pleaseholdon?

I’maquitter. It comesway tooeasy forme towalkaway fromsomethingthatfeelshard,whetherit’sagymnasticsclass,afriendship,oradiet.ButasImatureandgrowup,I’mlearningthatcouragebuildswhenIhangon.

Listen.I’vewantedtowalkawayfromthiscareeralot.AndImeanalot.Itgetshardandlonelyandfrustrating(alongwithallthegoodthings—don’tgetmewrong!).ButI’mhangingonbecauseIseethelightatmyfeettellingmetokeepwalkingandwriting.

JoyWilliamshasasongcalled“GoldenThread,”andwhenthingsseemtobe stretchingme too thin, I loop that song like nobody’s business.Because itremindsmethatwhenIfeellikeIamjusthangingbyathreadanditallseemstobeunravelingandtosimplycutitwouldbethebestbet,thatthreadmaybegold.Anditmaybeworthholdingon.

Thingscangetstickyhere.You’reinanabusiverelationship?I’mnottellingyoutostay.You’retryingtomakeitoutinLAasanactress,andyou’reliterallyoutofmoney?I’mnottellingyoutostay.

Lookforthelight.Thelightatyourfeet.Andfollowit.Andwhenyouknowit’srighttoholdon,holdon.Griptightlyuntilyourhandsaresore.Butdon’tletgo.

Ifyou’re tiredof fightingfor thatprayer thatseems toneverbeanswered?Holdon.Ifyouwanttowalkawayfromyourmarriagetoagodlymanbecauseithas become something different than you thought it’d be? Hold on. (Getcounseling,butholdon.)Ifyouhaveappliedtothecollegeofyourdreamsbuthaven’theardbackyet?Holdon.

Holdontohope.That’sthethingwecan’tstandtolose.Youcanletgoofjobsorpeopleorhurts,butdon’tletgoofhope.

Thisbookisn’taboutmebeingsingle,butifyouthinkit’sbeeneasytoholdon to hope as I’ve watchedmy friends pass me in life phases over and overagain,oh,friend.Notsomuch.It’sonethingwhentheygetengagedormarried.It’sanotherwhenthebabiescome.Andanotherwhenthekidsgotoschool—andI’mstillaloneatnight.

AmyStroupsingsasongcalled“HoldOntoHopeLove”thathasbeenmycompanionmorenights than I can count as I’ve cried toGodabout the roughpatchesonmyhandsfromholdingonsotighttothecliffofhopewhenitfeelslikeitwouldbeeasiertojustletgoandfallintohopelessness.

Andthetruth?Itwouldbeeasier.Butitwouldn’tbebrave.It’snotthestoryGodiswritingwithmylife.It’snotthestoryGodiswriting

withyourseither.Soplease.Holdon.Don’tletgobecauseithurtsorbecauseitishard.Don’tletgobecauseyou

feellikeitisridiculoustoholdon.It’snot.Holdon.My friend dreams of adopting, and yet multiple babies come into her

family’s lives only to go homewith the birthmom. Butmy friend holds on.Christy is tired of runningmiles andmiles every day, but shewants to run amarathon,soshedoesn’tquit.Sheholdson.Mikeandhiswiferunacampforstudents where the buildings get run-down, the staff turns over, and the poolalwayssmellsa littleoff (justa little). Itgetshard tohave their jobs.But they

seeJesusshowupforstudentseveryweekduringthesummer,sotheyholdon.Bethstayshomewithherfourkidsunderfiveyearsofageandseesthedishespileupandthe laundrypileupquicker thanshecanclean.Shehasdayswhenshewantstostayinbedorwalkaway.Butsheholdson.

SinceGodhassogenerouslyletusinonwhatheisdoing,we’renotabouttothrowupourhandsandwalkoffthejobjustbecausewerunintooccasional hard times.We refuse to wear masks and play games.Wedon’tmaneuver andmanipulate behind the scenes.Andwe don’t twistGod’sWordtosuitourselves.Rather,wekeepeverythingwedoandsayoutintheopen,thewholetruthondisplay,sothatthosewhowanttocanseeandjudgeforthemselvesinthepresenceofGod...

Sowe’renotgivingup.Howcouldwe!Eventhoughontheoutsideitoftenlookslikethingsarefallingapartonus,ontheinside,whereGodismakingnew life,not adaygoesbywithouthisunfoldinggrace.Thesehard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, thelavishcelebrationpreparedforus.There’sfarmoreherethanmeetstheeye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But thethingswecan’tseenowwilllastforever.

2CORINTHIANS4:1–2,16–18MSG

Wejusthavetoholdon.NotadaygoesbywithoutGod’sunfoldinggrace.Ihateitwhenpeoplesay,“Godwillnevergiveusmorethanwecanhandle,”

mainlybecauseIdon’tthinkit’strueanditisn’tintheBible.TheBiblesaysnotemptationwillcometousthatwecannotendureit(1Corinthians10:13),butitneversaysthatGodhasalimitonourswelllineandknowsnottocrossit.

Youhavetobebraveenoughtoholdon,evenwhenyourstrugglefeelslikeit’smorethanyourhandscanhandle.

Iwant tograbyour shoulders, look intoyoureyes, andsay it again.Hold.On.Don’tgiveuponlife.Don’tgiveuponGod.Don’tgiveuponyourself.

Holdontohope,love.

letgo

October2011StarbucksinHolyCorner,Edinburgh,ScotlandSeat61,trainridefromEdinburghtoLondon

I’matoucher.Notagroper,mindyou.IjustmeanthatifI’msittingbesideyouorstandingaroundyou,I’mprobablygoingtograbyourarm,patyourback,orshoveyou.(TheshoveusuallyonlyhappensifIstartlaughinga lot— and it sometimes looks like a punch. I tend to overexpress.Consideryourselfwarned.)

EspeciallywhenIamleaving.WhenIamleaving,Iwanttoholdon.On July 4, 2011, I was exactly oneweek frommoving fromNashville to

Edinburgh.Theweeksbeforehadbeenrough,andImeanrough.Iwasterriblysad to leave my community. I knew what God had said about Edinburgh. Iwasn’t wrong about taking that step. I just was brokenhearted to leave mypeople.Icriedwithnowarning.Literally.Notevenformyself.Every“last”wastorturous— including, but not limited to, my last chicken burrito from BajaBurrito.(I’mwritingthiswhileinEdinburgh,andmymouthliterallyjuststartedwateringevenspeakingofBaja.Weallhavetomakesacrifices;minejustlookslikechipsandroastedtomatosalsa.)

SoonthatsunnydayinJuly,ourcrewinNashvillehadspentthedaytubingdowntheBuffaloRiver.Welaughedaspeoplegotflippedoutoftheirtubesbyrapids,andwebroughtenoughsnackstofloatallthewaytoFloridaandnevergethungryor thirsty.Itbegantorain,andwelaughedagain,aseverythingwehadworkedsohardtokeepdryintheriverbelowgotsoakedbytheraindropsfromabove.Itwasoneofthosebookmarkdays,thekindyouwilltellyourkidsabout.

Exhausted,alittlesunburned,andhappy,wefinishedthestretchofriverandheadedtoafinedinneratSonic.

Listen,Ineverclaimedwewereclassy.Andyoucan’tjudgemeforwantingTaterTotsafterworkingalldaytokeepmyselfsafelyinatubefloatingdownariver. (For those who have never tubed, that sentence was a joke. There isminimalworkinvolvedinstayinginatube.ButIloveanyreasonIgivemyselftoeatTaterTots.)

We got back to Nashville just in time to clean up and reconvene for themassivefireworksshowthattheFourthofJulyalwaysguarantees.Apparentlyalittlealone timewasall Ineeded togetmysademotionsgoing.WemetupatNichole’s andwalked toward the parking deck, just a friendship amoeba—ablobofpeople.Tomyleft,Curt—aproductionmanagerforalocalbandandoneofthemostresponsibleandkindmeninmylife.Curtisoneofthepeopleonthe planet who makes me feel completely safe. To my right, Lyndsay — afantasticwriterandoneofmybestfriends.

Asthetearsbegantopuddlerightontopofmylowereyelids,Islidmylefthand into the bend of Curt’s right elbow.We smiled. The tears rolled slowlydownmycheeks.Iftherewasawaytostopthem,Ididn’tknowitandcouldn’thave thought through those steps clearly anyway. I said to Lynds, “Hold myhand.” And so we walked, the three of us, linked by my sorrow, to see afireworksshow.

Ijustwantedtofeelthem.IknewthatwaswhatIwasgivingupbymovingaway.

Becauseofmoderntechnology,Idon’thavetobeinthesametowntohearandseemyfriendsandfamily.Thankyou,Skype.ButIcan’tfeelthem.Ican’ttouchthem.

Ihadtosacrificethepresenceofmypeople.Ihadtoletgo.AndIfeelithappeningagainhereinEdinburgh.IstoodbyLouiseatchurch

onSunday,andasourfriendswerebaptizedinthehot-tub-lookingcontraption,itwasallIcoulddonottograbherarm.Ican’tbeinthesameroomwithTheo,the one I call my Scottish little brother, without hugging him. I just want toknowtheirpresencewhileI’mhere.

BecausebeforeIknowit,I’llhavetoletgo.

Ifyoucouldseemenow,youwould laugh.Maybe.Probablynotmymom—shewouldbesadforme—buttherestofyouwouldbeentertained.I’monatrainthatdepartedfromEdinburghWaverleyStation,andI’mheadingdowntoLondon for a week. About ten of my Nashville friends are there, and I’mpreparedtodoalotofhuggingandhand-holding.

Butfornow,I’msittingbythewindowinseat61,sharingatablewithtwobusinessfolksheadeddownformeetings.AndhereIaminmyjeansandstripedcardiganwithTheWeddingBandinmyearsandtearsbeggingtobereleased.

I.Am.A.Crier.Andjusttalkingaboutlettinggogetsmyinnerwaterworkssystem on alert. But I’m trying to hold it together, mainly for these poorhardworking chaps besideme. (And that’s the part thatwouldmakemymomsad—thepictureofmetryingnottocryonatrainasitchugsdowntoLondontown.)

Letting go has always been hard for me. Yet I have seen, over and overagain, that to simply let go is a powerful catalyst God will use to move metowardthenextbestthing.

Icouldn’tgrabholdofNashvilleuntilIletgoofMarietta.Icouldn’tgrabholdofEdinburghuntilIletgoofNashville.It’s always nice, awee bit easier, to let gowhen you knowwhat you are

grabbingholdof.Themonkeybaroption,Iliketocallit.Youarewillingtoletgoofthecurrentmonkeybarbecauseyoucanseethenextoneyouwanttograb.

(Ihavetobehonesthere.Ihavenoarmstrength.Somonkeybarsareaboutzeropercentfunforme.ButIdoknowandunderstandhowtheywork.)

Thedeeper call for courage comeswhenyou let gowithnothing ahead tograb.

Ithadsnowedfordays,whichisweirdforNashville.Joshtextedtomakedinnerplans, and I cringed. Inmymind, Iwas standing at the end of a plank, and Iknewthetextwasthebarreloftheguninmyback.Itwastimetojump.

Itwastimetoletgo.Wehadtoend.Webothknewit.Withoutacommitmentandwithoutagood

understanding ofwhatwewanted,weweremerelywasting each other’s timebeingthisinvested.Fishorcutbait,theysay.Bringonthescissors,Isaid.

Hewasmybest friend.His friendshipwas a place of safety, honesty, andcomfort. I lovedhim. Idon’t totallyknowwhat Imeanwhen I say that.But IknowitishowIfelt.

Andon thatDecembernight,heading toadinner thatwasmeant forus tocelebratethereleaseofmyfirstbook,myheartwasbreaking.

Theweatherkepteveryoneintownathome,butnotus.Weateourburritosaloneintherestaurantandchatted.Thewindowswerefogged,andtheroomfeltstaleandalmosttoowarm.

Heaskedthenormalquestionsthatspokeourlanguage,andIansweredinaforeignway—short,shallow,lifeless.Ifhenoticed,hedidn’tsay.Itriedtodomore listening than talking.Hewaswritten into every story inmy life, and IthoughtthemoreIcouldstayquiet,themoreIcouldwritehimout.

Wefinishedquickerthanusual.Wegotinhiscar,andbeforethedoorswereclosed,Iwaswipingawaythetearsfrommyeyes.

“I’mnotdramatic. I’m just emotional.Youknow that’sdifferent, right?” Iasked.Henodded.

“What’s going on?” I saw in his eyes that he knew, just like I knew.Weknew.

I thought of how amputations are always shorter surgeries than the oneswherea limbgets repaired.Andwebegan theamputation.Ashort ten-minuteconversationaboutwhowewere,whoweare,andwhowedon’tthinkwe’llbeinthefuture.

Icried.Hedidn’t.Heneverdoes.Wepulleduptomyhouse,anditstartedtodrizzleacold,almostfrozenrain.

Ilookedathimashestaredstraightahead.“We’ll still speak in public, right? Imean,we aren’t going to ignore each

other,arewe?Idon’twantittobelikethat.”Ispokewithalittleshakeinmyvoice,apartofmethatonlycomesoutinmymousiestmoments.

“Yes.Ofcourse.”Hehalfsmiled,oneofthosesadsmilesthatlookmorelikeresignationthanmischief.

AndwhenthedoortomyhouseclosedbehindmeandIweptoutthefinaletomyroommate,Iknewwhatitfeltliketoletgo.

Thatconversationdidn’thappenbecauseeitherJoshorIhadabetterofferinthehopper. We just let go because we were supposed to let go. Not becausesomethingbetterwasinview.Godjustmadeitclearthatthetimehadcome.

Lettinggolikethatisthehardest.Andthedaysafter,whenyouhavetostandbywhatyouknowisright—that’swhencouragehastobubbleoutofyou.It’sthen thatmy insideshad tobe like steel.Andall the times thatGodhasbeenrightbefore,intheBibleandinmylife,wereonamoviereelthroughmymind,remindingmeofhis faithfulness. Iwatched it, that filmon repeat inmyhead,becauseIhadtoknowandbelieveheknowswhatheisdoing(Philippians1:6).

Itmaybearelationshiporajoboracityorsomemoneyoroldhurts.Whenitistimetoletgo,youknowit.Yourhandslongtoungrip,butyourheartbegsthemtoholdon.Butonlyinlettinggoareyourhandsfreetograbontothenextthing.

SomedayI’ll lookbackonthatcoldnight’sconversationandknowwhat itwasallworth.I’llknowwhyhavingvacanthandsmadeallthedifference.

Butfortoday,Istilldon’tknow.Couragedoesn’ttellyoutoletgowhenyouknowwhattograbnext.Bravepeopleletgowhenit’stimetoletgo.

And so I turn these empty hands skyward, trusting they are better off thisway.

Please letgo.Pleasebebraveenough to emptyyourhandswithout seeing thenextmonkeybar.

Sometimesyouhave to letgoof things thatarebadforyou—addictions,abusive relationships, sinfulhabits.That takescourage too. Itdoesn’tmatter ifthethingisgoodforyouorbadforyou;ifitisn’tthebestforyou,youhavetoletgo.

DoyouknowwhatIknowaboutyou?Iknowthatifyouaremeanttoletgoofsomethingrightnow,yourheartisbeatingoutofyourchest.Youdon’thavetoaskyourselfwhatitis—thatthingisblazingonyourinsides.

Youseethepictureoftherelationshipthatisn’tright.Youseethedollarsigntellingyouthatgivingawaythatmoney,lettinggoof

it,isthebravestthingyoucouldeverdo.Youseetheaddictioninitsugly,slimyform.

Youseewhatyou’resupposedtojumpawayfromevenifyoudon’tseewhatitisyou’rejumpinginto.

It brings tomind a favorite verse that, if you are right on the end of thatplank, will make you absolutely insane. I’m sorry in advance: “Trust in theLORDwithallyourheartandleannotonyourownunderstanding;inallyourwayssubmittohim,andhewillmakeyourpathsstraight”(Proverbs3:5–6).

IletgoofJoshbecauseIchosetotrustGodwithallofmyheartandnotleanintowhatIunderstand.IflewawayfromNashvilletoliveinaforeigncountrybecause I knew thatwaswhat submitting toGodmeant. For all themomentswhen I havemissed courage and chosen the easier path (andmy friend, therehavebeenmany),Igotthesetworight,andmylifewillneverbethesame.

I don’t know how, and I can’t put the right words to it, but I know thecourageoussacrificesarealwaysworthit.

So,friend,letgo.

athome

February2013CoolBeans,Marietta,Georgia

Bill was the first man I ever loved. He was a tall, blondsixteen-year-old.Iwasthree.Hewasshyandquiet,buthealwaystalkedtome.And he listened because I was then, as I am now, a talker. He loved sittingbeside me at dinner. He never missed a family party. He gave me a plasticcameraformythirdbirthday—theflashwasasmall,multicoloredcubeonthecornerofthecamerathatturnedwhenyoupushedthebutton.Iwassurehewasthecoolestpersonwhohadeverexistedonearth.

Bill wasmy dad’s little brother in the BigBrother/Little Brother programthroughtheBoysandGirlsClubinourtown.IhavesomanyclearmemoriesofBill.Dadwouldpickhimupandbringhimtoourhouseafewtimesamonth,and hewould hang out for the day or stay for theweekend. I remember onesummer nightwhen he stayedwith us.Dad had grilled out, andBill had justfinishedshowering.Itwastimetoeat,andmymomaskedmetohollerupthestairstoBill.Heleanedoverthebanistertosayhewasalmostready,andIrecallbeing shocked that hedidn’t have a shirt on.Wewere a house full ofmodestgirlsandamodestdad—shirtswerewornatall times. (Childhoodmemoriesaretheweirdest,right?)Imethisgirlfriend,rodeinmydad’scarwithhim,andplayedcardswithhim.

I’mtellingyou,Icanstillseehisfaceclearlyinmymind’seyeeventhirtyyearslater.

IrememberwherehewassittingonthecouchwhenIopenedthatbirthdaygift,andIcanstillseehisfaceashesmiledandlaughedwhenItookhispicturewithmyplasticcamerawith theclick-and-turnflash.Therewasnofilmin the

toy,butheneverletonthatheknewthat.DadknewBillforalongtime,havingbeenpartneredwithhimsincethekid

waseightyearsold.ButforbeingthefirstmanIeverloved,Ididnotgetenoughtimewithhim.AroundChristmasin1983,Billwaskilledinacaraccident.Wereturned home from a Christmas family event with my mother’s family inMacon,Georgia,andmydad’sfatherwaswaitingforusinthedriveway.Icanstill seeGrandpa Jack through thewindshield, standing by his car,waiting tobreakthenewstomydad.

Wewentinthehouse,andmymom,sister,andIsatononecouch;mydadsatontheother.Mompushedusoutofherlapandtoldustogohugourdad.Ifeltafraid,butsimplybecauseeverythingfeltwrong.Idon’tknowwhatmydadsaidtous,butIrememberknowing,somehow,eveninmylittlegirlhead,thatBillwasgoneforever.ThisboyIsawasapartofmyfamilywouldneverbeinourhouseagain.Andmydadwasvery,verysad.

Dad taughtme a lessonwithBill, in his life and in his death, that he hascontinuedtoteachmeoverandoverformyentirelife:bebraveenoughtolovethepeoplearoundyou,evenifitlookslikesacrificeandfeelslikeloss.

Whenmysisterwouldtalkaboutgoingtothemissionfieldinternationally,mydadwouldalwayssay,“PeopleinourowntownstillneedJesus,youknow.Whydon’tyoujuststayhere?”

Actually, he’d also say, “Why don’t you be a missionary to Acworth?”becauseAcworthisatinytownaboutthirtyminutesfrommyparents’housethatmyfatherapparentlybelievesisfullofheathens.

Dad’sfunnylikethat.Butactually?Helivesthattoo—thebeliefthatyoushouldbeconcernedforthepeoplearoundyou.Dadhasalwaysmadeapointtogooutofhiswaytocareaboutthepeopleinourcommunity,whetherornotitmadehimlookgood.

Oneofmydad’sbestchildhoodfriendsraisedthreeboysvirtuallyalone.Mydadwould take theboysout toeator takeusover tohangoutwith themandplay on the playground every so often. Dad has done accounting work forfamilies, evenwhen they couldn’t afford the help orweren’t able to pay him(thoughwedidgetsomefreshgardenproduceatimeortwoaspayment).Dadmetwithafriendofmineafewweeksagobecauseshelostherjobanddidn’t

knowwhattodoaboutherlackofincome.(DidImentionmydadissupersmartandeveryonewantshisadvice?Well,that.)

Dadservesourlocalcommunitywithhistime,money,andadvice.Itwouldbeeasiertojustworryaboutourfamily.Trustme,wegivehimplentytoworryabout. Instead, he cares for lots of families and doeswhatever he can to helpthem.Itwouldbeeasiertojustworryabouthisowncompany,buthechoosestocareaboutothersandtheirlivelihood.

Marietta,Georgia,isbetterbecauseTomDownslivesthere.

Theworld needs to hear about Jesus.Theworld needs to see your courage inaction.Butyouliveinyourtownforareason.

Whatisit?Whyareyouthere?Whyishereyourspotonthemap?Whyhaveyouchosen that town,of all the towns in theworld, tobeyour

home?Maybeyoudidn’tpickit.Maybeitpickedyou.Butyouarethere.Whenwe

think about the puzzle of the person you are, the zip code on your mailingaddressisanimportantpiece.

I’ve never beenmoved by a book like I wasmoved byChristy by CatherineMarshall.Ifirstreaditasamiddleschooler.Incaseyouhaven’treadit,pleaseput down this book and immediately pick upChristy. (Kidding. Don’t.) Thebook is a fictional retelling of the real life of Catherine Marshall’s mother,LeonoraWhitaker,whowasaschoolteacherintheruralAppalachianmountainsofEastTennesseeintheearly1900s.

(Trust me, the parallel between Christy Huddleston, my favorite bookcharacter ever, andmyown life—schoolteachersmoving toTennessee alonewithout family — is not lost on me. In fact, I probably purposefully findcomparisons that aren’t as obvious—“Oh,my . . . ,Christy and Ibothweardressesandboth likeboysandbothknowhowtoread.WEARETHESAMEPERSON.”Don’twealldothatwithourheroes?)

I devoured that book and then started over and did it again. I knew itbackward and forward — the characters, the mountain passes, the dramatictwists.Iwasasuperfan.Myeighth-gradespringbreakwasspentwithmymomand grandmother and best friend touring the filming locations for theChristytelevision show. I have a dream to attendChristyFest, a yearly convention inTownsend,Tennessee,forfansoftheshowandbook.

Areyougettingthethemehere?Iwas(am?)obsessed.IwantedtoknowherbecauseIfeltlikeIdid,evenasalittlethirteen-year-

old.IdreamedofteachingschoolbeforeIreadChristy,butafterIreadit,Iknewbeyondanydoubt that Iwanted todo that formyjob. Isawhowsheservedadisadvantaged community inour owncountry andhoweducation changed thefutureforeachofthosestudents.

Itamazedme thatshewasamissionary inTennessee. Ididn’tknowabouttheAppalachianpeopleand thepoverty in thatareaof theworld.Asametro-Atlantagirl,IjustcouldnotbelievethatwithindrivingdistanceIwouldcometothissame,stillstrugglingcommunity—almostahundredyearsafterthesettingofthebook.

Myeyeswereopened.Growingupinchurch,IalwaysheardofmissionariesinFranceorAfricaorCostaRica,butIdidn’trealizetheneedwassoclosetous.As a result, I’ve been onmultiplemission trips to theAppalachian area. IreadeverybookIcanfindonthepeoplegroup.AndwhenIwasdecidingwheretoteachschool,ItriedtopicklocationsthatservedthepeopleofAppalachia.

ImetCatherineMarshall’sgrandsononce.Hewasdatingafriendofmine,and they came to church on a Sundaymorning. I couldn’t get anywords outthrough the tears, which I’m sure he really enjoyed, given that he was aneighteen-year-oldkid,but I justcouldn’tbelieve Iwasstanding in frontof theliteral offspring of my hero. I blubbered through some story about how hisgrandmother’swritingandhisgreat-grandmother’s lifehadabsolutelychangedme, but I don’t remember what I said as much as I remember how totallyembarrassedIwasthatIcouldnotevenalittlebitcontrolmyemotions.

AndIrealizedthatdaythatChristyHuddlestonwasmyhero.AndmyheroneverleftAmerica.Myheroleftherfamilyin1909andwentalonetoserveinthehollowsofEastTennessee.

Righthere.Rightinmystate.Shewasbravehere.

Areyoubraveenoughtofindyourplaceevenifyourplaceisrighthere?Asahighschoolsenior, I stood in themiddleof the townsquare inCiudadCortes,CostaRica, and shared the gospelwith an interpreter, andyet one ofmybestfriendsfromhighschoolwasnotabelieverandIdidn’teventalktohimaboutJesus.

Whydoesitsometimestakemorecourageathome?WhyamImorewillingtosignupforamissiontriptoMexicothantoservethehomelessindowntownNashville?

Beingbraveathomemeansserving.Whenmy smallgroupof college students recently celebratedourone-year

anniversary,wedecidedtoserve.Well,that’snottotallytrue.Thegirlsknewweweredoingsomethingspecial,andsinceweeatdinnertogethereveryTuesday,theymayhavethoughttherewouldbeaspecialmealoraspecialguest.Instead,Ibamboozledthemandonlyservedpeanutbutterandjellysandwichesandfruit,andweloadedintotwocarsandheadeddowntown.Theydidn’tknowwhatweweredoing,butatthispoint,afterayeartogether,theytrustmeenoughtoknowI’m not kidnapping them and yet to never be surprised when I have acockamamieplan.

Wearrived indowntownNashville andmadeourway toa largeoverpass,wheremanypeopleweregatheredunderthebridge.Apraiseandworshipbandwasplaying,usingoneofthosesoundsystemsthatkindahurtsmyears—likeatravelingpreacherfromthe1980swoulduse.Homelesspeoplesatinrowsandrowsofchairs,eachwithaplateoffoodontheirlapasvolunteerswoveinandoutandhelpedeveryonegetsettled.

IthappenseveryTuesdaynightinourtown.TheBridge’soutreachministryfeeds homelessmen,women, and children a huge and healthymeal, and thensomeoneshares thegospel.As thepeople leave, theyareable tofillbagswithfreshproducedonatedbylocalgrocerystores.

My small group and I had never gone before, but our church goes once amonthonTuesdaynightssoweknewitwasarespectedministrytobeinvolvedwith.

Thegirlswerenervousandhoveredclosetomelikechickstoahenforthefirst fewminutes.But then they just got in linewith the other volunteers andstarted to serve. Carrying food. Helping others find a seat. Passing out fruits,veggies,orhugebagsofbreadattheendofthenight.Wewerethereforafewhours,buttheexperiencestuckwithallofusmuchlonger.

Ittakescouragetoserveinnewplacesjustdownthestreetfromyournormalplaces. I was so proud of my girls— jumping right in and being part of anexperiencetheydidn’tknowwasgoingtohappen.

Ididn’thaveaplacetolivewhenImovedbacktoNashvillefromScotland.Allmy belongingswere in a storage unit somewhere inWestNashville, and I nolonger had an address. It was Thanksgiving, and I planned to find somethingaroundChristmas.

Before leavingNashville theprevious summer, I had jokedwithLuke andHeatheraboutmovinginwiththemwhenIgotback.Sometimeinthefall,Lukeskypedme and said the jokewas an actual offer. Iwaswelcome to staywiththemforacoupleofweekswhiletryingtofindaplace.

I interrupted their life. I added an entire human to their two-humanhousehold.Ineededakeyandabedandabathroomandtheinternet.

Coming home from being overseas for six months, I was worried aboutreverse culture shock. It’s a real thing, y’all. Being surrounded by a foreignculture,attemptingtomakeityourown,andthencomingbackhome—itcancauseanormallysanepersontoloseitalittlebit.

AndI’mnotnormallysane.So.You’vegottafactorthatintoo.But living with Luke and Heather was the most comfortable, warmest,

friendliestenvironment.WedecoratedtheChristmastree,wenttoseemoviesinsweats, and walked to dinner at Edley’s, the new barbecue restaurant in theneighborhood. In fact, another friend,Adam, livedwithus aswell, sowe justbecamealittlefamilyoffourforthatholidayseason.

I think their sacrifice rescuedme from thepainof readjusting toNashvilleandAmerica.Itrulydo.

NewYear’sDaycame,and I stillhadn’t foundaplace to live.Weekshadaccidentally turned to months, and it wasn’t until mid-February that I waspackingmythingsandmovingtoahousejustdownthestreet.

LukeandHeathernevercomplained.Wetalkedaboutitopenlyandhonestlymultipletimes,buttheyjustkeptgiving—theirspace,theirtime,theirmoney,theirhearts.

It’sbravetoletapersonliveinyourhousewhoisn’tyourfamily.

It’sbravetoservethelessfortunateinyourownzipcode.It’sbravetogiveyourlifeandyourcomfortsothatotherscanhavelife.It’s brave to teach your family the importance of investing in your own

community.ThelongerIlive,themoreIthinkI’mfiguringoutthatcourageoftenlooks

like sacrifice and service. In the placeswhere you find themost comfort, youhavetohavealittleextrasomethingtogivethere.Homeiswherewerest.Homeiswherewe find peace, so to give from there, to sacrifice in that place, is tosacrificedeeply,Ithink.It’sbrave.

aroundtheworld

June2013LipscombUniversityStarbucks,Nashville,Tennessee

Idon’treallydoyardwork.WhenIwasgrowingup,andthisis100percent true,mygrandmotherdidall theyardwork forour family.Shelovedtoridethatlawnmowerwherevertallgrasswouldtakeher.Itisoneofmyfavoritememories—seeingher ridearoundour threeacres inpolyesterpantsandamassivefloppyhat.

Butlastweek,evenwithmylackoftraining,itwashightimetotakeonthevines, weeds, and shrubs that had taken over the front of my home. On thebrightestdaysofsummer, thesetwoshrubsweresoovergrownthatbarelyanylightcameinthroughthewindows.Itwasamassofmess.Throughthecenterofboth bushes,whichwere both taller thanme andwider than I couldwrapmyarms around, shot up some sort of thick-trunked leafy weed. So picturemassivelyovergrowngreenerywith a seven-footweed shooting skyward fromthemiddle.Iaskedalandscaperfriendofminewhatkindofweedhethoughtitwas.His responsewhen he saw it? “Annie, those aremaple trees growing upthroughyourshrubs.”

Oh.So.You’vegottheideaofwhatIwasworkingwith.I don’t ownanyyard equipmentper se, so Iwent toMatt andAmber and

borrowedhedgetrimmers,thickclippers,andapairofgloves.FullydeckedoutandwithmyiPodblastingsometunes,Iwentafterthosetworogueshrubs,andtheirmapletreeinvaders,withavengeance.

Ipulledvinesthat tookmetwentyfeetacrossmyyardbeforetheyreachedtheir end. I trimmed and hedged and chopped and clipped and carried ten

armloadsofweedsandallothermannerofleafystrandstothetrimmingspileinthebackyard.

It took me two solid hours to get these two plants to look like anythingmanageable.

There was a remaining section of tangled mess on the right shrub that Igrabbedwithan“Iamalmostdonewiththis”superstrengthandpulledashardasIcould.Theovergrowthcameunattachedfromtheshrub itselfandrippedas IsteppedbackwarduntilIfroze.

WhenIheardbabybirdschirping.(ThisisthepartofthestorywhenyouaregoingtorealizethatattimesIam

amonster.Notonpurpose,butamonsternonetheless.)Yep,Ihadjusttornapartanestfullofbabybirds.That’swhenIrealizedthat

from the treebehindme, themamabirdhadbeen losinghermind for the lasttwentyminutesasIgotcloserandclosertoherbabies,andhersoundwasjustregisteringwithme.

I stopped immediately and looked down into the nest. Somewhere in therecesses ofmymind, I remembered a teacher tellingme never to touch babybirdsortheirmamawillabandonthemforeternity,orsomethinglikethat,soIdidn’ttouchthem.ButIreleasedthevinesandrubbishtodanglefromthebush,thebirdsandnesttightlytangledinthemiddle.

Isteppedbackcautiously,surprisinglyfrightenedofthatmamabirdwailingbehindme.Ifoundthistobejusttherighttimetosilentlytiptoebackwardtomyfrontporchandtakeaseatanddrinksomewater.

Iwatchedthatnestclosely.Themamadidflyoverandstandonthetopoftheshrub,andasshechirpedoutinstructions,herlittlebabybirdswiggledandsquished out of the nest between vines and limbs and hopped from shrub toground.Theyflappedtheirlittlewings,allthreeofthemalive(IthoughtforsureI was a birdie murderer, so I was really grateful for that), and traveled offtogether to what I am going to always tell myself was a very happy andproductivefuture.

Thereisnothingscarierthanleavingthenest,Iwouldbet.Especiallywhentheexitisprefacedbyaviolentshakingandrippingapartofyourhome.(Ahem.Myapologiesforthatpart,birdies.)Butitwasinterestingtowatchthemregaintheirfootingandadjusttotheirnewlocationbeforehoppingout.

Andthat’sexactlywhattheydid.

IhavefriendswholiveinChina.Turkey.Prague.Asia.TheMiddleEast.CostaRica. India. Scotland. Ghana. Brazil. South Africa. Italy. All of them areAmericanswhoarelong-termmissionariestoforeigncultures.

I’mnotacollectorofmissionaryfriends.Internationalmissionsisjustacorevaluethatmychurchinstilledinallofusaswegrewup.Icanrememberbeingatourchurch’s summercampasa fifthgraderand learningeverydayaboutadifferentareaoftheworldwherethepeoplethereneededtohearaboutJesus.

(This is also the year of campwhen I learned how to sing two songs thathelped me memorize the books of the Bible. I’ll sing them for you anytime.You’rewelcome.)

As I continued from elementary age into youth group, we had manyopportunities to travel out of the country on mission trips. I went to France,Costa Rica, Mexico, and Africa. We had to raise our own funds and attendweeklymeetings,butouradultleaderswerebraveenoughtopackupsometimesupwardofsixtyhighschoolersandtakethemacrossoceansorborders.

Now,asanadult,Iamcertaintheywereinsane.Someofmyfondestmemoriesfrommyteenyearscomefromthosemission

trips— riding bikes on the cobblestones of the Palace ofVersailles, learningtraditionaldances in the churchbuildingofCiudadCortes,CostaRica, after alongdayofbuildingandsweating.OurchurchprovidedopportunitiestoseetheworldthatImightnothaveotherwisehad.

Moreimportantly,IsawGod.When Costa Rican children gathered around us during bilingual VBS and

madebraceletsthatsharethegospeltotakehometotheirfamilies,IsawGod.WhenParisianchurchbuildings,usuallyempty,becamefilledtocapacityto

seeabunchofAmericanhighschoolersdoavarietyshow,IsawGod.WhenwemethundredsofScottishstudentsatauniversitystudentfair just

outsideofEdinburgh,IsawGod.

The map can take you anywhere. Absolutely anywhere. My friend ShireenmovedtoAfricatoteachschoolrightaftercollege.Wemailedlettersbackand

forth,andIrememberthinkingshewaslivingthekindoflifepeoplewritebooksabout.ShegavehertimetoeducatepeopleinotherpartsoftheworldandshareJesuswhileshewasatit.

Iknowpeoplewhohavelivedoutsideoftheircountryformonths,othersforyears, and still others for decades. Not everyone is Amy Carmichael, amissionary to India in theearly1900swhodidn’tgoonfurloughfor fifty-fiveyears.Ipersonallymaxedoutatfivemonthsandtwenty-eightdays.Beingbravedoesn’t have a predetermined length of time that says success. My bravestmomentwhenIdecidedtomovetoScotlandwasn’tthelastday;itwasthefirst.IcouldhavegonehomeafteraweekandstillwouldhaveknownthatIhaddonethebravething.

TammyisamissionaryinIndia.She’sbeenthereforfifteenyears.Whenshearrived, she had eighty dollars in her pocket and a few connections for doingministry. Now, many years and many miracles later, Tammy has forty-eightchildreninhercareandastaffoften,andGodshowsupforthemallthetime.

She’snotbravebecauseofthelengthoftimeshe’sbeenthereortheamountofchildrensheandherstaffcarefor(thoughbothofthosethingsareamazing).She is brave because shewent. Because she decided to forgo her life here inAmericaforalifeshedidn’tknow.

This isn’t to say that America is the best place to live and if you liveanywhereelseyouaresacrificing.Nope, Idon’t think that’s thecase.Courageisn’t leavingAmerica for another part of theworld; courage is leaving home.Leavingthecultureyouknowforoneyoudon’tknow.Becauseeverydayinthatnew place will provide opportunities for you to come face-to-face withsomethingyoudon’tknow,andyetsomehowtochoosejoy.Becauseyouchosetobethere.Becauseyouchosetobebrave.

IgotinjuredinScotland.It’sabizarrestoryreally,butnottooshockingforthepeople who know me. I pay for health insurance not because I get sick butbecauseIgethurt.Alot.I’mclumsy.Mymindmovesbetterthanmybody,andI’m far too distracted, usually talking, when I should be focused onwalking.Also, at times I havemanaged to forget that just because I could once do anactivity— say, a cartwheel when I was ten years old— doesn’t necessarilymeanIcandoitnowatthirty-three.

Butonthis latesummerdayinScotland,whenIhadonly livedthereforamonthorso,IwasmerelygettingupfromthecouchandwalkingtoputaDVDintheplayerwhensomehowImanagedtogetmylegstangledinmycomputercord.ItwasalmostlikesometinytrollhadcomeandtiedthecordsaroundmyanklessothatwhenIstoodup,Icouldn’ttakeastep.Itrippedandslammedthefrontofmyleftshinintothecornerofthecoffeetableandknewimmediatelyitwasbad.

Not to be dramatic (clearly, I’m never that), but I thought I might havebrokenmy leg. I knew for certain itwas a deep cut because it did thatwhitethingrightbeforeitstartedbleedingout.AndI’mtalkingb l e e d i n g o u t .

I skypedmymother immediatelyand tried toshowher,but itcameacrosslookinggrainyandwouldn’tstopbleedingsoshecouldassessthedamage.Iwastotallypanicked.

InNashville, Iwouldhaveknown togo to theERandwhat to take.As amatter of fact, a few years before when I had fallen off my porch on 11thAvenue South in Nashville and tore all the ligaments inmy left ankle, that’sexactlywhatIdid.ButinEdinburgh?Ididn’tknowthefirstthingtodo.

Tocut(ouch)tothechase,Ididn’tdoanythingforafewdaysbutjusttriedtocontrolthebleeding(thatdidn’tstopforninehours,y’all).Finally,IwenttothepharmacydownintheBruntsfieldneighborhooddrugstore,wheretheAsian-Scottishpharmacist informedmeIhadmadeahugemistakebynotgoing thatfirstdaytotheA&E(Ididn’tevenknowwhatthatwasbutlearneditstoodforAccident&Emergency)and that Iwasgoing tohaveamassivescar (Ido). Itlooks like a fat, brown caterpillar right smack on themiddle ofmy very paleshin. It’s ugly, but I guess it was cheaper than getting an “I will alwaysrememberlivinginEdinburgh”tattoo.

GoingintotheworldmeansgivingupyourneighborhoodERtolearnaboutanA&E.Itmeansnothavingaccesstosomeofyourfavoritethingsorpeopleorplacesinordertomakesomewhereelseyourplaceandmakenewfriendsyourpeople. Itmeansyoumayeatsomethingweirdeveryday,or,as inmycase inScotland, itmaybeclosetowhatyouareusedtobut justabitoff—andthatcanbeinfuriatingwhenyouarehomesick.

Idon’tcareifyouarethereforsixdaysorsixmonths,whenyougointotheworld,youaretradingyourlifeforaforeignlife.Andthattakescourage.That’sanewmap,amapthatmayhavealanguageyoudon’tknoworstreetnamesyoucan’tdecipherorcarsonthewrongsideoftheroad.

Ifyou’venevergone,go.Ifyou’veneverhadamomentwhennoonearoundyou speaks your language or shares your pigment or knows how elementaryschoolworks,youneedtogo.Youneedthat.Youneedtoseethattheworldisbig and diverse and maybe God doesn’t look or sound the way you alwaysthought he did because theworld has a lot of different-looking and different-soundingpeople,allwhoaremadeinhisimage.

Save up yourmoney. Raise yourmoney. Connect with amission-sendingorganizationoranonprofitorganization.Bebraveenoughtosendthatfirstemailthatsays,“CanIgotoAfricawithy’all?”or“Yes,I’dliketobeonthatmissionteamtoMexico.”

Do whatever it takes to expand your map. Because if you will go whereyou’venevergonebefore,youwillseeGodlikeyou’veneverseenhimbefore.

everydayyouhave

March2013TheWellCoffeehouse,Nashville,Tennessee

Imissmygrandmother,Ruth.Igrewupwithheractinglikemysecondmother,assheandmygrandfatherlivedacrossthedrivewayfromus.I saw them every day. I thoughtmy grandmotherwas sweet, and I knew sheloved me way more than I deserved. She was gutsy and funny and alwayswantedtowalkonthebeachwhenwewerevacationingandabsolutelylovedtohangoutwithmeandmysisters.Shewaseducatedandemployed.Shewasagreat cook and a voracious reader. She also saw more than her fair share ofheartbreakandtroubles.

And man, was she determined. She would tell us stories of her meagerupbringinginthecottonfieldsofmiddleGeorgia—howshewouldworkinthefieldswithhersiblingsandhowtheirfamilycannedvegetablesfromthegarden.Herfirsthusbandlefther—literally just leftoneday—andsoshebecameasingle divorced woman in the 1940s. Her subsequent marriage to mygrandfather, a widower, caused much clacking around town and left her anoutcast.Ma,aswecalledher,wasalibrarianatthelocalhighschool,SprayberryHighSchool,andshetaughtushowtocareforbooksthatwerenotourown.

During my first summer after starting college, my mother, grandmother,great-aunt,andIwentonatriptoSavannah,Georgia.Westayedinabed-and-breakfastandtouredaroundthetown.Onenight,asweweresittinginthelibraryareawith other people staying at the bed-and-breakfast, a gentleman from thenorthernpartoftheUnitedStatesaskedmeaboutschool.IexplainedthatIhadjustfinishedmyfirstyearattheUniversityofGeorgia.Hesaid,“Oh,areyouthefirsteducatedmemberofthefamily?”

Mynaiveselfthoughthemeantthefirstofthegirlsinmynuclearfamily,soIsaidyes,beingthatIamtheoldestsister.

Maquickly,andwithpassion,said,“Nosir,sheisnot.Ihavemymaster’sdegree from the University of Georgia, and her mother has a law degree.”Apparentlyhe thoughtwewerecountry folkwhohad just learned to readandthat I was the first to ever attend a higher education facility — and mygrandmotherwouldnotstandforthat.

She loved us and God just as fiercely as she defended her education andfamily. I knew my grandmother for twenty-nine years, and as best as I canremember, shewas always studying the Bible or praying. She kept lists on anotepadofeveryoneshewasprayingfor.ShesentmeletterswhenIwasatcampand at college, letting me know she was praying for me and what she wasprayingabout.ShetookintenseBiblestudyclasses thatrequireda lotofstudyandeffort.Andshelovedit.

In2001,whileIwasonamissiontriptoKentucky,mygrandmotherhadastroke. She lived, though never the same again, for eight more years. As Iwatchedher for thoseyears, she always felt like a survivor tome.As I heardmore stories of what her life was like from her and my grandfather and hersiblingsandmymom,Ibegantoseeafullerportraitofthekindofwomanshewas, the things shewent through, the sacrifices shemade. So it surprisedmewhenshedied.IguessIthoughtshewastoostrongtodie.

ShewouldsayinherlastdaysthatGodkeptheronearthtoprayforus—herchildrenandgrandchildren.Thatshefeltherpurposeon thisplanetwas tocoverus,intercedeforus,andaskGodtodirectus.That’sbravetome.

I don’t think you have to be in the prime of your life to be brave. Though arecentcollegegraduatehasdefiniteadvantagesoveramomorgrandmotherorhigh schoolerwhen it comes to “Iwant to pack upmy life anddo somethingcrazy,”Idon’tthinkcourageislimitedlikethat.

Mawascourageousinchoosingtolivewhenherbodydidn’thavemuchlifetooffer,andshewaseighty-nineyearsoldbeforeshetookherlastbreath.

AndIseetwentysomethingssteppingintojobsandopportunitiesthataren’teasyandrequirebravery.

As a kid, one of my favorite things to listen to was G.T. and the Halo

Express.Eachtapefeaturedastoryofkidsvisitedbyangels,andthoseangels,ledbyG.T.,wouldhelpthechildrensolvelifeissues.(I’msurethis innowayledmetoconstantly thinkIsawangelsasachild.)During thecassettecapers,thechildreninthestorieswouldlearnBibleversesinsongform.Thishascomeinquitehandy formeasanadultbecause Icanstill reciteScripturesandsingthemtothoseverytunes.AndIthinkofthesongforDeuteronomy7:9.I’llsingitforyou.

KnowthereforethattheLordyourGodisGod.HeisthefaithfulGod,keepinghiscovenantoflove,Keepinghiscovenantoflovetoathousandgenerations,Toathousandgenerationsofthosewholovehimandkeephis

commands.

Fictional angels taught me that song, but the Scripture is true. It doesn’tmatter what your age is, if you love God and keep his commands, you arestarting something for a thousand generations. And probably you are on thereceivingendof thataswell. IknowIcertainlyambecauseofMaandotherswhocamebeforeher.

Becausemy first fewbookswerewritten to teengirls, I get lots of emailsfrom teengirls.Asyoucan imagine.Bless them.Andsomanyof their lettersamazeme—thethingstheyarewillingtodoandsayforthesakeofthegospel.One girl toldme she talked about Jesus openly for the first time at her lunchtable,andthentwogirlsaskedheraboutJesuslater.

I don’t know how long ago you were in high school, but surely you canremember the kind of courage that takes. The risk. The potential socialimplications.It’sallstillrealand,dareIsay,worseforstudentstoday.

IthinkitisbravetojoinasororityatamajoruniversityanddesiretolivealifethathonorsGod.

Ithinkitisbravetobeanelementaryschoolstudentandtellyourfriendthatyouareprayingforhissickdad.

Ithinkitisbravetograduatefromcollegeandtakeajobinabigcitywhereyoudon’tknowanyone.

Ithinkitisbravetobeamom.IthinkitisbravetomovetoChinaandsmuggleBiblestotheunderground

church.

Ithinkitisbravetoreturntoworkafteryearsaway.Ithinkitisbravetogiveupyourchildforadoptionbecauseyourealizethat

raisingakidasasinglesixteen-year-oldmotherisn’tthebestlifehecouldhave.I don’t know how old you are. But I know the lie you hear. You are too

young.Youare tooold.Youdon’tknowenough,oryouknowtoomuch.Thetruth is that courage doesn’t have an expiration date. Courage doesn’t have amarkerthatsays,“YoumustbetallerthanTHIStoridethisride.”

Youweremeanttobebrave.Yourmapisyoursfromdayone.Ofcourse,afifth grader isn’t going to be ready tomove alone to Africa, but shemay beready for a mission trip. God plants dreams in our hearts early. He hands ustalentsfarbeforeweknowexactlyhowtousethem.Andtheyoungones?Theyaren’tafraidtothinkaboutthosetalents,topushintowhateverthatdreamis,tobebravenaturally.

I have friends who are sure that life has passed them by — that theiropportunitytobebravehascomeandgone.Thatissaddertomethananything—youarenottooold!Mygrandmotherwasbraveuntilherfinalbreathattheageofeighty-nine.Andmymomislikeher.Nottoomanyyearsago,mymomhadtostandupfortruthinfrontofacrowdofpeoplewhomatteredgreatlytoherbutdisagreedwithher.Somewereolder—friendsofmygrandparents—andmanywereherpeers.Itwasverypainfultowatchhergothroughit,butitwasimpactfulonme.Shestoodupfortruthandrighteousnesswhenpeopleshelovedandrespectedwouldn’t.

Andherdaughterssawitall.Remember.Courageisforeveryage.

everythingyouhave

November2012PortlandBrew(thedarkside),Nashville,Tennessee

ItisSaturdaymorning.(Notlikeearly,mindyou—I’mnottheearlymorningpensivewritertype.)I’msittingaloneonarainymorninginmyfavoritecoffeeshop.It’squiettoday,thoughreally,it’squiethereeveryday.Somehow,PortlandBrewhasgottenthereputationthatifyouaregonnasithere,youneedtowhisper.Virtuallyapublicofficespacesharedbymanythroughouttheday,it’saplaceyoucometowork.SothisisprettymuchthesilentlibraryofthecoffeeshopsceneinNashville.

Buttodayitisespeciallyquiet.Therearetwosidesinthiscoffeeshop(where,ironically,Ionlydrinkchai

tea)—thelightside,wherethewoodentablesreflectthesunshinethatpoursinfromthewallofwindows,andthedarkside.Onthedarkside,whereIsittoday,there is little sunlight, especiallyon thisdrizzlymorning. I’m theonlyoneonthissidetoday,exceptfortherandompasserbyheadedtothebathrooms.

It’sprobablybetterthisway.I’mgladI’mbymyselftoday.WritingthisissomethingIhavetodoalone.

Mybootsareproppedupintheseatacrossfromme,andbeforeIevenbegan,Iclosedmyeyes,gentlyplacedmyfingersonthekeyboard,anddidsomeslow-breathingexercises.

ThenIbegantotype.AndhereIam,three-ishparagraphsin,andmyheartisalreadyinmythroat

andtearsarewellingupinmyeyes.Thischapterisgoingtobreakmyheart.Andhealit.

When I started writing professionally, I made a decision: I was not going towriteaboutbeingsingle.

Those people who write about being single are annoying. That is a vastgeneralization,Iknow.Butingeneral,IfindthatbooksforsingleChristiansfallintooneof twocategories—superhappyorsupermad.Thesuperhappyauthormakesme feelguilty for thedayswhen Idon’t feelhappyaboutbeingsingle.ThesupermadauthormakesmerollmyeyesbecauseI think,“Seriously?Youcomplainedfor160pages?Ibetyouareapleasuretobefriendswith.”

IneverwroteaboutsinglenessbecauseIhatebeingannoying.It’soneofthethingsIavoidmost.

Buton adeeper level, I didn’twant towrite about something thatwas so.stinking.personal.Becausewhenyoudesiretobemarried,prayandbelievethatGodhearsyou,andthenbuzzbyyourthirty-thirdbirthdaystillsingle,thatjunkispersonal.

It’s not just about being alone at the dinner table or in the bed; it’s aboutunansweredprayersandhowtofaceaGodwhocandosomethingaboutthoseunansweredprayersbutdoesn’t. Ididn’twant towrite about that. Itgetsdeepandintimateandallupinmybusiness.

SoIavoidedit.Foryears.UntilIlivedinScotland.I can’t remember the date, but I remember the day. Summer had barely

turnedintoautumn.MyfreshlywashedclothesweredryingonthefoldablerackbesidemyonewindowoverlookingtheMerchistoncampusofEdinburghNapierUniversity.Thewindowwascracked.Itwasalmosttoocold,butthedifferenceindryingtimeoftheclothes,especiallyjeans(havemercy,theytakeforevertoairdry!),madeitabsolutelyworthit.

Iwasn’thavingaquiettimeoranything.NotprayingorreadingtheBibleordoinganythingparticularlyspiritual.Idon’trememberdoinganythingparticularatall.Isatonmybedinthemidmorning,andIheardawhisperinmyheart—“It’stimetowriteaboutbeingsingle.”

Iknewthatvoice.He’sbeenspeakingtomyheartforyears.AndthevoiceoftheOnewhoknowsmeandlovesmegetseasiertorecognizeasIgrowolder.

Idroppedmyheadandclosedmyeyes.Wherewas thismap takingme? I

trustthatGodhasgivenmeone,andI’mtryingtofollowit,butIjustcouldn’tunderstand the path beneath my feet. I didn’t feel defeated. I just know amomentofsurrenderwhenitisonme.Theinvisiblewhiteflagwasinmyhands,the flag that said I didn’t have to talk about my most personal things, andwithoutmyfullpermission,thatflagwasraising.IhadsurrenderedbeforeIevengavemyself any other option. Itwas like Iwas being given a choice, but notreallygivenachoice.Doyouknowthatfeeling?Youknowtherightthingtodo,youdon’twanttodoit,butyouwouldn’tdaredoanythingelse?

Yeah.Metoo.Ican’tbesilentlysingleanymore.

IamlivingalifeIneverplanned.AndithasrequiredmorecouragethanIeverthoughtcouldfitinthisfive-foot-six-inchframe.Iam,honestly,shockedthatIamthirty-threeandhavenohusbandandnochildren.But thereis this thinginme,deepdowninmyknower,thatisafireballofhope.Notnecessarilyhopeinthe“Iamforsuregettingmarriedsomeday”way,buthopeinthe“Godknowswhatheisdoing”kindofway.

Holdontohope,love.I thought itwouldbewaycooler towrite about this later inmy life.Like,

when Iammarried to someawesomedudeandwehave threekidsandanicekitchenandIdriveacoolmomSUVandtinyshoesarescatteredallthroughoutourhouse.ThenIcould tellall theChristiansingles to“hang in therebecauseGodhasanamazingplanforyourlife!!”Andthesectiononsinglenesswouldbefull of exclamation points because I find exclamation points to be very!encouraging!anduplifting!

ButIamnotgoingtowait.Ithinkthereissomethingreallypowerfulaboutbeingsmack in themiddleof theunwantedseasonandbeingable to lookyourightintheeyeball(whichIwouldifIcould)andsay,

Youaregoingtosurvivethis,friend.Godhasnotforgottenyou.YourlifeandyourdesiresareimportanttoGod.It’snotmyjobtobetheposterchildforSingleChristianGirls.Pleasedon’t

expect thatofmeor thesewordson thepage. Iamnotperfect. Idon’thandle

relationshipsperfectly. Idon’tknoweverything there is toknowabouthow tomanage this season — friendships with men, sex, boundaries, roles, careerpursuits,allthatstuff.Iamnotheretoclaimultimatewisdomonhowtodothis.

Ijustwanttotellyou,fromoneinthetrenchesofthisseasonofsingleness,thatIamgoingtomakeitjustfine.Andifyouaresingleandwanttobemarried,youaretoo.

Godhearsuswhenwepray.Godknowsourheartsbetterthanwedo.Youareallowedtofeellikethisseasonrequirescouragefromyoutogetout

ofbed,tostayoutofhisorherbed(whoeverheorsheis),tomovetoanewcityoranewchurchoranyofthat—andtodoitalone.

Thereareharddaysinthisandthereareeasydays.Butthereareneverdayswhenyouhavebeenabandoned.

Andit’sgoodthatwetalkaboutit.Becauseyouneedtohearthetruthofthegospeloflove—theonethatsaysweareneveraloneorabandonedorforgotten.AndIneedtohearittoo.Weneedtotalkopenly,bravely,andoften.

SoIhave.AndIam.AndIwill.Ipromise.

Mydad textedme thismorningwith that simple, family inside joke—“Wholovesya?Dada.Dada”—thatismainlyjustmeanttoremindmethathelovesme.Hedidn’tknowthissectionofLet’sAllBeBravewasborntoday.Hedidn’tknow I needed his long-distance support in these writing hours. But I amgrateful.

Wecantalkaboutthepartsofsinglenessthatarereallyfun—therearesomany— and the parts that are heartbreaking, and everything in between. I’mhere not to be an expert but just a friend, to tell youmy stories likeweweresittingtogether(ataloudercoffeeshop)andtofigureouthowtomaneuverthisseason.Withgrace.Withhope.Withjoy.Withhonesty.

Withcourage.Istillfeelthepulltobesilentlysingle.Itwouldbeeasier.Iwouldn’thaveto

tell someof the embarrassing/sad personal stories you’ve read throughout thisbook,many of them happening in the singleness that Iwear every day, and I

wouldjustget tohunkerdownwithmybestfriends,onthegooddaysandthebad,andfloatdownthisrivertiedtotheoneswhoknowmewell.Butasmuchas I willingly surrendered to the voice of God on that day in Edinburgh,Scotland,Iknowthisisgoingtohurtsometimes.AndIamnotstrongenoughtowriteaboutthis.

ButI’mstill typing,soIguesswe’redoingsomethingright.Thetruth is, Iam doing this with no strength of my own. Trust me. The inner Annie isscreamingandpushingawayfromthiskeyboardlikeitisapoisonoussnake.

It’sGodinme,gentlyaskingmeifI’mwillingtobebraveforyoulikeI’maskingyoutobebraveforothers.

Ifitismytimetotalkaboutbeingsingle,thenitisthetimethatwillbringGodthemostgloryandusthemostgood.Weallhavethesethings,whetherornotyourthingissingleness.Wewalkthroughseasonsthatarefilledwithunmetexpectations and potential for radical hope. Career path changes. Fertilitystruggles. Illness.Anditwouldbeeasy toholdquietly to those insecurities, tofeigntotheworldthatyouareokay,youareincontrol,youhavethepowerhere.

Butme?Iamnotthepowerfulone.I’mjustthebrokenonewhohasfoundatreasureIknowIneedtoshare.

Awomanhas just come to the dark side of PortlandBrew.She is slightwithstringyblondehairtohershoulders.Sheisreadingsomethickbook—atfirstIthought itwas theBible,but at secondglance, it isn’t.Andshe is crying.Notweeping,justtearsdrippingdown,andeverynowandagain,shesniffles.

Isn’tthatfunny.Twowomeninthesamecoffeeshop.Justonetableapart.(Iwillneverknowwhy,inanemptyroom,shepickedthetablenexttome.)Shereads,andshecries.Iwrite,andthetearscan’tbecontainedeither.

We are on the same journey, she and I, at two different ends of a pile ofwritten words. Her, experiencing the end, the finished product; me, thebeginning,thewordslandingonthepageforthefirsttime.

I ammoved by her, the other woman on the dark side. By her ability tohonestly respond to the words on the pages as she reads. I pray that for youtoday, even as her sniffles continue, that as you read this, you will respondhonestly.Hug this book close to your chest or launch itwith force across theroom.Idon’tknowwhatthehonestresponselookslikeforyou.ButIknowin

the deepest places that youwant to be courageouswith everything you have.Andtoday?Thisiswhatyouhave.Tobebravehereistoknowthat,nomatterwhatyourmaritalstatusis,maleorfemale,alwayssingleorhappilymarried,oreveryspotinbetween,youareneveralone.

Isatatdinnerlastweekwithtwoofmyfriendsfromcollegeandtheirparents.Therewereeightofus,sweetfamiliesthathaveknownmethroughmanyUGAfootballseasons.(That’showwejudgelongspansoftimeinAthens,Georgia.)BecauseIhadn’tseenthemforayearorso,itfeltlikewehadalotofcatchinguptodo.

OneofthemomsaskedmeaboutmytimeinScotland—whereIwent,whatIdid.(YoualreadyknoweverythingItoldher.Don’tworry.)Sheaskedcaringquestions,thekindthatonlysomeonewholovesyoucanask.

Andthenshesaid,“Wow,Ican’tbelieveyoudidthatallbyyourself.Idon’tthinkIcouldhavedonethat.”

I almost laughed right then and there, staring at her face. Iwanted to sayback, “So exactly what other choice did I have, ma’am?” But instead I justsmiled—becauseIknowaboutmewhatyouknowaboutme.

Ican’tbelieveIdidthatallbymyselfeither.ButI’msogladIdid.

AsItoldyou,IwantedtobeamissionarytoScotlandforelevenyears.Elevenyears.Multipletimesinmytwenties,Ihadtheopportunitytomovethereforaseasonortwo.

Amissiontrainingschool.Ayouthgroupinternship.Achildren’sministryposition.Ialwayssaidno.Everytime.Thetimingwasn’teverquiteright, Ineverfelt like itwasGod’sbestplan,

butalso,inthebackofmyhead...Iwasscared.

IwasscaredthatmovingtoScotlandwouldmeanIwouldnevergetmarried.SoIneverdid.IletanentiredecadegobyinhopesthatchoosingAmerica

meantchoosingmarriage.Now,I’mnotsayingthatstayinginAmericawasoutofGod’swill.Iknowhedidgoodthingswithmylifeinthatdecade;Ijustknowthat each time one of those opportunities was placed before me, the fearwhisperedtome.AndIlistened.

When I turned thirty, I satwith a few friends in rocking chairs on a frontporch.IwastalkingabouthowmuchIexpectedofthisnextdecade.

AndIsaid,“I’mmovingtoScotland.”ThenewopportunitywithCrossroadsChurchcameabout.(Fourtimesisthe

charm?Apparently.) And I knew this wasmy chance. The right chance. TherightopportunitytosayyestoGodandnotothefear.

Isaidnoinmytwenties.Iletthefearofbeingalone,thefearofsingleness,keepmefromthings.AndIwasn’tgoingtodothatinmythirties.

“WhatifIlookbackintenyears,”IsaidtomyfriendMaryKatherine,“andI’mstillsingleand I’vesaidnoforanotherdecade,waitingforsomethingthatstillhasn’tcome?”

Thatbecamemybiggestfear—waitingforamarriageI’mnotguaranteed,keepingmefromdoinggoodthingsthatbringglorytoGodrightnow.

So I moved to Scotland, and you know what?My life is so much richerbecauseofmyexperiencelivingontheothersideofthepond.Sayingyestothatopen door, ignoring the fear, has made me a better human and someday,hopefully,abetterwife.

Iwanttosayitagain.Beingsingledoesnotmeanyouarealone.Youneverare.I’veheardthisistrue,thoughIhaveyettoproveit,butmarriagedoesn’tsolveyouralonefeelings.

Couragedoesn’thavealistwhenitcomestosingleness.I’mnotgoingtotellyouyou’resupposedtomoveoutofthecountryoryou’resupposedtosignupon an online dating site (though I think if you haven’t tried it, you totallyshould). I’mnotgoing togiveyoua checklist that, if youcan tick everybox,willprove,onceandforall,thatyouareabravesinglet.

I’mjustgoingtosayagainwhatIfindtobethetruest.Bebraveenoughto

believe you are never alone. Say yes to dates, mission trips, volunteeropportunities,weekendsatthebeach—knowingthatwhetheryouflyaloneorbikealoneorliealoneinyourbed,Jesusisnear.Youareneveralone,myfriend.Never.

Andreally,thethingthatkeepsusfromthebravething?Fearthatwe’reinthisbyourselves.We.Aren’t.

InMatthew28:20,Jesussaysonesentencethatslaysthatfear:“AndsurelyIamwithyoualways...”Surelyheis.

MyBiblequietlyfallsopentoatear-crinkledpageoftheOldTestamentasIsithere,andjustlikeanoldsongontheradiocallsoutmomentsintherecessesofyourmind,seeingthesewordsinIsaiahbringsbackmemorieslongforgottenofdayswhenmysinglenessmademefeelcompletelyabandonedandforgotten.

ThedaybeforeIturnedtwenty-nine,Icouldn’tgetoutofbed.Ihaveneverbeen that sad before. But on that day, July 6, 2009, I was absolutely,unequivocallyheartbroken. I rolledover,grabbedmycomputer fromthefloor,andweptasIemailedmylifelongfriendsHaleyandMolly.

Idon’trememberthewholeemail,andtobehonest,I’mnotgoingtosearchthroughmy archives. I don’twant to read it again. But I remember one verydramaticline:“Ican’tdothisanotherday.”

Youwantme to get ugly honest about what it can be like to be a singleChristianwomanwhenyoudon’twanttobesingle?

Sometimesyoudon’tthinkyoucandoanotherday.Andthat’sfairandthatdespairisrealandthathurtislegit.Butthen,those

wordsfromIsaiahreachfromthepagetograbmyfaceandpullmeclose,tosaystraighttomyeyesandmyheart,“YOUARENOTALONE.”

Sodonotfear,forIamwithyou;donotbedismayed,forIamyourGod.

Iwillstrengthenyouandhelpyou;Iwillupholdyouwithmyrighteousrighthand.

ISAIAH41:10

TheMessagetalksstraightintomybones—knowwhatImean?

Don’tpanic.I’mwithyou.

There’snoneedtofearforI’myourGod.I’llgiveyoustrength.I’llhelpyou.I’llholdyousteady,keepafirmgriponyou.

Hehasafirmgriponyou,friend.Youarenotalone.

thewhy

June2013StarbucksinKailua,Hawaii

IgottotraveltoHonolulu,Hawaii,tospeakataconference.(Iknow,sacrificingforthegospel.)Oneafternoonbeforetheconferencestarted,IlefttheThurstons’homeonSpiffyLaneandwentintotownforsomewritingtime.IwalkedintotheKailuaStarbuckstowriteforabitandlookedaroundtoseezero tablesavailable. Ididn’t reallyhaveaplanBforwhere towrite, so Iwentaheadandgotinlineformydrink.

Atableopenedupbetweenavacationingcoupleandthreetanandadorablesurfer dudes. The surfers were talking about their marriages, so I tuned outbecause,yaknow,theyhavewivesalready.

I began to unpack, and just because of proximity (the tables were close,y’all),Icouldn’thelpbutcheckbackintotheirconversation—andIheardthemtalkingaboutlovingtheirwiveslikeChristlovesthechurch.Theytalkedaboutabsolute truth and howGod is the only thing that is absolute, and suddenly IrealizedIwaswatchingtwoofthemshareJesuswiththethird.

My heart began to race. My brain was praying for them before I evenrealizedit.Theyweresayingthehardthingstothisguy—thatheneededJesus,thatthereisnootherwaybutJesus,thatifhewantedtoknowJesuspersonally,itcouldhappenrighthereandrightnow.

Youknowwhywehave tobebrave?Becausecouragechanges lives.Andeternity.

Iknow,youthinkI’mbeingdramaticmaybe,butlisten.Thatguy?Sittingtomyright,hearinghowJesusistheanswer?Hislifeisforeverdifferent,hisfutureisforeveraltered,becausethosetwosurferswerebraveenoughtosaythething.

Mydrinkwasn’tready,butIstoodupanyway.Ican’texplainit,butIlikenit to the fact that at the end of a University of Georgia football game, whenthingsareontheline,Iliketopace.IfeltthatsamethinginmeasIheardthesetwentysomethingguystalkingaboutJesus.

As I was about to walk from my table to the drink counter, a couple atanothertablestoppedme.Thehusband,probablyinhismid-fifties,said,“That’sanicelaptop.”Tobefair,Ihaveaverybasiccomputer,sothiswastheweirdestlead-insentenceI’dheardinawhile.

“Thanks,”Iresponded.“I’manauthorso,youknow,Igottataketheofficewithme.”

(Pleaseinsertanawkwardlaughherefrommebecause,well,Idid.)He asked what I wrote. “Memoir-type nonfiction books for Christians,” I

toldhim—andhesaid,“WOW,WEARECHRISTIANSTOO!”inasexcitedavoiceasyoujustimagined.Thenheplacedhishandonmyshoulderandaskedifhecouldprayforme.

Brave.Brave.Brave.WhatkindofStarbuckswasthatplace?Whataretheyputtinginthedrinks

thatmadeallthesepeopledothescarything?Idon’tknow.Butyes,Ilethimprayforme.Ineverturnthatstuffdown.I

don’trememberallthewordsheprayed,butIwillneverforgetthatheasked.Itchangedme.

Seeingotherpeoplebebravemakesyouwanttobebravetoo.That’swhy you’ll see rational adults going down a loopty-loopwaterslide

eveniftheydon’twantto,becausetheywanttoshowthekidsitisn’tscary.It’sadominoeffect.That’swhywehavetostart.It’swhywehavetogofirst.It’swhywehaveto

bebrave—sothatotherswillbeinspiredtobebraveaswell.As we’ve discussed, other people can stand with you, encourage your

courage,andcheerforyou.Buttherealjoyiswhenwegettobetheoneswholeadotherstoanewlevelofbravery.Sure,IcouldinsertaquotefromWilliamWallacehere,butyouknowhowIfeelaboutScotland,sothatwouldbetotallypredictable.

“Theymaytakeourlives,buttheywillnevertake...”Seriously.Iwon’t.“...ourfreedom!”

Sorry.Idid.

Isawapictureinmyheadonetimeasafriendtoldmeastoryofhistripthroughthejungle.*Hecouldseethepathathisfeetbeforehim,butifhelookedstraightahead,thebrushwassothickhecouldn’tseeanythingbutthevinesandleavestangledateyelevel.

Hewasleadingateam,andsoitwasuptohimtousehismachete(don’tyouknow he loved tellingme this part of the story) to chop at the overgrowth tomakeawayforhispeopletoheaddownthepath.Hegotscrapedupagoodbit,but,ashetellsit,thatwasjustaminorsetbackinthebiggerstorywherehewasthehero—yes,hecalledhimself ahero— the story that therewasaway towalk and itwasup tohim tomake sure thosebehindhimhad clear access totravel.

Afewyears later, far, farawayfromthe junglesofBrazil, I satacross thetable in a coffee shop here inNashville as a young single girl toldme of herachesandpainsandthefaithissuesthat,inhermind,weredirectlyrelatedtohersingleness. (I.Hear.Ya.Sister.)Shedidn’tcry,butIheldanapkin inmygripbecause I thought for sure shewould at anymoment. She toldme stories—many that I felt she was pulling frommy own journal as a twentysomethingsingleChristiangal—andItoldherwhatIneverknewtotellmyself.

Iknow.Ithurts.ButGodhasnotforgottenyou.Heisshowingyouhisloveforyou,evennow.Believehim.BelievehisWord.Believehisheart.Theyear2011 iswhen I startedwritingpublicly aboutmy single life.She

had noticed.And she askedme, “Whynow?What is it about your thirty-firstyearthatmadeyoufinallywanttotalkaboutit?”

“God.”Isaid.“Hejustmadeitclearthiswastherighttime.”Withouthesitation,shesaid,“I’msoglad.Weallneedtrailblazers.Nowthat

Iseethatyou’vedonethis,IgenuinelythinkIcandoittoo.”Ialmostlaughed.Trailblazer?Sister,ifthisistrailblazing,Iamthemostcut-

up,ill-equipped,whinyleaderateamhaseverencountered.

Ifrustratinglyhackawayatthebrushthatcutsmeonthispathofsingleness,thethornsofliesthattrytopenetratemyskin,theleavesofworry,thevinesoflonelinessthatweavesotightbeforemyeyesthattheonlywayIcanevenknowthere is a way forward is by the path at my feet. (And even that isn’t socomfortingbecauseIdon’tknowwhereitleads.)

“ThyWordisalampuntomyfeetandalightuntomypath...”IsinginmyheadasthetearspourforthandIpushforwardonthistrail.

I guess I never realized people were watching. I’ve never noticed theinnocentyoungfaceslinedupbehindme,watchingtheclearingprocessandthenwalkingthroughtheopeningsmytoilinghascreated.

Ineverknewthiswasforthem.If that is thecase, thenmaybethedaysIhavewrestledwithmysingleness

andtheGodwhoknowsandlovesmethroughitallweresothatothersbehindmewouldseeandthenknowaneasierpath.

You,my friend,married or single, female ormale, you are blazing a trailwithyourlifefortheyoungerwomenandmenbehindyou.Theywillhavetheirownovergrowthtochallengethem,andtheywillleadthewayforothers.

Becauseyouaremakingaway for them,saving themsomepain thatyourbloodied arms prove is real, and honoring their footsteps by providing a clearpath.

Neverforgetasyoustepforwardwithyourlifethatyouareatrailblazer.Someoneiswatching.It’sthewalkinginfrontof.It’sthestandingbeside.It’sthetrudgingbehind.

Wedothisbecausewearen’taloneinit.Evenifyoudon’tseeotherswatchingor standing or following, they are there.Women, youngmen, oldmen— allsortsofpeople.Seeingyoubebravemaybealltheyneedtobebrave.Thatmaybeallittakes.

Youget thechanceto livecourageously.Youweremeantfor it.Youwerebornforit.Itneverfeelseasy,anditneverisfree.Butitiswhatwewantmorethananythingelse.

Thisisyourmap.Thisisyourstory.Bebraveforyourself,bebraveforyourGod, andbebrave for theonlookers, theoneswhowill be inspiredbyyou toinspireothers.

Mydear friendsDrewandEllieHolcombjustplayedatBonnaroofor the firsttime.Bonnaroo isahugeoutdoormusicfestival inManchester,Tennessee.Tobeaskedtoplaythereistosayyouhavereallymadeanimpactmusicallyonlotsoflives.IaskedElliehowitwent,andshesaid,“Itwasincredible.Abucketlistmoment.Itwaseverythingwedreameditwouldbe.”

After years ofworking, of saying small, brave yeses for their career—atfirst opening for other artists, all the recording sessions, concert venues, andperformanceopportunities—heretheyaresayingabigyes.Theirbraveisonastageinfrontofallofus,andifyou’veheardanyof theirmusic,youknowitchangesyouandaffectsyou.Andwhoknowswhereitgoesfromhere.

Iwatchthem.Iobservetheircourage.Iseetheyesestheysay,anditbuildssomething inme. Itmakesmewant to be bravewithmy art so others can beinspired. And the courage trickles down and down and down tomore peoplethanDrewandElliewilleverknow.

Soyoudoitforthem—forthepeoplewatchingandfortheoneswhowillcomebehindyou.Butyoudoitforyourselftoo.Youchooseitbecauseit’sthewayyouwanttolive.

Everythinghingesoncourage.Absolutelyeverything.And when you choose it, maybe I will too, and then the dominos of

cowardicewill start to fall, and the soundwe hear as those dominoes in yourmindcrashtothegroundwillbethesoundoffearlosing.

Youwanttochangetheworld?Bebrave.Beyou.Don’ttrytobesomeoneelseordosomeoneelse’sbravething.Don’tmovetoAfricabecauseitisbrave.Move because it sounds like the most terrifyingly perfect next step for you.Don’twriteasongbecauseittakescourage.Writeitbecauseyou’llpukeifyoudon’t — even if you puke when you do. Because it matters. Every momentmatters.Andyoubeingyou?Thatisbrave.Itwillmakemebrave.Wewillallbebrave.

*This section is based on a July 21, 2012, post titled “Trailblazer,” whichoriginallyappearedonthe(in)courageblog,anonlinehomefortheheartsofwomen(www.incourage.me/).

therhythm

June2013Mydiningroomtable,Nashville,Tennessee

Some would say to be brave is to be mapless, the mapcrumpledupandthrownoutthewindow,allwilly-nillydriveuntilthecarrunsoutofgasandthenyoufigureoutwhereyouare.Thoughthatmaysoundfun(toyou), it has nothing to do with real courage. Does being brave mean beingwithoutboundaryorconstraint?Honestly,Idon’tthinkso.Ifyouarebrave,youarewillingtowalk themapthat isyours, theonewith twistsandturnsyou’veneverexpected,andyoumustbedisciplinedenoughtostayonthenarrowroadunderyourfeet.Stepbystep.Eachstepleadstothenext,andbeforeyouknowit,youarewalkinginarhythmofcourage.

I never tied discipline to courage. I never saw the correlation. I guess Ishould have, since I lack in both. But in allmatters— physical,mental, andspiritual—Ibelievethattoliveadisciplinedlifeleadstoabravelife.Welongtobebraveinthebigmoments,intheclutchtimes,inthetimeswhenourbacksareupagainstawall.Buttogetthere?It’stheeveryday.It’sthepractice.It’sthesteps.It’sthediscipline.

Let’sbereal;that’snotthemostfunansweryou’veeverheard.Noneofusenjoydiscipline.Hebrews12:11putsitperfectly:“Nodisciplineseemspleasantatthetime,butpainful.Lateron,however,itproducesaharvestofrighteousnessandpeaceforthosewhohavebeentrainedbyit.”

And in The Message? Boom. “At the time, discipline isn’t much fun. Italways feels like it’s going against the grain. Later, of course, it pays offhandsomely, for it’s the well-trained who find themselves mature in theirrelationshipwithGod.”

Italwaysfeelslikeit’sgoingagainstthegrain.Yet.Itpaysoffhandsomely.

Idecidedtorunahalfmarathoninthespringof2010.Itwasaridiculousdecision.Idon’tlikerunning.Ihaveneverrunthatfar—

ever—andpriortothatrace,Iwasaconsistentforty-five-minute5Ker.Doyouknowwhatthatmeans?I’mslow.Like,fifteen-minutemileslow.And running a halfmarathonmeans going 13.1miles at fifteenminutes a

mile.Youdon’tevenhavetodothemathtorealizethatisalongtime.Butmy friendswanted to do it, and as you can imagine, I’m not great at

sayingnotoanythingsocialanditwasaraceinSeasideBeach,Florida,whichhappenstobeoneofmylifelongfavoriteplacestogo.

Here’swhatIhadworkedthroughinmymind:IfIwasgoingtobemovingmybodyfor13.1miles,Ifiguredthebeachwasflatandbeingbytheoceanwasbeautiful.

(Classicsearchforthepathofleastresistance.)I signed up, paid my money, and booked my flight to Florida and was

immediatelyfullofregret.Buttheothergirls—Blair,Katie,andEmily—hadsignedup,paid,andbookedaswell,sotherewasnobackingout.

Idownloadeda trainingprogramtomy iPhone the fallbefore the raceanddecidedIwouldspendsixmonthsreallytrainingforthishalfmarathon.

Ididn’t.(Myhardstancesonthingsreallyendupbeingmorehilariousthananything,

don’tthey?)SobythetimeMarchrolledaroundandwewerepackingfortheweekend,I

hadjoggedapproximatelythreemilesinmytraining.AndIwasabouttoattemptthirteen.Andone-tenth.

The morning was cold, especially for the Florida coast in March. The racebegan,andaboutaquartermilein,Ihadtostartwalkingbecausemyrightcalf

was cramping up. My friends went ahead without me, which was great andexpected. They were runners, and they had trained, you know, like a normalperson ina race.My iPodkeptmecompanyas Iwalked/jogged/speedwalkedthrough the race route.The route, by theway—and spoiler alert—was notalong the beach. It curved inland, and the roadwas flanked bymossyFloridatreesandswamp.Theedgeoftheroadwascoveredingloves,long-sleeveshirts,andotherwarmclothingitemsthatpeoplehadjustmindlesslydiscarded.

Mile 2was theworst. I thought thiswas literally theworst decision I hadevermade.Forsoearlyintherace,Iwasalreadyfeelingsorenesscreepingupmy legsandwasconcerned Iwasn’tgoing to finish.But Ikeptgoing,mainlybecausemyiPodwasstillplayingtheplaylistIhaddesignedspecificallyforthishalfmarathon.Onmile8Ifeltlikeamillionbucks.Ihadturnedthecorneraboutamileandahalfbeforeandwaselated.ItjustfeltlikeIwasintheflowandallwaswell.

Aftermorethanthreeandahalfhours,Icrossedthatfinishline.Onlythreegift packs remained on the table, and in the official standings of thousands ofracers,Ifinishednexttolast.

Threegrandmaswalkingfinishedinfrontofme.The nextweekwas themost painfulweek ofmy life. Everymuscle hurt.

Every.Single.One. Iwalked like Ihad just riddenahorse fromMaine to thatvery Florida beach. My underarms and other places (ahem) were chafed andscabbing.Iprettymuchjustwantedtolieonthefloorlikeastarfish,withanIVofibuprofenfortwoortendays.

Mylackof training—and lackofdiscipline—reallycameback tohauntmeafterthatrace.AndI’lltellyouwhat,it’llbealong,longtimebeforeIsignupforahalfmarathonagain.Hopefullynever.IthinkI’mmoreofa5Kor10Kkindofgirl,youknow,thekindofracerwhocanfinishinlesstimethanittooktheTitanictosink.

I’dhavedonebetterinthatrace,dealtwithlesspain,andpossiblybeenwillingtoattemptanotherraceofthatdistancehadIactuallytrained.

Disciplinehasalways felt like rules tome,andeven though I’manatural-bornrulefollower,whenI’mtheonemakingtherulesandtryingtokeepthem,it’snotasnatural.Thetruthis thatdisciplineisn’trulesyouhavetolivebyor

lawsyouhavetoobey;disciplineistheworkdoneonthepracticefieldsoyouarereadyforthebiggame.

Iwasn’treadyfortheracebecauseIdidn’tputinmytimepracticing.Musicianspractice.A lot.Askanyone inNashvillewhosharesawallora

houseoradrivewayoragaragewithamusician—theyknowthisalltoowell.Drummers? They ruin the neighborhood. Doctors practice. I’ll never forgetwalking intomy living room and seeingmy roommate, a PA school student,sewing up stiff sponges. Practicing her stitches and her techniquewas hugelyimportant.Now,doinganinternshipinUganda,sheisabletohealandsavelivesbecauseofhoursofpracticeonourcouch.Mypastorpracticeshisentiresermonmultiple timeseachweekbeforehegives it, includingat6:30a.m.onSundaymorning.

Professionalschoosetopractice,evenwhenithurts,becausetheyknowthatpracticinggivesthemthestrengthandpowertoperforminclutchmoments.

“Practicemakesperfect”istrue.“Practicemakesconfidence”istruer.IfIhadtopickonenon-TrinityBiblecharactertohaveacrushon,itwould

totallybeBenaiah.Doyouknowhim?Ifhewerealivetoday,Ithinkhe’dbeafootballplayer.AndIhaveaverysoftspotinmyheartforamaninafootballuniform.

Firstmentionedin2Samuel23,BenaiahisoneofDavid’smightyfightingmen.Thatchaptertalksofallthemightyexploitsthisstrongmanperformed—killingamansevenandahalffeettall,killingtwoofMoab’sstrongestmen,andfightingalioninapitonasnowyday.

Talkabouttheoddsstackedagainstyou.Alion.Inapit.Onasnowyday.Idon’tevenwanttolookatigerintheeyesatthezoo.Ican’timaginegoing

head-to-headwithalionwhiletrappedinapitassnowmadetheterrainwetandslickandcold.

BenaiahwentontobetheheadofKingDavid’sbodyguardsandtheheadofKingSolomon’sarmyaswell.

Hewasadude—aman’smanineverysenseoftheword.WhattheBibledoesn’ttalkaboutisBenaiah’straining—thedaysanddays

ofpracticeandhealthyeatingandbuildinghisbodytobecomethatkindofman.It tookdisciplineand training tobeable togo into thatpitwhileknowing thechallenges,andyettohavetheconfidencethathewouldn’tlose.

The reason Benaiah didn’t freak out in that pit, and freak out over thechallengesthatwentalongwithit,isbecausehehaddonethetrainingandalltheday-to-dayworkthatwasnecessarytogetthere.

Howdoyoutrainforthatkindofrun-in?Yeah,Ihavenoidea.Buthedidit.Courageislikethat,Ithink.Whetheryouaretryingtofinisharaceorabook

or thathardconversationyou’vebeenavoiding, the training leadingup to thateventiswhatmakesitpossibletofacethefearandwalkforwardanyway.

Quitcomplainingaboutdisciplineandstart seeing itasapowerful tool forcourageousliving.

We sat outside for summer Bible study, three adults and about thirty collegestudents.AdamandAllisonhost,andthestudentsshowupin thesummerlikeantstoapicnic.Aswereadthrough2Corinthians,welandedinaconversationaboutdiscipline.Iwrinkledmynoselikesomethingsmelledrotten—disciplinewasnotmyfavorite topic.Butaswe talked,awordkept repeating—rhythm.“Get into a rhythm of discipline,” a student said, talking aboutBible reading,prayer,andtheotherpillarsofourdailyfaithwalk.“Ibetitwon’tfeelsohardanymore,huh?Becauseitdoesn’tsoundlikework,butlikearhythmwemoveto,”anothersaid.Iwasmovedbytheidea.Thatfeltpossible.Getinarhythm.Practicetherhythms.

AndthenJesustellsusofrhythms:

“Areyoutired?Wornout?Burnedoutonreligion?Cometome.Getawaywithmeandyou’llrecoveryourlife.I’llshowyouhowtotakearealrest.Walkwithmeandworkwithme—watchhowIdoit.Learntheunforced rhythmsofgrace. Iwon’t layanythingheavyor ill-fittingon you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely andlightly.”

MATTHEW11:28–30MSG,emphasisadded

Unforced rhythms of grace. Discipline as a rhythm. Could discipline looklikegraceandmakemebraver?

MyfriendAndrewHarrisisabaseballplayeratVanderbilt.AndrewiskindandrespectfulandalwayslookshandsomelyputtogetherforchurchonSunday.Ifhewas in a beauty pageant, he would totally be Ms. Congeniality. Or Mr.Congeniality,asthecasemaybe.

AndrewhasbeenamemberoftheVanderbiltbaseballteameveryyearofhiscollegelife,buthedoesn’tgetalotofplayingtime.There’snonicewaytosayit.Hejustdoesn’t.Butheshowsuptoeverypractice.Heshowsuptoworkoutandisaleaderontheteam.Hepracticeslikehe’sastarterandcouldgetintoanygameatanymoment.Hefeelsjustasinvestedinthesuccessoftheteamasthecenter fielderwho plays every inning of every game.And this kid?He lovesbaseball,andheloveshisteammates.Buthedoesn’tgettoplay.

WhenhecametoVanderbiltasafreshman,thehardestseasonofhislifehadjusthappened.Hismotherdiedof cancer in the fallofhis senioryearofhighschool, andhehadbrokenavertebra inhisbackduring the spring.Hiswholeworldwas turnedupsidedown, and things thatwere alwaysgoing to be thereweresuddenlygone.

As hewent to rehabilitation that fall as a college freshman, his frustrationbuilt. Nothingwas going theway he had hoped. But one day, he felt like heheardGodwhispertohimabouthispurposeonthatteam.Whatifmybeinghereisn’taboutplayingbutaboutsomethingbigger?hethought.

He decided to go about his business. To be the best player he could be,whetherornot thatmeantplaying,andgoingtothefieldeverydaytoprepare.Also,Andrewisgreatathavingfun.Sohehadlotsoffun.

Thispastspring,Andrew’sseniorseason,Vanderbiltplayedincredibly,andIwent toagameorsoaweek.I’vewatcheda lotofcollegebaseball in the lastfewyears,farmorethanIeverdidwhenIwasanactualcollegestudent.Collegeministrywillprovidesuchopportunities.

AndinallthegamesI’vewatched,IbetAndrewhasbeenonthefieldfewerthanfivetimes.Soinaseasonwheretheyplaysixtygames,there’saminimumof three at bats per game for him. Of the two hundred possible at bats forAndrew,he’sbeenuptotheplatemaybefivetimes.

Idon’twantthemathtogetyoudown,butthat’saprettylowpercentage.But the day-in-and-day-out stuff of being on a team — training and

disciplininghisbody,showingup—he’sdoneitall.In the last home game of the regular season, Vandy was in a hard-nosed

battle with the University of Alabama, an SEC rival. They played tough andwere looking good, but it was a really close game. In fact, they were in asituationwhereasacrificebuntwasneededtomovetherunnersforward.

OutofthedugoutwalksAndrewHarris.Thecrowdcheers.Andrewgoesup tobat,andafteraseriesofpitches thatareamixofballs

andstrikes, thatman laysdownasacrificebunt in theexact rightway,a littlehopperdownthethird-baseline.Therunnersadvance,andAndrewisthrownoutatfirstbase.(That’sthegoal,bytheway—tomovetheotherrunnersaheadtothe next base, even if itmeans the hitter himself,Andrew in this case, is out.That’swhytheycallitasacrifice.)

Itwasperfect.AsAndrewturnstojogbacktothedugout,thecrowderupts.Peopleontheir

feet,yellingandcheering.Hedidtheexactsamethinginarealgamethathehadpracticedathousandtimesbefore.

Hedefeatedthatlioninapitonasnowyday.Hispracticegothimthere—standingathomeplate,calledoninaclutchmoment,andsucceeding.Thevoiceoffearwasthere,thepressurewason,andhenailedit.Absolutelynailedit.

Andthecrowdlovedit.

Two weeks later, in the SEC tournament championship game, Andrew wascalledonagain.WhenLSU,Vandy’sopponent,sawwhowascomingoutofthedugouttobat,theyintentionallywalkedhim.

They.Walked.Him.Howoftendoyouseeapinchhittergetwalked—especiallyonewhorarely

plays? Iwouldnever claim toknow the ins andoutsofwhyacoachmakesadecisiononwhom towalkorwhom topitch to,but I can tell youwhat everyVandyfaninthestandsthought.

LSUknewwhatwascoming.Aperfectbunter.And itwasn’ta riskworth

taking.Itwasgratifyingtoseethemafraid.Brave Andrew. Going to practice every day, hustling every day, seldom

playing. But when he does, when he gets to stand there at home plate andexecuteaplay,hedoesit.LikeBenaiah,whenAndrewisintheclutchmoment,themake-or-breakmoment,he’sbraveandconfidentandtakescareofthejob.

ThatweekIcalledAndrew.Wemetatalocalbagelplace,andwhileheatehis breakfast, we chatted about discipline and courage and those two at-batsituations.BecauseIknewwhatIsawfromthestands.Isawhisdisciplinepayoff,andIwantedtohearallaboutit.

Hesaideverytimehewalkstotheplate,hethinksaboutallthetimeshehasdonethisplayrightinpracticeandeverytimeithasworkedonthefield.Heisfull of confidence, evenwhen the other team’s fans are screaming their headsoff.“Theoutsideforcescancauseanxiety,butdisciplineiswhatcontrolsthat.Iknowwhat I cando.”He looksme right in the eyeswhenhe says that, and Itotallybelievehim.

Heknowswhathecando.Heknowsthepowerbehindthepractice.Thepurposebehindtherepetition.

Thegiftofdiscipline.Itpaysoffhandsomely.

Theparallelsaremany.Thewayswecanseedisciplineandcourageconnectinourspiritual,mental,andphysicallivesareunlimited.

Whatdoesthatdisciplinelooklike?Idon’tknowforyou.IjustknowthatIoftenliketolabeldisciplineassomethingboringandunnecessarywhenreally,ifyou want to be brave and be ready to be called into the game, you have topractice.

I’mnevergoingtosacrificebunt.ImaylovemyVandybaseballplayers,buttheyaren’taskingmetosuitupanytimesoon.ButwhenIseeAndrew,IknowIwanttobelikehim.

Iamapartofanationwideteengirls’eventcalledGirlsofGrace.Wetraveland spend our Saturdays in cities around America teaching, worshiping, andhangingoutwithlotsandlotsofteengirls,theirmothers,andtheirleaders.It’sa

full-dayconferencewithspeakersandbandsandworship,andIabsolutelyloveit.WhenIwent tomyfirstconference in2012, Ihadneverspoken infrontofthatmanygirlsbefore.Ihadbeenspeakinginfrontofteenaudiencesforawhileatmy church’s youth group, local private school chapels, retreats, and camps.Oneeventledtoanother,andwithinafewyears,Iwasdoingeventsoutsideofmy community and speaking in front of larger crowds.ButGirls ofGrace? Itwasthebiggestdeal.AndIwassoscared.NotonlywasInewtotheteam;Iwassayingsomehardtruthsabouthowweshoulduseourwords.

Ipracticedmytalkoverandoveragaininfrontofthehotelbathroommirror.IstudiedtheScripturesandmadesureIhadthetranslationIwantedtoshare.Itimed myself as I stood there alone, to make sure I was on schedule. LikeAndrewsaid, I also thoughtback to theother times Ihad spokenandbroughtthembacktomymemory.TheconfidenceIhadinGodfromthosedaysIcouldcallonhere,andIdid.Thefeardidn’tstopme,thoughitwasthere,butpracticeandrememberingGod’sfaithfulnessmademebrave.

Disciplineenablescouragetoshowup.Itshowsupwhentemptationfeelsliketoomuch.Itshowsupwhenthedesiretoquitismorethanyoucantake.Itshowsupwhenyougetthatmiddleofthenightphonecallfromafriendin

trouble.Itshowsup.Your discipline, the rhythm that makes you the best you— whether it’s

trainingyourbody,yourmind,oryourspirit—showsupwhenitistimetosaythe right thing,do the right thing,be thebravepersonyouwant tobe. It’s thepracticethatmakesperfect,andthepracticethatmakesyoubrave.

jesus

July2013PortlandBrew,Nashville,Tennessee

Iamthirty-threeyearsold.Atthispoint,JesusandIhavelivedonearthaboutthesameamountoftime,

give or take.We both lived through our twenties— he with no mistakes orregrets,mewith enough for both of us. Something gets very real about Jesusbeinghumanwhenyouarethesameageashim.

I’veknownJesussinceIwasfiveyearsold,butIlovehimmoretodaythanIeverimaginedIcouldasalittlebittything.

WealwayswenttochurchwhenIwasakid,atthetimemoreoutofobligationandthesocialnormsforGeorgialifeinthe1980sthanoutofanactualpassionor relationship.WeattendedFirstUnitedMethodistChurch inMarietta,wheremymomwasintheyouthgroupinthe1960sandtherewas(is)aSundayschoolclassroomnamedaftermygrandfather.Asachild,itwasrarethatIhadtoattend“big church.”Sunday schoolwasusually anhourwell spent, but therewere afewtimeswhenIsatwithmyparentsinthelargesanctuary.

IcanprobablyshowyouwhichpewIwassittinginonthatMaySundayin1985. There was nothing unique or abnormal about that morning. I justrememberourpastor,CharlesSineath,makingsomesortofaltarcall, thoughIdon’tremembertheexactwordsheused.Irememberthefeeling—thatpushonmyinsidesthatInowknowistheHolySpirit—andIrememberlookingupatmymomandtellingher,“IthinkI’msupposedtogodownthere.”

Iknowitseemsimpossiblycrazythata thenfive-year-oldcouldremembersuchcleardetails,butIdo.IthinkGoddidthatonpurposeforme,forthedayswhenthingsfelt toohardorforthoseteenyearswhenI justwasneversureofmyselforhim,soIwouldalwaysknowthatwhatIhaddecidedonthatdaywastrue,evenifeverythingelsefeltlikeshiftingsand.

Mom and I walked forward, and I knelt on the red, padded cushion andleanedmylittlechestintothemahoganyrailing.Maybemydadwastheretoo?PastorSineathcamedowntomeandaskedmequestionsIdon’trememberwordforword,butIknewIwasaskingJesustoforgivemefordoingbadthingsandtocomeintomyheartandlivethere.

Itwasreal.ItwasadecisionImade.IknewGodwasreal.IknewJesuswasGod’sSon.AndIknewJesushaddiedformebecauseIwasasinner.

Mychildhoodyears and teenyears are just a plethora of stories cycloningaroundGodandJesus—readingtheBibleandtryingtounderstandit,beingsoinvolvedatchurchthatifthedoorswereopenandtheCokemachinewastakingquarters,Iwasprobablythere.IsawGodanswerprayers,andItriedtolovehimasbestIcould.

I went to the University of Georgia and immediately got involved in theWesley Foundation, a campus ministry run by the former youth pastor fromFUMC.Soyes,itwasvirtuallythecollegeversionofmyyouthgroup—sameleaderandlotsofthesamestudentsinvolved.

IwenttothefreshmanBiblestudy,andtobehonest,IkindathoughtIwastoomature tobe there. Imean,IhadbeenaChristianforeverandI livedwithmy best friend (who was a junior), so it felt hard to relate to many of thesecollegefreshmen.Itwasoldhatforme.IwenttotheBiblestudymainlybecauseIwassupposedto,whichbythatpointhadbecomeabigreasonforalotofthethingsIdidinmyfaith.BecauseIdidnotreallyknowlifewithoutbeingtoldtohavequiettimesandreadyourBibleandpray,itbecamejustabigchecklistthatyougodowndayafterdayuntilyoudie.

ObviouslyIhadarealunderstandingofwhatitisliketobeinarelationshipwiththeLord.(Yeah,right.)

AtthatfirstfreshmanBiblestudy,IwasputinasmallgroupwithaleadernamedKimberly.Oneofthefirstquestionssheposed,whichIwassureI’dbeabletoanswereasilybecause,hello,IwastheprofessionalChristianhere,was“How is your relationship with God different from your relationship withJesus?”

Likeanatomicbombsetoff in themiddleof the life Ihadalwaysknown,thatquestionblewupeverythingforme.Ihadneverconsideredit.TheTrinity—Father,Son,HolySpirit—inmymindareallGod(theyare),butIdidnoteverthinkofthemasindividualsaswell(theyare).Andthatquestionchangedeverythingforme.

IstartedtoseeJesusasJesus.

ThatmaysoundmysticandweirdtothinkoftheFather,Son,andHolySpiritasthreeuniquerelationships,butIthinkthat’spartofthemysteryofallofthis—thattheyarethree,buttheyareone.AndifyoulookatthelanguagethroughouttheBible,GodisourFather.WearedescribedasthebrideofChrist.TheHolySpirit is our counselor, our advocate. It’s clear they are three distinct personswhilesharingoneessence.

ButwhenyouonlythinkaboutJesusasdivine(whichheis),thenyousortamiss the fact that Jesus is human (which he is). Sowhenmymind and heartbegantoreflectonthetwonaturesabit,everythingchanged.ThethingsIreadabout Jesus changed.Wait, he turned water into wine? Wait, he walked onwater?Ahuman?Wait,hisfriendsturnedonhim—theysleptwhentheyshouldhaveprayed, pretended they didn’t knowhim, sold himout in themost literalsenseever?

Andhereweare.Boththirty-three.Ican’timaginemyfriendsturningonmethewayPeterturnedonJesus.Ican’timaginechurchleadershatingmethewaythey hated Jesus. I can’t imagine being brave in all the ways hewas. I can’timaginenotknowinghim.I’msogladIgetto.SomethingchangedthecloserIgot to his age. I started to know him differently. I saw him like one of myfriends,likeoneofthedudesIhangwithallthetime.He’snotsomeadultdoingadultthings;he’smyage.

Itstokesmyfiresofcourage,rememberingthatJesuswashuman,thatJesusdid somemajorlybrave things righthere—rightwhere I am.Single likeme.Thirty-threelikeme.Humanlikeme.Sinless,unlikeme,buttemptedlikeme.

Andhetookariskonme.

At thispoint, you’ve realized I’mnot alwaysgreat at this. “This?”Thisbeinglife. So for another human like Jesus to bank onme seems a bit unwise. Heknows I’m a screwup, and for that, he gave his life. I am so grateful for thatsalvation.Butoverandoveragain,IaskJesusforforgivenessandrescue,andhealwaysprovidesthem.Youwouldneverbuyacarthatgotaflattireeverytimeyou test-drove it, and youwould stop eating at restaurants that repeatedly gotyourorderwrong.Andyet,Jesusdoesthatformeallthetime.Ihaveaflattireandgethisorderwrongandsinandeverythinginbetween.Herisksforme,andherisksonme.

CouragewasbornonChristmasDay.ThetruthofwhoJesusisandwhathedidonearth—theSonofGodwho

cametoearthtotakeonoursins—isthemostcourageousthingthisplanethaseverseen.

I recentlyheardAndyByrd,a teacherat theYWAMCircuitRiderSchool,say,“Jesusfastedfromheavenforthirty-threeyears.”Anditbrokemyheart.Iguess Ihadneverconsideredall that Jesusgaveup—Imean, Iknewhe laidasidethegloryhehadwiththeFatherandIknewhetookonhumanflesh,butIguessIforgothegaveupfreedomfromtemptation.Hegaveupbeingworshipedandadoredandfully lovedbyeveryonearoundhim.Hegaveupall the thingsyoudreamheavencouldbelike.

Asifthatwasn’tenough,forthosethirty-threeyearsonearthhehealedandsetfreeandforgavesinsandpouredloveintothosearoundhim.

Then.Hediedonthecross,takingawayoursinsandbringingussalvation.Then.Hewasresurrectedsowecouldhaveeternallifeandbesetfreefrom

theguiltofsin.“Jesuspaiditall,alltohimIowe;sinhadleftacrimsonstain,hewashedit

whiteassnow.”*Thatiscourage.While it is important to celebrate bravery in others and call it forth in

ourselves, it would be ridiculous to believe that anything we do can hold acandletothecourageousthingsJesusdidforus.

ThinkofyourselvesthewayChristJesusthoughtofhimself.Hehad

equalstatuswithGodbutdidn’tthinksomuchofhimselfthathehadtoclingtotheadvantagesofthatstatusnomatterwhat.Notatall.Whenthetimecame,hesetasidetheprivilegesofdeityandtookonthestatusofaslave,becamehuman!Havingbecomehuman,hestayedhuman.Itwasan incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges.Instead,helivedaselfless,obedientlifeandthendiedaselfless,obedientdeath—andtheworstkindofdeathatthat:acrucifixion.

Becauseofthatobedience,Godliftedhimhighandhonoredhimfarbeyondanyoneoranything,ever,sothatallcreatedbeingsinheavenandonearth—eventhoselongagodeadandburied—willbowinworshipbeforethisJesusChrist,andcalloutinpraisethatheistheMasterofall,totheglorioushonorofGodtheFather.

PHILIPPIANS2:5–11MSG

Right?Brave.Ilovehim.

*“JesusPaidItAll,”lyricsbyElvinaM.Hall,1865.Publicdomain.

good-bye

July2013Myfrontporch,Nashville,Tennessee

MylastSundayinScotlandwasNovember20,2011.IflewoutonNovember21,whichmadeperfectsensetomebecause21ismyfavoritenumberanditis7+7+7.Completion.Andthat’showitfelt.Itfeltfinished.

At our last team brunch on that Sunday, I askedGod if Iwas different. IaskedhimifIhadbeenanddoneallthathewanted.AndIhadthemostgratefulheart. For my friends in that room— for Esther and Harry, Leisa, Tom andLeighAnn,James,Melissa,Kenneth;forthestudentsatCrossroadsChurch;fortherealizationthatthislifelongdreamhadbecomemyreality;forallthewaysIsawGodthere.

AndMelissabegansingingaworshipsongderivedfromaproclamationoftheMoravianmissionaries Johann Leonhard Dober and David Nitschmann in1732,who sold themselves into slavery tobring thegospel to theWest Indiesislands:“MaytheLambthatwasslainreceivetherewardofHissuffering!”andthenshesings,“startingwithme!”

Andmyheartrosetomeetthat.Making the brave choice in your life is going to change theworld.At the

least,itwillchangeyourworld.ButIdarenotlimitwhatyouaregoingtodoonthis planet, friend. Your life is Jesus’ reward for his suffering— your braveyeses,yourcourageousnoes,hangingon, lettinggo,going there, stayinghere,allofit.

I hope you’ve already done it. I hope you’ve already taken that first stepbecause I am sure, like I’ve rarely been so sure of anything before, that yourpeople arewaiting and your God is watchingwith expectancy for you to see

whereyourmapisgoingtotakeyou.AndtodayIpraypeaceforyou.Because even in the scariest moments, even when the map seems upside

down or you can’t see far enough ahead to feel brave enough to take a step,Jesuspromisesyoupeace:“PeaceI leavewithyou;mypeaceIgiveyou. Idonotgivetoyouastheworldgives.Donotletyourheartsbetroubledanddonotbeafraid”(John14:27).

So I pray peace for you, fellow traveler.We are embarking on somethingnewtodayaswesaygood-bye,andIprayyouwillneverbethesamebecauseofwhat Jesus has done in your heart.You are stronger than you know.You aremoregenerousthanyou’veallowedyourselftobe.Youareimpactingthepeoplearoundyoufarmorethanyourealize.

Will you now also be brave? I promise you I will try. I am trying inrelationship and in heart and in profession to live bravely and put fear out topasture.Watchmetryandfailandpullstrengthfromit.BecauseI’mwatchingothers and pulling strength from them too. I havemanymore stories I couldshareofpeopleinmyworldwhoarecourageous—momsandteensandsingledudesandmusiciansandartistsandmy familyand friends.But instead, Iwillsaygood-byeandhopeandpraythebestforyou.Icanonlywatchasyouuntieyourshipfromthedock,andIwillgiveitenoughofashovethatifyoureachedback,Icouldn’tgrabyourhand.

Instead,holdyourmapandthehandofyourFather.Andlet’sallbebrave.

thankyou

TomyfriendsandfamilyatZondervan—youhavemadesomanyofmydreams come true.CarolynMcCready,what you have donewiththisbook ismiraculousandcould justmakeme feelweepy. I amso thankful.DirkBuursma, your voicewas themissing piece this book needed to becomewhole. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Kyle Olund, your constantsupportissoappreciated.LondaAlderink,thanksforcreatingawidespaceforustogrowthisdream.

Tomy friends and family who have intentionally stepped into this careerwith me — Kyle Chowning, Keith Bordeaux, Kelli Haywood, Brian Smith,AdamEdelstein, LeighHolt,DavidBreen,ConnorHarrell, SarahRademaker,the Girls of Grace staff and team, Word Entertainment, Dayspring and(in)courage writers, Mocha Club staff, Pete Wilson, Jenni Catron, StephenBrewster.OndayswhenI’mnotsure,youaretheoneswhoremindmewhywearehere.Iwon’tforgetyourkindnessandhowyoueach,inonewayoranother,haveheldmeupduring thewritingof thisbook.Corene Israel, thankyou forbelievinginmywritingfirst.SethGodin,thankyouforteachingmetobebraveenoughtofail.I’llalwayshaveanotheridea.

TomyfriendsandfamilyinMarietta,Georgia—thankyouformoldingandshaping and holding me for so many years. I am here because of yourinvestment,compassion,andsupport.

TomyfriendsandfamilyinAthens,Georgia—thankyouforteachingmeto be free and to be brave. Those yearswill always be some of the best. TheimpacttheWesleyFoundationhadonmylifecannotbemeasuredonthissideofheaven,and Iwill alwaysbegrateful for thatministry. Ihope that is reflectedwellhere.

Tomyfriendsandfamily inEdinburgh,Scotland—thankyouformaking

meone of your own.My heart liveswith you in away I don’t knowhow toexpress.

Tomy friendsand family inNashville,Tennessee—thankyou for lovingmeandshowingmewhoIwanttobe.I’mabettermebecauseofeachofyou.

Tomyfriendswhowrite—youinspireme.Tomyfriendswhoread—thankyouforallowingmetocontinuetodothis.To Jesus— when I had nothing left, I had you. And you are more than

enough.Iloveyouwithallmyheart.

soundsgoodtome

As I wrote Let’s All Be Brave, I listened to the followingmusicians/albums.Icannotrecommendtheseartistsenough.Theyaredoingthehardworktomakeartthatimpactstheworld.Iamgrateful.Buytheiralbums.

BridesheadRevisited

AndrewRipp

soundtrack

AdamAginDelirious?

MeredithAndrews

TheLumineers

LadyAntebellum

TheCinematicOrchestra

StevenCurtisChapmanforKING&COUNTRY

EllieHolcomb

Elenowen

MattWertz

IngridMichaelson She&HimAllSons&Daughters

FosterthePeople

TheWeddingBand

TheCivilWarsBeastsoftheSouthernWild

DaveBarnes

soundtrack

JonForeman

TaylorSwift

Johnnyswim

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