Courage

As some of you may know, my family and I have been praying for a young boy named Jamie. Over a month ago, he won his personal battle with cancer. He is now living in glory with Jesus. His family had set up a Facebook page called Jamie’s Courage. Appropriately so.

Jamie’s father and I were friends while we were in public school together. Midway through high school we began to lose touch, and after graduating, we really didn’t see each other at all. It wasn’t until publishing my first book that I had the privilege of being reacquainted with my friend. I had brought a copy of The Edge of His Cloak to the local bookstore in the hopes that they would stock it on their shelves, only to find out that my friend was part owner of the store.

When standing back to consider the situation, it’s rather ironic. We were reunited through a book written largely about healing. He lost his son shortly thereafter.

The kind of heroes that we celebrate in our culture often wear spandex and fly around using some spectacular means. They risk life and limb without pay or recognition, often keeping their personal identity a secret. These mythical heroes are rather surreal, because these are not the type of heroes that we encounter in real life. As I survey the course of my own life, there are few on whom I would bestow the title of a true hero. Jamie would be perhaps that one exception.

I have never been known to be much of a fighter, in any sense of the word. Whenever I face a challenge, my natural instinct is to curl up into a little ball and suck my thumb. Much of life proves itself to be a battle. I often lie down in bed praying to God,

“Dear God. I’m so tired of the struggles of life. Please bring me home. Let me wake up in your presence. Just don't let it hurt.”

Granted, were I to face death head on, I might have a little fight in me. My general attitude towards life’s battles however, tends to be one of melancholic surrender.

When I was a young man, about Jamie’s age, I read my first book. In fact, it was the only book that I read of my own free will for many years. The book was called, “I Want To Go Home”, by Gordon Korman. It was about a young boy named Rudy Miller whose parents dumped him off at summer camp. He spent the bulk of his time trying to escape his summer camp prison.

I often reflect on that book, as if I saw myself in the character of Rudy. I spend much of my life feeling as if I’ve been dumped off at summer camp. Many people remember their childhood days at summer camp fondly. For my part, summer camp was perhaps one of the worst experiences of my life. Prophetic in many ways; but painful. I found myself, like Rudy, begrudgingly playing games I didn’t want to play, surrounded by other boys who seemed to be having the time of their lives.

As a man, I live within a similar analogy. I live as an alien, surrounded primarily by people who seem to feel quite at home here. If you follow me on Facebook, you likely noticed me even comment a few weeks ago saying, “I just want to go home.”

Picture the scene if you will. Imagine a 30 ish man, who frequently considers giving up on life, praying for a boy who fights for every breath. There is a peculiar dichotomy at work is there not? Why fight? Why press on? What would I do in such a place? Would I fight? Or would I accept my ticket home?

When we watch Spiderman squaring off against Dr. Octopus, we really aren’t all that concerned. We know that Spidey always comes out on top in these moves, and even if he doesn’t, he isn’t real anyway. Stories such as Spiderman or Thor really don’t challenge us all that much, because they are removed and separated from the trappings of reality.

Real life has a way of reaching our hearts in a way that fiction cannot. When we watch a young boy press in as he gazes upon death itself, the truth of it has a way of penetrating our hearts and bringing to light our own cowardice. Raw courage reveals itself not when we are unafraid, but rather when we are most fearful. Bravery is proven when it keeps fighting, even while the rest of the world has given up.

Through Jamie, I realize that it isn’t all about me. I have understood the theology of it for some time, yet the true magnitude of it generally evades my person. There are lives which intertwine themselves with mine which are worth fighting for. There are other people who need me here as long as The Lord wills it, and for their sake, it’s best that I be willing to remain in the struggle, even if it isn’t fun for me.

When I consider Jamie, I recognize my cowardly naval gazing for what it is. Jamie compels me to be a better man. Here is how I choose to honour the life that he lived. As long as I walk in the truth, I’ll fight for each breath. I’ll lean in where I’ve been tempted to fall back. I’ll forge ahead into those places where I’d rather retreat.