Being Brave

Friday I took the kids to see “Brave.” Emma Claire fell asleep. She doesn’t care about being brave. She’s three. I, on the other hand, watched in wonder trying to glean something from this children’s cartoon. I want to be brave. I need to be brave.


And lately, on my quest for bravery, I’ve been pushing the limits. I learned a wee bit of anatomy and physiology and became a personal trainer. I wore a two piece swimsuit. Two pieces. As in, my stomach was bare. Seriously, how brave am I?

And I signed up to become a Body Pump Instructor.

The weekend I signed up, I was feeling very brave. As it drew closer, I began to feel somewhat less brave (terrified!) and by the time my weekend of strength training hell had arrived, I felt pretty much like an idiot. What was I thinking? I can’t teach strength training. I’m not strong. Good grief.

But I survived the weekend and I was given the green light to teach. Body Pump makes me feel strong. And during a year where much of life seemed to be spinning, the weights were something I could control.

I can lift weights. I can be strong.

And then I hurt my back. Hurt, as in lie in bed for the rest of the day. And I no longer felt brave. I felt old.

I’m turning 40 in September. My back hurts. I’m getting divorced. I don’t have a job. My family is miles and miles away. Where am I going to live? How did I get here? More importantly, how do I get out of here?

Wait, where was I? My back. It hurt. I left class and went to the Y break room. A staff person handed me advil and water. I begin to sob. Not little streams. Not dabbing at the eye, isn’t that sweet. I’m talking a river; an ocean. I am sobbing. I am weeping. I am….looking around…and there seem to be…more and more staff arriving. OK, now they are sitting down. Why are they here? More and more, they trickle in until my weeping turns to laughter.

A staff meeting? Seriously?

Couldn’t someone have said something? Something simple like, “Myra Katherine, we’re going to have a staff meeting so if you could, you know, have your nervous breakdown somewhere else, that’d be really great.”

*note to my husband’s lawyer….it was not really a nervous breakdown. I hurt my back and I was in physical pain. (stupid divorce is seriously messing with my creativity.)

Fast forward a couple of weeks. I’m teaching. My back feels great. I’m gaining confidence. I’m brave. Yes, I am totally in control.

And then my lawyer calls. “November.”

That’s the first opportunity to stand before a judge. And I’m mad. November? I can’t live like this for 6 more months. I’m mad that we are even having to go before a judge. I remember conversations. I remember promises of no lawyers and no courtrooms. I remember vows. Broken.

One of our Body Pump tracks that I teach to is, ohhhh, I don’t know, something about Teen Spirit and smelling and whatever. It’s not a VBS song, that’s all I know. But it’s our chest track and it’s grunge and edgy and there’s this one part where they sing, “life is stupid.”

I hate that part.

And yet, sometimes life is a little bit stupid. For the past two weeks, I’ve been thinking that divorce is pretty stupid and lawyers (though I totally respect and adore mine :-)  can be stupid and laws can be stupid and I’m teaching and I’m sweating and I’m pushing that bar up and down and up and down and for the first time I sing along with Mr. Nirvana (it is a he, right?) and it dawns on me: Life isn’t stupid, but people can be.

Including myself.

It was time to teach my evaluation video. As in video tape myself teaching so that people a lot stronger and braver than I, can evaluate me.

Now, not to toot my horn or anything, and ok, well it was a hundred years ago, but I was Miss Nebraska. I’m not gonna be thrown by a little video camera.

Oh, the pride. The ego. Bruised and battered. My class? One. Hot. Mess. Not being humble, here. Mic problems, concentration problems, I did all my lunges on the same leg (as opposed to you know, switching to the other leg for round two) and I dropped the mic. Mutiple times.

But I survived.

And when it was over, I turned to see my face in the mirror and there are no words. It looked like I had survived a bear fight.

And I laughed. And I prayed that the video wouldn’t end up on you tube. And I laughed some more. And then I felt better. Better than I had in weeks.

Life can be a little bit stupid. Turns out there was a strap on the back of the mic that would’ve pretty much solved everything (except maybe the lunges) but that morning, I was just too stupid to see it.

Weeping may last for a night but joy comes in the morning. I was laughing. I left the Y that morning and I knew my joy was back.

November? Bring it!

I’m gonna put on my little two-piece swimsuit and I’m getting in the boat and I’m going to remember that Jesus gets in with me and He will calm this storm. And until He does, I’m going to laugh. A lot. And I’m gonna celebrate this not-so-stupid life with my children. And I may just even get a pretty nice tan while I’m at it.

In Christ, we can be brave. In Christ, I am brave.