What courage says

Learning to trust Love is bravery enacted

When I first encountered my catastrophic loss, I would tell myself: “You just need to make it through the day.” After a few weeks the self-talk became: “Another week down, steady on.” By the six-month point it was more like: “Looks like you made it; soon it will be a year.” And now that a full year has elapsed, I feel more able to stretch forward because every calendar observance (holiday celebrations, birthdays, anniversaries) has occurred at least once, and I was able to successfully steer myself through a grueling year.

The question I began asking yesterday was: “What now?” I’ve been told by others that the second year following a loved one’s death is in some ways even harder because people expect you to have made peace with your pain. Friends and family members have long since moved on in their own lives, and for some long-term grievers the supports they had known are now gone. It makes sense, really. Regardless of how much we care about another person, there comes a time when they really need to position themselves for what the future holds.

With that inquiry dogging my mind yesterday (the literal beginning of my “second year”), I had a scheduled Zoom workshop offered by the advocacy agency in which I am a Leadership Network participant. Our presenter’s task was to help us understand more about leadership courage. I expected the typical sort of online experience with a knowledgeable presenter who makes her or his or their points and then wraps up with a tidy example of a known leader’s courageous decision-making competence.

The session was not that. It was more introspective and reflective than instructive. And it was what I needed in my own existential moment. We were asked to identify where in our body we feel courage when we are called to lead bravely. I hadn’t quite thought of courage in that way before, so it took me a minute to visualize. Once we identified that place in our physical body, we were invited to share (if we chose to) what act of courage we needed to next take.

Sometimes in group situation — especially online, where I feel a bit disconnected from those I am with — I stumble through this kind of exercise, especially when it comes time to share our insights verbally. Yesterday, however, I was struck by what came from my mouth. We were asked to use two sentences: (1) Where in your body do you feel courage rising? (2) What are you being asked to do?

When it was my turn, I shared my two sentences, surprising myself by how timely and instructive they were for me.

“For me, I feel courage in my shoulders, where it kind of rests, whispering into my ear.”

“And today, after observing yesterday the first anniversary of my wife’s death, I am hearing, ‘Go on.’”

I was momentarily stunned, because I had been asking God to help me navigate my continuing way forward after observing a significant milestone, and I heard exactly from my own lips, what Love needed me to hear.

The workshop continued, I listened to others’ understandings, feeling privileged to share in such an intimate way with national leaders as together we created a pocket of community.

The hour-long time together ended, we each said goodbye, and I moved on to the other tasks of my Friday, my mind ruminating about what I had just told myself in the company of others.

At the end of the day, I invited one of my local sons to eat dinner with me, so we went to a local Asian restaurant. There are many good things about living in the community I do, but a community of 20,000 doesn’t necessarily have many great food options. I like the restaurant we chose well enough, enjoyed my Kung Pao Chicken and the shared conversation. At the end of the meal, with no thought whatsoever, I picked up the fortunate cookie, broke it open and looked at the “fortune.”

I’m not a very superstitious person, but I am learning to be more sensitive (“sensitivity,” is after all my Star-word of the year) to what is happening around me without cynically dismissing potentially meaningful messages as simply coincidence. As I read the words of my “fortune,” I stopped mid-chew.

It was the first day of my grief story’s “new year.” In two separate, unrelated events, I found what I needed to know. And so, on this early Saturday morning, with courage resting on my shoulders, whispering into my ear “Go on,” I will trust Love because Love is all I have.

And all I need.