Peter called out: “Lord, if it is You, command me to come out to You on the water.”

And the Lord said: “Come.”                                    [cf Mt 14]


My husband told me the other day, as we lay snuggled close together before I took him to the airport–leaving each other for the last time this summer–that being brave is just being afraid and working through the fear.

People have been telling me that I am very brave, observing how I “handle” all the frustrating, discouraging news of our adoption process. I tell them that I seem brave because I do my crying at home. Which is true, mostly.

I admit that on Wednesday, when I got the news from our agency worker than nothing happened at court, I had to close the door to my office and silently sob out a little of my abject sorrow. Of all the outcomes we had prepared our hearts for as that day approached, we never thought that the judge would be kept out of the office on some emergency and the case wouldn’t even be heard.

We now wait, once again, for the clerk of the court to schedule a pretrial date, hopefully at the end of the month. We have gone back to where we were in early June–waiting with no tangible end in sight.

I think my husband is right. Brave people don’t usually feel brave–they are too distracted managing their fear, mastering it so that they can continue on, so that they can take that first, uncertain, frightening step outside the boat.

Faith tells us that God will not demand of us what we cannot give, with His help; that He will be with us even in our darkest moments, and even in the quiet stillness of the tiniest whispering sound. Like Peter, we say: if it is You, Lord, command us to conquer our fear, to do the impossible, to carry on, undaunted.

I don’t feel brave. But if I can keep my eyes fixed on Hope, if I can see past the immediacy of the fear and hopelessness I feel, past the despair, I will walk on water.


  1. Viv wrote:

    amen seester 🙂

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