“There’s a limit to how brave I can be.”
That’s what I muttered to myself (and to God) under my breath this morning, hands in pockets walking back up my driveway.
But as soon I I heard my own words, I stopped short. Cocked my head and wrinkled my nose.
“No. . . wait. Really, son?”
Somehow I knew there was something wrong with the statement. I just couldn’t immediately decide what. . .
I did figure it out though.
I don’t know what limits your “brave.”
But I have come to the conclusion that there are only two things that limit mine—
1. My personal threshold for discomfort.
2. My perception of the limits on God’s power.
If I’m short on bravery, it will be because I’m lacking one, or the other, or both.
What are yours?
Turns out, hard things (good hard things) are worth a bit of discomfort.
Bad ones are worth getting through, which also requires some discomfort.
And all things, good and bad (if I read my Bible right) are dwarfed by God’s capacity.
Today, I’m gonna stretch myself a bit past my comfort zone, and lean hard, and rejoice.