I will never forget the first time I went ziplining. I was the ripe age of about 45, and I was terrified. My oldest son and I both have a fear of heights, but I promised him that I would do it with him if he did it. We talked about bravery and how our faith could help us face something we were afraid of. And, as fearful as he was, he decided to be brave and try it. So, I was in this adventure, too. I would love to share that we courageously climbed the platform, prayed together, held on to bravery, and took off feeling exhilarated and free. 

But the story did not go quite that way. 

As we reached the top of the platform, fear started getting the best of me. Quickly, I forgot about the whole faith discussion and put 100% of my focus on my precarious situation. I could barely glance over at my son without feeling woozy on the platform that seemed to be swaying in the wind. And wasn’t it a bit too windy for this? I asked myself. Trying to hide my fear from my son, I barely mustered up enough courage to glance his way and ask if he was ready. (Full disclosure, I might have been a little disappointed when he said he was ready, as turning back was definitely an option in my book!) As we both leapt off the platform into the forest canopy, I clutched onto the rope for dear life! I completely forgot that I was harnessed in and could release my grip, if even a little. I couldn’t even glance over at my son; I felt that if I took my eyes off my hands, they would somehow lose their grip. After what felt like an eternity, we reached the end, and I finally glanced over to see my son beaming from ear to ear through his tears as I released my death grip (and my clenched jaw) and wiped the tears from my own face and sweat off my brow, relieved that I’d held on and not fallen. Within seconds, a friend followed behind us, swinging hands-free through the air in her harness with a “woo hoo!”, and it hit me that I had that same freedom to relax and enjoy the ride. Freedom that my son took advantage of almost immediately. But my laser focus on my fear and death grip took all of the joy out of the experience for me. It was a missed opportunity.

Every so often, I reflect on that experience. My eyes were fixed solely on my fear. As I climbed the ladder to the platform, I did not once think about where my eyes should have been fixed; I thought about what I was afraid of. I didn’t think about how I might face my fear when I got to the platform; I focused on the fear itself and how I might escape it – secretly hoping my son would back down.

Why? Because somewhere in me, I believed that focusing on my fear gave me some sort of control over a situation that felt uncomfortable and uncertain. But instead, it narrowed my vision. It took my eyes off my son’s bravery and joy, off the opportunity for fun and adventure, and off the possibility of growth. I was held securely the entire time, but I lived the experience as if everything depended on my own grip. It was a little wake-up call, reminding me where my eyes should be fixed.

I have always thought of that ziplining story as a lighthearted reminder of what fear can do to us. But recently, it took on a deeper meaning as I watched a dear friend face something far more difficult with a kind of courage I can only describe as faith.

A dear friend of mine recently received a hard diagnosis and shared these words: “Just want to let you guys know that I’m 100% sure that this cancer is a blessing – a gift in every aspect, and I am excited to see how the Lord is going to use it. I feel so much gratitude that He saw fit to invite me into this, and I’m overwhelmed by His love and care. Love you all! No fear – only joy!”

I read her message and was immediately struck by her posture and the courage in her words. Her eyes were so clearly fixed on the One holding her. Where it would be understandable to clench her fists in fear, she was opening her hands in trust. Her words reminded me that courage is not the absence of fear. Courage is trusting that we are held.

It makes me think of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego standing before the fiery furnace. They did not know exactly what God would do. They did not have a guarantee that the fire would not hurt them. But they knew who God was. Their response was not rooted in the outcome they were hoping for, but rather in the God they trusted:

“Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us… But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods.” – Daniel 3:17–18

God can. God will. And even if He doesn’t, He is still good.

That is courage.

Courage is loosening our grip because we remember and we trust that we are already held. It is fixing our eyes on the One who is with us in the fire, on the platform, in the diagnosis, in the unknown, and in every place where fear tries to take over and steal our gaze from the One it should be on.

Sometimes courage looks like jumping off the platform and loosening the grip.
Sometimes it looks like facing the fire.
Sometimes it looks like saying, “No fear — only joy,” even when the circumstances give every earthly reason to be afraid.

And maybe courage begins when we stop asking, “What if I fall?” and start remembering, “Who is holding me?” Courage is trusting that God will be with us in it.

I leave you with these additional words from my faith-filled friend that only this kind of courage can serve up: “Even more miraculous is that I have total peace and deep joy and gratitude for the magnitude of our Father’s love!!!!! 💕” 

Amen, sister.

Please join me in praying for my sweet friend.

Lord, thank You for loving us, and help us to remember and trust that You are holding us. I ask and proclaim that You will heal my friend fully and completely in whatever way You see fit, and that through her journey, more hearts are brought to You. Lord, please enable her to continue to feel the incredible joy of Your presence and peace so that she may testify to Your amazing, miraculous love. Lord, we are grateful that You are with us in it all and through it all. In Jesus’ Holy Name I pray, Amen.