Living Takes Courage

Living Takes Courage

I didn’t plan to leave when I did. I just knew I needed to go.

And now I’m grateful. Because I just missed an accident.

There was a car turned the wrong way on an on-ramp. Debris everywhere—tire parts, car pieces, scattered across lanes like someone’s whole day got cracked open. That car wasn’t supposed to be facing that direction. And yet, there it was.

I think he lived. I trust he did.

And as I drove past, hands on the wheel, heart still beating, one truth rose up loud and clear:

Living takes courage.

Not coasting. Not surviving. Not avoiding.
Living—really living—takes something deeper.
It takes noticing.
It takes naming.
It takes gratitude.
It takes breath.

Living takes courage to walk out the door when your body’s tired and your mind is unsure.
To leave five minutes later than you planned and trust that you’ll be on time.
To say thank You—not just for what is, but for what isn’t.
For the accident you didn’t get caught in.
For the day that didn’t fall apart.
For the chance to do it differently. Again.

Even errands take courage.

I’ve been putting off this oil change I know I needed weeks ago. Probably brakes too. The car shakes when I hit 30 mph. And now it smells like something’s burning. And honestly? I’ve been ignoring it. I knew better. I just didn’t move.

But this is what happens when you ignore the signs:
The shaking gets louder. The smell shows up. The warning becomes too obvious to dismiss.

And isn’t that life?

Because even the tiniest things have spiritual implications.
Even errands can be sacred.
Even hesitation is holy when you pay attention to it.
When you treat your noticing like a nudge from God.

And this time, I noticed.

This time, I left when I felt led to.
And I saw what I could’ve missed.
What I didn’t miss.
What didn’t happen to me.
And I felt it in my gut: this matters.

And that? That noticing. That quiet thank You in the car—
that was courage.

Because sometimes, the courage isn’t in the doing.
It’s in the noticing.
It’s in the awareness of what is and what isn’t.
It’s in the choosing to reframe, to reimagine, to say:

This is the one life I have.
And I want to live it.
Out loud. Boldly. Courageously.
Not just in word, but in action.
Not just by faith, but by works.

Because living takes courage.

Living takes courage when the fear is loud and the confidence is quiet.
Living takes courage when you’re still shaking but you move anyway.
Living takes courage when all you’ve got is breath, a nudge, and a prayer.

So today?

I bless the oil changes and the grocery runs.
I bless the red light prayers and the breath I still have.
I bless the delays I didn’t understand and the protection I didn’t see coming.
I bless the courage to notice.
To move.
To thank God for what is and what isn’t.

Because even when I’m still shaking,
when I say “I want to live,”
and then I back it up with how I move?

That, too, is courage.