Brave

Good morning, friends! I know that it's only Tuesday, but I wanted to share something that's been on my heart.

Yesterday I stumbled across a music video that reminded me of the persecuted church. We don't often find ourselves facing opposition for our faith, do we? We live our lovely, peaceful lives in the States; we tithe to help Christians under fire; and, at least in my case, we attend church every Sunday without thinking about the people who don't have churches. 

I was reminded that every day, all over the world, people are coming under fire simply for believing in Jesus. They don't have their own copy of God's Word while I have at least ten in my house. They can't gather with other believers while I see them every week. It's sobering, isn't it? Have you ever stopped to think about it? Do you know if you would be willing to die for Jesus' name?

Yesterday, I had to admit I don't know. 

I am not brave. So many times I've been given the chance to speak up, to say I'm a Christian, and so many times I've simply stepped back. Looked away. Didn't let anyone see the flame smoldering inside of me. I don't want that flame to die. 

And I'm so afraid it will.

Maybe this is you, too. Maybe you hide instead of speaking out. Maybe you change the subject whenever the topic of faith comes up. Maybe you think you're so young, so fresh in your faith, that you don't have the right to speak up. Don't believe that. Don't hide your light.

I wrote this poem in response to my fear. Whenever I'm confronted with something hard or impossible I've found the best way to fight back is with words. 

Maybe that's you, too. 

Then use these words. Use it as your prayer. 

Because only Jesus can make us brave.

Tally ho,

Rachael Anne

P.S. Here's the song that inspired the poem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yf2VPtdS-No

Brave

Brave.

I’m not brave.

I shiver at every bad news I hear.

I cower way down when a bully is near.

I’m not the same girl who would laugh at fear.

No. 

I’m not brave.

I open my mouth and close it again.

I look outside and pull the shutters in.

My voice floats away like a phantom of wind.

No. 

I’m not brave.

Persecution rises and I lie down.

No one can see me way down on the ground.

They push and they pull me to turn back around.

No.

I’m not brave.

I pick up my pen; down it goes on the desk.

I’ve struggled for days and I still have no rest.

Oh, how do I know if this way is the best?

No.

I’m not brave.

I wonder if I can stand up for the poor,

Be a voice for the voiceless more than e’er before.

Is God’s Truth the truth I will take bullets for?

No.

I’m not brave.

I open my Bible and stare at the page.

The stories of saints and the witness they gave

Every day of their lives, even unto the grave.

No.

I’m not brave.

Not like them.

But I want to be.

I look out the window and stare at the sky.

Am I willing to speak up and even to die?

If the time comes to do it will I give my life?

Lord,

I want to be brave.

I’ve wasted my minutes in fear and in doubt.

I never have told what my joy is about.

My voice doesn’t whisper, much less does it shout.

Lord,

I want to be brave.

Why can’t I be brave?

Please, will You make me brave?

The weight of the flame of the saints from of old

Is glowing and shining in nights of the cold.

When they feared their deaths You made them more bold.

Father, please,

Please make me brave.

With the witnesses fore and the fear far behind 

I take up the torch, the great fountain of light,

And follow my Savior to the morning dawn bright.

Lord, 

Only You can make me brave. 

Jesu Juva.

With You

I am brave.