when you don’t know how to be brave.

Well, it’s Thursday night, and here I am, running late with my newsletter again. But you know what? I actually don’t think it’s late. I think it’s exactly on time, and here’s why. 

My almost five-year-old came in from playing outside this afternoon with a big splinter in her finger. She was instantly hysterical. “Don’t cut my hand open!” she wailed, clutching her finger to her chest, her big blue eyes brimming with tears. 

I tried to reassure her that we wouldn’t have to cut her hand open or any of the other gruesome fantasies her imagination was offering her, but nothing I said calmed her down. I even tried to distract her with Taylor Swift music videos while I gently examined her finger, but Margot still screamed every time I got too close to the stubborn splinter.

So I sat her on my lap and we practiced taking deep breaths, her tiny chest shaking with every exhale. 

“I don’t know how to be brave,” she whispered to me. 

At the sound of those words and the sight of her tear-stained face, my heart was filled with compassion. Here was this sweet little girl—my beautiful, sensitive, hilariously mischievous daughter—scared and shaking and so terrified of the idea of pain that she wouldn’t take any action to remove the thing that was hurting her.

While I held her close, rocking her back and forth, I had one of those tender moments where my Father in Heaven offered me the tiniest glimpse of how He feels about me and Margot, a little glimmer of the overwhelming, all-consuming love He feels for each of His children. 

And it knocked my breath right out. Even now as I write this, I’m tearing up at the memory. 

We all have things that we’re stuck on, splinters that fester and wounds that never seem to heal. We all experience pain and discomfort, the everyday aches that leave us feeling discouraged and defeated. Sometimes our pain is physical but oftentimes it’s a seemingly unreachable ache we feel deep in our hearts. 

“I don’t know how to be brave.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve whispered those words to my Father. 

I also can’t tell you how many times He’s answered that simple prayer by lifting my chin and reminding me to look up. And I’ve lost count of all the times He’s given me courage when I thought I had none left. He sent His Son to hold me in my hurting, to offer encouragement and reassurance that every thorn will be removed—eventually. Today, with my arms wrapped around my daughter while she cried, I could so easily imagine my Savior’s arms wrapped around me. 

I think we find our bravery the moment we stop believing that our burdens are bigger than our God and trust that He—the Master Healer—knows exactly how to handle every pain. Perfectly.

So you see, I don’t think I’m running late with my newsletter after all. I think I just needed to wait for the splinter.

Such a big reminder from something so small.