Ten Tent Pegs: 1- Courage

TENT PEG 1: A SEE-SAW OF FEIGNED COURAGE & EXCUSES

I read, a long time ago, of an eighty year old granny who decided to go sky diving for the first time, to raise money for charity. Her courage fascinated me. So, although nowhere near eighty, myself, at that time, I made up my mind to follow suit. After all, I qualify as a grandma – and if she can do it, then so, I thought, can I.

Not being keen on heights – okay, I’m downright scared of them – my sky diving was to be in cyberspace. More time to enjoy the view, I thought. Plus a greater chance of survival. So - yep! I became a silver surfer.

All that changed with publication of my last book. It took me fourteen years to write it. Not literally, you understand. But fourteen years of see-sawing: a downward swing in making excuses why I shouldn’t do it; then an upward bounce in screwing up a feigned courage to do so. Down and up. Up and down. The process seemed to be never ending. And somehow, it drained me of the will to tackle anything else. You may learn why later.

The whole scenario reminded me of an occasion when I went, with three female friends, to hear Alan Redpath, the well-known British evangelist. We set off from the South West of England by car, our destination the Cotswolds, where we were to stay overnight with the parents of our driver, travelling into Birmingham by train next day.

All went well until, nearing our destination that evening, we missed a turning. By this time, a low-lying fog lay over the fields and lanes, interspersed with the brilliant light of a full moon. As we plunged in and out of the murky mist, I pointed out that we had passed the same pub three times, from a different direction on each occasion.

“I shall know where I am when I see my big hill,” our driver remarked, with reference to Great Malvern.

Eventually, we found our way to July’s parents’ home where, late for dinner, she swore us to secrecy. To be lost, and to admit to it, was a price she was not prepared to pay.

I remember little of Alan Redpath’s talk next day, except for one small story. He spoke of the secret and reluctant commitment he had made when first confronted with the Gospel. Quite simply, he lacked the courage to tell his friends that he had become a believer. He was afraid of their scornful disbelief; their rejection. And so, for years, he never admitted to being a Christian. Until later, much later, following a talk similar to the one we were hearing, he was convicted of his fear and lack of commitment.

Like my friends and me, Alan Redpath had travelled by train to hear the talk that had such an impact on him, and he returned home in the same manner. All the way home on the train, over and over, he heard the sound of the wheels on the track repeating a single phrase: Saved soul; wasted life. Saved soul; wasted life. Saved soul; wasted life.

He knew, in that moment, that it wasn’t enough simply to be a believer in Christ. You had to be a follower. You had to take courage in both hands, and jump.

"The conversion of a soul is the miracle of a moment,” he said, years later. “But the manufacture of a saint is the task of a lifetime."

NEXT TIME: WHAT DOES FOLLOWING MEAN?