Undaunted – adj.  Not discouraged by difficulty, danger, or disappointment.

Aside from having a definition with a built-in alliteration, undaunted is an excellent and inspiring word.It seems an infinitely noble concept to face hardship and not be discouraged. Ever.Nerves of steel comes to mind. And yet to me, seeking to live by the definition of undaunted in the face of trials and pain is simply….daunting.

I used to think about courage differently than I do now.I thought having courage meant always being bold, fearless and tenacious.I believed being brave looked like constantly lifting my chin and charging toward the mountains ahead of me, relentlessly leaning into the wind determined to finish the storm standing, and pushing steadfastly through deep valleys even if it meant crawling on my hands and knees to get to the other side.
Oh yes and for sure, sometimes brave calls for plowing toward mountains, planting our feet and being unmoved by storms, and enduring with muddy, bloody hands and knees. This is the stuff that inspiring movies are made of!But sometimes, brave doesn’t look anything like epic or heroic movie stuff.

Scars from fourteen surgeries, seven of them major orthopedic surgeries, mark my body. Constant, unrelenting and debilitating pain defined me for so many years that I lost sight of the me that used to be.I was afflicted and felt crushed by adversity. And when the daily winds of pain came in gale force, and I was blasted sideways by tidal waves of anxiety that left me trembling on the side of the road of life, I felt like an absolute failure. 
I was discouraged. I was disappointed. And my courage reserve felt completely used up.Utterly defeated from along the roadside, my shaken and unsteady heart caused me to uttered the words, “I quit” more times than I care to recall. In fact every day for months, maybe years in a row, I thought I was quitting. Because sometimes my mind and heart quit fighting. And because my body had to sit. A lot. 

Sadly it took many years on my disheartening journey of pain and physical brokenness before I finally began to quit resisting, quit fighting against my new, slower pace. I had to learn to grant myself permission to ease to a shuffle in the slow lane of life, and to sometimes even sit at the side of my broken road and grieve. And just for the record, slowing, sitting, and grieving took more courage than dangerous open lake swims in triathlon and the last three grueling miles of marathons ever did.

This I learned and am learning: Being courageous and brave sometimes look a whole lot more like a shuffle. And sitting. And tears of grieving.I wish I had known this. How I wish someone had wrapped me with the affirmation and truth that took me too many years to learn…Sitting isn’t quitting.
I wonder if others like me need to have a “permission granted” card slipped into their weary hands or taped onto their bathroom mirror as a tangible reminder of a generous grace that is whispered over dejected souls and hurting bodies.Absolutely and unquestionably, it is fitting and right, useful and even necessary sometimes to slow down or even sit for a spell.  Or longer.