Arms wrap around shoulders and cheeks touch goodbye one last time before I crawl into the passenger seat next to H. “Go ahead and cry now, you know you want to,” he says as we back out of the driveway, young arms waving wildly on the front lawn. And I do, I want to cry . . . every time.

An anniversary trip to Europe sings joy until the suitcases of reality load in the trunk and we pull away from secure and predictable. Anxiety reminds of what I hold on to, that needs letting go.

Because I can sink into the couch of a well-planned schedule – the way they like their eggs cooked,  sandwiches made, the laundry folded – and miss His pulling back the welcome curtain to the world that doesn’t look like us.

Finding security in control of the small in the everyday, it tricks me into thinking I have any control at all.

Until we touch down on English soil, walk through customs into a world of taking seats on the opposite side of experience. It’s then that fear, the invisible third person in the car, joins me as a passenger to driving on the other side of the road. We clench together stiff along the narrow, winding journey of beautiful change.

Fear whispers questions in my ear, about what might happen if we have an accident, if he inadvertently pulls into the right lane when it should be the left. Or if we lose control driving at high speed. What then? 

And if fear sits beside me, freedom smiles next to H looking at me puzzled. Because freedom rooted in generations of walking faith, it doesn’t speak the language of fear.

Fear is my unwelcome relative, part of the family tree for generations that shows up unexpectedly to parties I host for risk and adventure. He weezles his way into crowded thoughts, plants doubt when no one is looking, then spreads out safe and secure like a picnic with a basket full of excuses.

And the only way to release him from lurking around in the kitchen of cooked up dreams is to send courage in to tell him to go home.

Courage is the humble guest that sees clear through crowded rooms of fear. He understands the purpose in risk and adventure, sacrifices Himself to get there for love.

I choose to follow Courage careening narrow along stone walls flanking green quilt dotted woolly white.  Walk over fear to the other side of predictable along cobblestone streets and underground stares.  He knows where He is going, the way to get there. And the path looks a lot like love.

The act of courage calls forth infallibly that deeper part of ourselves that supports and sustains us. ~Steven Pressfield, The War of Art

Does fear keep you from fulfilling dreams? From experiencing adventure?

Counting gifts with Multitudes on Monday, giving thanks to change the way we see:

• For my husband that was born with a GPS in his mind. The way he navigates, gets us around a country on the opposite side of experience with joy.
• Harrison’s recovery from a mysterious virus that knocked him down for a month.
• Geri, my mother-in-law, the way she takes care of things at home so we can travel free of mental lists and worry.
• Sunny and dry weather in England, after a record month of rain.
• Fresh croissants and scones with tea.
• No cooking or dishes for ten days.
• Staying at a castle the night of my 22^nd wedding anniversary.
• Geri brining my forgotten computer bag from home to the airport before our flight boarded.
• That yummy English breakfast every.single.morning.
• Seeing dear friends, hugging long, even if only for one hour.
• Harrods displaying an ad on seven floors of escalators to the place where I live – irony.

Also linking with Playdates with God, Hear it on Sunday, Use it on Monday, Miscellany Monday, Just Write, On Your Heart Tuesday, Soli Deo Gloria, Better Mom Monday.