I confess that I’ve always struggled with finding pride in my independence. I’ve always relished the thought of making my own way in a city where no one knows my name. Although yesterday I found myself making numerous trips in and out of my friend’s apartment, flustered to the point of tears, trying to find the courage to use the public transport for the first time in Portland. (Silly, I know). I never knew myself as someone to be afraid, but it turns out that when you’re in a city by yourself, your soul resonates off the pit that is typically full of mundane mondays and tuesdays and every days, and it’s hard to ignore.

Plain and simple: I’m guilty of romanticizing courage. I watch adventure vlogs, reblog nature photos, and read inspiring quotes, but in comparison to true grit, walking towards death on a cross courage, my manifesto of courage is equivalent to a foul gargantuan amount of shit.

That’s why I found myself too paralyzed to take the bus. I’m much more comfortable in my familiar routine than I would like to admit because it’s a controllable environment where I can hide my unrighteousness. (Righteousness: right standing with God). Anything outside of my conventional and practiced routine means someone might see my flesh: selfishness that comes naturally; insecurities that plague me; an adulterous heart that manipulates mercilessly in order to be wanted. I fully believe that I’m capable of the worst of sin; I am indeed, the least of these. However though, while it’s healthy to be aware of my weak flesh, I’ve had the brash audacity to believe that God’s grace isn’t enough for my sin; believing I AM the least of these: unworthy of new experiences, adventures, and new life.

It takes courage to receive grace and forgiveness from Jesus. It takes courage to let Him walk me into immeasurably more; into a new life. These things- “grace,” “forgiveness,” “immeasurably more”- are more than spiritual sounding words. They’re real and tangible gifts that take courage to receive because they cost me my life: to choose and believe every single day (when it’s hard; when it’s possibly the lamest thing I could do; when I’m reminded of every dirty despicable thing that I’ve done) His death on the cross was enough for my wretched sin and it always will be.

And that’s what I hope for others to see more of: me finding courage in Jesus, receiving immeasurably more, and honestly confessing to others when my flesh is weak, for how sweet it will be when they see Him wash me clean.

Also, if anyone wants to know, I did use public transportation yesterday…and again today! Turns out, it’s not terrifying at all.