Sometimes brave looks like standing on the side of the interstate begging for change
I could do this, I knew I could. It didn’t matter planes made me violently ill. It didn’t matter I’d never traveled halfway across the country by myself. It didn’t matter my kids thought I might die in a plane crash and never come home. Ok, that kind of mattered, but my word for the year is fearless and I wanted to do this. I can be brave, right?
One of my kids is easily overcome by fear and almost always rejects any opportunities for fun, whether it’s a cannonball into the pool or mud-bogging on the four-wheeler. I’ve tried telling her Jesus came so we might have life and have it abundantly. We should make the most of opportunities and love this life he’s given us. She’s unconvinced.
What better way to model abundant life than taking captive those fearful thoughts and embracing the opportunities God gives us?
A golden opportunity
Because I write for Her View From Home, I had the opportunity to fly to Nebraska this summer and join 80 other HVFH writers for a weekend retreat. With all my heart, I wanted to join them, but I had to fly there. Which is kind of a problem when planes make you sick to your stomach and you spent the entire flight puking in the tiny space they call a bathroom. But I’m an overcomer.
So I booked my flight, convinced my kids I wouldn’t die but if I did, how could I possibly go wrong meeting Jesus face-to-face this summer, and packed my bags. Twenty-six times. Because who knew they weren’t serious when the airlines posted carry-on measurements? It’s only a suggestion! I didn’t know that so I stressed and packed and repacked and only wore 4 of the 19 outfits I packed.
Here’s where I went wrong. I cleaned my dang purse out, dumping all my change out and leaving it home. I’d checked the map details for the two-hour drive to the airport and knew about the toll road but I also thought the car I borrowed from my mother-in-law might have spare change in her cup holder. Because everyone does that, don’t they?
Toll roads require change
By golly, I ignored the nerves zipping through my body like an electrical current and yanked my brave pants on. Tossing (okay, who am I kidding–carefully stacking) my carry-on and reading material in the back of my MIL’s car, I set out on the greatest adventure.
An hour or so into my trip, I needed that change. Scrounging around in the car turned up diddly squat. For the second time that day, I dumped my purse’s contents out hoping for the toll fee to magically spill out–a mere four quarters. Nothing. Ugh.
No one sat behind the glass window of the toll booth to offer assistance or change. No credit card machine stood there for me. Only a camera glaring at me and a bold sign promising a hefty fee if I left without payment.
A dishonest person would’ve spun out and took off, regardless of the consequences. But Honest Amanda needed to pay her dollar in silver. My wallet revealed a wrinkly dollar bill and the impatient drivers behind me stacked up ready to honk their anger if I took a second longer wrecked my nerves. I did what any brave –okay, dumb –woman would do. Pulling the car up and off the side of the ramp, I jumped out to make things right. Beggar, here I come.
Homeless Amanda turns beggar
Crumpled bill in hand, I marched to the tollbooth, ready to beg from the female driver behind me. Her impatience didn’t prepare me for her rudeness as she stomped on the gas and flew past me, leaving my shouted words behind. “I just need chaaaaaaannnnggeeee…”
Same for the next three vehicles. Fat tears slopped down my face because Honest Amanda has feelings, people. Zero envelopes remained in the slot to mail payment in later so that didn’t help. Standing still in front of the camera, I called my husband. He heard my choked voice and instantly thought something terrible happened.
As I explained my ridiculous circumstances, he started laughing. “It’s not funny,” I insisted, reminding him I’d be mailed a ticket and fine of $100 and probably a criminal record and my face in the paper. My reputation would be ruined.
“No,” he choked out. “It’s fine if they mail you something because it’s not even our car! It’s mom’s! She’ll get the ticket.”
The journey continues
Feeling foolish as my husband continued laughing, I drove off, hopeful the recording cameras caught my attempt to leave the change. I made it to the airport in plenty of time, and only suffered a mildly humiliating pat-down by the lovely TSA officer. Thanks to the motion sickness meds, I avoided a flight filled with sickness. I’ll save the story of the hot airplane and the shrinking seats for another day.
Moral of the story? Sometimes brave looks like doing the things we wouldn’t usually do, stepping out of our comfort zones, and experiencing life in a whole new view. Her View. I’m grateful for the entire experience and of course, for my safety, and look forward to six more months of fearless.
