plant and run
Just Courage | June 19, 2009
I sat down this morning at PJs and read Just Courage by Gary Haugen. 
Amazing book. I’m gonna have each student going on our Summer Wilderness Adventure trip read it. If you don’t know who Gary Haugen is, he runs an organization called the International Justice Mission. Get to know them.
Anyway, [bear with me] I wanted to share with you a portion of the first chapter. Really great story/metaphor:
…on this particular summer day I didn’t want to go on. We had been walking with hordes of tourists along the gentle asphalt trails outside the Paradise visitor’s center, admiring and naming the fabulous wildflowers. At the top of the meadow trails, however, the paved trail ended and a large warning sign indicated the beginning of the trail used by climbers on their way to the summit. With a text undoubtedly drafted by lawyers, the sign warned of every conceivable horror that awaited those who ventured beyond. I wasn’t feeling particularly tired, but my little stomach ached as I looked up at the massive rock formations and snow fields that went up and up and up. My dad suggested we try to reach Camp Muir, the base camp used by climbers headed for the summit, and my brothers eagerly accepted. Dad assured me I could make it, that he would help me and that the view and the triumph would be more than worth the effort—and that it would be marvelous to do together. I however, was thinking that we ought to pay more attention to the lawyers who took the time to make that nice sign. After all, all manner of things could go wrong. What if Dad is wrong and I can’t make it? It will be so humiliating to be the one who needs help again. And what if Dad doesn’t even know the way up there? What if it becomes too aggravating for him to help me, and I get stuck? With these mounting anxieties beating in my little chest, I responded the only way a ten-year-old can to such a proposition and simply said: “No. That looks boring.” Instead, I suggested, I’d like to hang out at the visitor’s center. Indeed, the Paradise meadow had a huge and magnificent visitor’s center with exhibits and video displays about the wildlife, the history of the mountain, the drama of those who had tried to climb it, and even a wildflower quiz for kids that I was sure I could win. Dad tried a few more times to woo me up the mountain and explained that it would be a long day by myself at the visitor’s center while he and my brothers were climbing, but eventually he relented. I scurried back down to the visitor’s center and was quite pleased with myself while they headed up the mountain. The visitor center was warm and comfortable, with lots of interesting things to watch and read. I devoured the information and explored every corner, and judging by the crowd, it was clearly the place to be. As the afternoon stretched on, however, the massive visitor’s center started to feel awfully small. The warm air felt stuffy, and the stuffed wild animals started to seem just—dead. The inspiring loop videos about extraordinary people who climbed the mountain weren’t as interesting the sixth and seventh times, and they made me wish I could be one of those actually climbing the mountain instead of reading about it. I felt bored, sleepy and small—and I missed my dad. I was totally stuck. Totally safe—but totally stuck.He goes on to say: Likewise, it is my sense that many Christians are starting to suspect that they are stuck at the visitor’s center. They suspect that they are traveling with Jesus but missing the adventure.
Yes! That is it. What a great image. I am tired of living my faith the same safe way that I always have. I’m ready to stick my neck out there and see if He can use me. I’d love for you to step out into the darkness with us and see if we can shine some light onto these dark French Quarter streets.
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