(this is my last blog I’ll be writing here. To find me, click, subscribe, read, cry, laugh at: tiffanyhandley.com)
The virtue of courage is a prerequisite for the practice of all other virtues otherwise one is virtuous only when virtue has no cost.
–CS Lewis
The scene: Forty-eight hours of the Pacific horizon hidden behind a dense fog bank that won’t lift. Fire burning and computer screen–the only light. Frank and Bing serenade me. Cold pizza and red wine. Winter pine fills the rainy night air. I sit alone in my ivory, leather recliner chair–journal and phone on my left side, John Adams biography on my right.
I am at total peace, and yet the weight of history seems to sit awkwardly on me. I’m in the limbo of wading through thirty-five more days stateside. I have spent the better part of these past five days buried in blankets and political history books– my ideal recovery from two weeks of non-stop people.
The unmistakable recurrences: Providence. Virtue. Courage.
Providence. Much of our country was founded and fought for under this belief: that our nation was under divine guidance. All of our founding fathers staked their entire careers–their lives and their family’s lives on providence. The weight of their virtues worth every sacrifice and risk.
In a letter to her husband, Abigail Adams wrote:
The great fish swallow up the small and he who is most strenuous for the rights of the people, when vested with power, is as eager after the prerogatives of government. You tell me of degrees of perfection to which human nature is capable of arriving, and I believe it, but at the same time lament that our admiration should arise from the scarcity of the instances.
I saw Lincoln today and sobbed. (Why I bother to wear make up to movies is still beyond me. I sit in darkness, face unseen, only to walk out with black streaks giving away any signs of regained composure). This man was steadfast and courageous with wisdom far outweighing those advising him. And yet he was thought a maniacal tyrant by people of both parties and even by his own wife. Yet, now he is remembered undeniably as one of our greatest presidents, one of the champions of human rights, a man whose legacy far outlived his years.
I love American history. I love the stories of our leaders-the tales of courage when everyone else around them were fighting for the nitty-gritty momentary things, these leaders fought for things they’d never live to see come true. They lived with a plan for their grandchildren. I love the stories of men and women who live ABOVE the fog. Above the hustle and bustle and media, expectations, culture, precedents, norms.
It has always–and continues–to make something rise up in me. A fierceness to be that kind of woman for my own surroundings, my generation. And a passion to want that for those who surround me.
I feel myself growing up– changing internally in ways that may not show externally for years to come. A maturation to know which mountains are worth dying on– virtue, grace, friendship, foresight, faith, hope. A growth of surrendering my right to be right or of craving to be heard.
I’m learning to be a woman of faith-who chooses trust over clarity. Who is faithful, steadfast, and courageous in the daily things, so that someday when I am handed weightier challenges, my character will not falter.
Hebrews 11:1. Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.
