I am not by nature a gutsy person. I’m scared of heights (just ask my kids what it is like to drive through the mountains with me!), I don’t care to try sushi, and my bucket list does not include flinging myself off of or out of anything.

This means that many of the things I’ve done in my life have been done by white-knuckled intention. I’ve taken public speaking classes to conquer my fear of, well, public speaking. I’ve taken jobs I wasn’t sure I was capable of. I’ve tried new things and traveled some and sometimes its been terrifyingly wonderful and sometimes it hasn’t.

Then I had children, and everything was ratcheted up a notch or two. Because it wasn’t just about me anymore.

I’ve found that it takes even more guts to let my kids be gutsy. To encourage them, even, to be brave and to take a chance or two.

I’ve had some practice with the boy stuff. Snakes in the house and dirt bikes and … dirt.

It’s the young man stuff that is challenging me, now. The almost grown stuff. The soon-to-be-out-in-the-world-making-their-own-decisions stuff. Because I wish them to live lives of beauty and intention and service and love and all things cool.

I wish them to live lives of glory.

And glory takes guts.

Glory takes squinty-eyed, wrap-that-snake-around-your-neck guts. And that’s what I wish for my kids.

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