from Lindsey Funtik, Coordinator of Volunteer Ministries, Ashland First United Methodist Church, Ashland, Ohio.
There is a lot of power in finding yourself splayed on the floor of a sanctuary. Riddled with worry and attempting to take the hurdles of your objections at a sprint and straining too hard to spy something, anything on the horizon, you're bound to fall on your face. It's going to hurt, but the reaction to the Spirit's balm will be visceral as it soothes your heart palpitations and renders defenseless your fears.
"Just take the next faithful step."
Over time, you’ll be reminded of the different ways in which you have heard this exact same Divine statement phrased. You'll remember that man, the one with whom you did not always agree but who spoke with rich, hearty conviction, that shared something that stuck with you: "Go as far as you can see and when you get there, you will be able to see further." It conjured images of dense forests and faroff mountaintops, shrouded in fog that was so spooky, but only dispersed when you stepped through it. You'll be reminded that you don't always have to see the full picture to know what to do next. You're painting as you go.
And then, you will take a short jaunt down memory lane, when Facebook will remind you of the time you were trying to be impressive so you posted deep, thought-provoking quotes. Though they were often random and esoteric, a gem winks at you from the embarrassing sludge of earlier years: "Do the brave thing and bravery will follow." It will be harder to roll your eyes at that one, and it will be impossible to ignore the somersault that will twirl around the ulcers in your belly. You will think, yes I guess that's true. I guess we can act brave even when we don’t feel it. I guess we can have some sort of faith that courageous actions, even when advancing only inches, will breed something good.
Finally, all things will come back around to Disney, because all things inevitably come back around to Disney. You will be enraptured by Anna's vulnerability while she sits on the floor of a cave, believing her sister to be dead and her grief to be insurmountable. She won't try to sugarcoat it, but she will press a surge of muscle movement into her wobbly legs by sheer force of will and sing right to you: "Just do the next right thing." Tears will bring a misty film and hope will breed a new resolve because the story, no matter how messy or saccharine or devastating or unbelievable in both good and bad ways, will always, always work out. Somehow.
Your feet are alive and you are deeply loved and the horizon is closer than you think, so be reminded–step, step, step.
Cross-Posted from Reflections on Faith, Words, and The Holiness of Today