Where speaks the voice of courage?
Is it in the slaying of dragons, both real and imagined?
In the scaling of high peaks or cavernous depths?
The fight for justice or the standing up for truth?
It is, of course, heard in all of those things.

Yet it is most often found in the dead of night and silently whispered.

It’s in the turning back from a safe path
offering comforting familiarity
to a road which may be challenging
and twists in unexplored directions
because therein lies adventure.

It’s in the offering of a heart
broken, bruised and bloodied
placed in the hands of those
who could crush it further still,
hope and trust your only guides.

It is found not in the giving of care,
but in the receiving.
Vulnerable, bare and needy.
Allowing another’s hands to take the wheel
when we’re tired and burdened and lost.

It’s found in honesty
not only with others but with ourselves.
In admitting our mistakes,
in changing course,
in not allowing fear to be our ruler.

It is deeply held in apologies.
For the promises we’ve broken
the wounds we’ve opened,
and the pain we’ve inflicted.
Held face to face, not hiding our shame.

It’s not settling for shallow waters
lapping round our ankles
which leave us ultimately parched and wanting.
But wading bravely into the depths,
consumed, alive, quenched.

It’s in allowing ourselves to be truly seen
in all our vulnerability.
The bits we think are weird or bad
and ultimately unlovable.
Our souls precariously exposed.

There is no greater courage than to allow the heart to speak in the dead of night
and no greater reward than for our whisper to be silently heard by another.