I am in the middle of one book right now that is, quite honestly, stressing me out. It might be the second book of the year that I just don’t finish. I am becoming The Type Of Person Who Doesn’t Finish A Book. I don’t even know what to do with that…it will take some time before I know how I feel about this, and thus what I will do in response.
But, I am not reading THAT book before bed. Bedtime books are traditionally classics that I am repeating, and tonight I’m in love with these snippets from The Horse and His Boy:
Shasta slipped his feet out of the stirrups, slid both his legs over on the left side, hesitated for one hideous hundredth of a second, and jumped. It hurt horribly and nearly winded him; but before he knew how it hurt him he was staggering back to help Aravis. He had never done anything like this in his life before and hardly knew why he was doing it now.
Courage has come up quite often lately, in conversations I have with friends, in books I’ve been reading, and in words of wisdom I stumble upon. Apparently this is something I’m learning about right now. (Spoiler alert: it’s terrifying.)
Which, I guess, is why this little moment caught my attention. It perfectly describes what it feels like when you happen to find yourself being courageous.