Courage Begins with Fear: Bravery is Stepping Over the Fear

Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. (Ephesians 5:1-3; NIV)

Veteran’s Day has come and gone, another wreath was laid at the Tomb of the Unknowns, and we celebrated the memories of those who laid down their lives for their friends.  I proudly remembered the year of my father’s youth being spent offering himself to the people of Korea.  And we recently were witness to the terroristic atrocities in Paris and other hostile sacrifices.

Below are excerpts from Undefeated Innocence. These excerpts relate to the sacrifices which occur daily in the life of every caregiver of a loved one with Alzheimer’s.

Dad frequently wore his army fatigue cap and shirt when he puttered around the house, painted, or mowed. They were his favorite work clothes. His baby-blue eyes sparkled from underneath the brim of the green cap, and his effervescent smile brought tender warmth to my soul. When I was a child, I was well aware he was a soldier in the army. But since most of my friends’ fathers had also served in the military, it seemed to me, well, normal. I took notice of Dad’s smile, but I didn’t make note of the significance of what he wore. To me, they were just work clothes. Dad served in the Korean War, but he never wanted to talk about it.

One of the plaques at the Arkansas Korean War Memorial in Little Rock reads, “The beginning of courage is fear. Every soldier feels it. Bravery is not the lack of fear, but the ability to overcome it and do your duty.” The sacrifices of a caregiver are not without fear. But courage begins with fear, and courage breeds bravery and an ability to overcome the fear. You are a brave soldier doing battle caring for someone else. Thank you for giving your life as a living sacrifice for another.

After my dad passed away, I sifted through his personal belongings. I took a deep interest in reading through his discharge papers and the program books from the Korean War reunions he attended. I discovered Dad served in two military campaigns and was given a Korean Service Medal with two bronze service stars. He also received a United Nations Service Medal.

Over five million American troops led the United Nations’ forces in Korea. Dad’s battalion of the 7th Infantry Division served as a backup position to the front line. Dad was a light weapons infantryman and truck driver. According to what I read, the front line got ambushed, and Dad’s line appears to have been called to rescue the injured. I can only imagine Dad’s fear. He was a young man of twenty-three years, serving a nation half a world away, and going to the front line of battle where many were injured and dying. I want to believe that his sacrificial bravery overcame his fear.

My husband and I visited the Korean War Memorial in Washington, D.C., dedicated in 1995 and not yet bearing the names of those who paid the ultimate sacrifice. We strolled down the National Mall toward the Lincoln Memorial. My heart beat erratically as I saw from a distance the nineteen stainless-steel statues, glistening in the cool October sun. The statues depict an advance party of soldiers representing each of the military branches, standing in juniper bushes, separated by granite strips symbolizing the rice paddies of Korea. Each soldier is wearing a poncho covering their weapons and equipment [i]. Their faces hold the exhaustive terror that leached into their souls. These men, like my dad, were younger than the current age of my sons! I ran ahead of my husband, weaving around the other tourists, unable to control my tears as they began to moisten the sidewalk. I unsuccessfully tried to hide my face from the other silent strangers.

A chill went through me as I could literally see my father’s face in each of those nineteen statues. I grappled with the emotion he must have felt as he trudged through the rice paddies in the evil bitterness of winter, protected only by his rifle and communications equipment. I empathized with how he dug deep within himself to find the bravery that overcomes fear. I understood why men like Dad were reticent about talking about a war where so many died from enemy acts of aggression. These young soldiers were witness to thousands of orphaned children and encountered a lifetime of death.

I have a deeper respect for my dad after visiting this memorial. I felt his presence within me, and for the first time, I no longer took for granted his sacrifice in the Forgotten War. Dad offered himself as a living sacrifice so others could be free. The huge, granite mural at the National Memorial reminds us that “Freedom Is Not Free.”

Twenty years ago, I adopted Romans 12:1‒2 (NIV) as my life verses to represent my spiritual mission statement: “Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is— his good, pleasing and perfect will.”

These powerful verses became the procedure manual for guiding me through the intricate circumstances of my life. They remind me that by God’s mercy, Christ paid the ultimate sacrifice for my sins (past, present, and future), so I could be freely presented as holy before God. However, freedom is never free. Christ paid a painful price to carry my sins on his shoulders at that desolate cross. Because of his selfless act of courage, I stand confident in the presence of God and am transformed.

According to Romans 12, in view of Christ’s sacrifice and mercy, we are called to surrender our will and replace it with his will in order to be rendered pure before our heavenly Father. That’s our personal, spiritual act of worship. Daily surrendering our lives and our will (our living sacrifice) to God is contrary to the world’s view that proclaims we are to live for self. Living sacrificially for Christ keeps our focus on him and transforms us to his image, not to the expectations of the world. We are changed from the inside out.

As caregivers, we offer our lives as a living sacrifice by giving up our own needs, time, money, jobs, health, and freedoms to help someone else who might not be able to thank us. God sees every struggle and every sacrifice. How we walk through this difficult journey is our spiritual act of worship.

I admit I was fearful of caregiving. I was fearful of the changes, sacrifices, and the day Mom would no longer remember who I am. I was fearful it would put a strain on my marriage, my family, and my job. Being fearful is not a sign of weakness—it is merely the beginning of courage and bravery. Caregivers are courageous soldiers who overcome fears and challenges to serve others.

When my dad was living with Alzheimer’s, my mom was fearful too. Mom often struggled with the emotional pain she felt when he no longer knew her, didn’t remember their anniversary, and couldn’t converse anymore. Nonetheless, she was a courageous soldier for Dad. Every day, she drove twenty miles to the nursing home, her car rims scarred from scuffing the curbs on the winding Ozark roads. She wept silently and alone as her journey into depression began again. Recent studies report that spouses of loved ones with Alzheimer’s have a six-fold greater chance of developing Alzheimer’s from the stress [ii]. My mom, the soldier, became one of those casualties.

Caregivers wear a lot of hats—life managers, servants, stewards, God seekers, prayer warriors, first responders, grace regifters, and strength coaches. Caregivers are moms, dads, daughters, sons, siblings, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, friends, and strangers. Caregiving is a living sacrifice to God and a spiritual act of worship, transforming the lives of those who receive the compassion and care.

I love you.  Thank you for your sacrifice.

©2015 Regifted Grace Ministry LLC

Photo taken at the Korean War Memorial, Washington, D.C. (2015)

[i] See www.koreanwarvetsmemorial.org for more information.

[ii] Maria C. Norton PhD, et al., “Greater Risk of Dementia When Spouse Has Dementia? The Cache County Study,” Journal of the American Geriatrics Society 58, no. 5 (May 2010): 895-900.