Faith, Fear, and the Fair: Lessons in Courage

by Alecia Klauk
(Chapin, SC)

Lessons are ripe for the picking, every day, every where. I found a few yesterday at the state fair with my husband and kids.

I love the fair. Everything invites. It's fantastic, fun sensory overload. It is my kids' favorite thing to do all year long. We just love it.

Yesterday was our day, and even though my husband Brian had been sick for days, we went. And when we go, we really go. Like 7-8 hours go, and even then, they are not quite done.

A few years ago, I thought I would delight my little boys by taking them to watch the dismantling of the fair rides. I knew they'd be fascinated by the cranes and large metal beams high in the sky. Confident of my great idea, I parked across the street and set up for the show. They started sobbing like their puppy had just been run over. "Why are they taking MY fair away, Mommy? WHY?!" Ok. Bad idea. Note to self: next year, we'll go watch the set up instead. Point: they LOVE the fair with great devotion.

My favorite part is watching my kids grow in their spirits and character. I know that sounds like a stretch, and I am not ignorant of my sometimes reaching propensity toward reading the deep out of anything. But I really think the fair offers great growth opportunities.

It's time lapse photography for conquering fear, a microwave for the development of courage. They see something they want to do, are afraid to do, but then, do it anyway. There's a lot to learn in there. Each of the kids taught me something new.

My little man, Ranger, wanted to ride what the big kids could ride. He soaked up the experience of the one bigger coaster he could ride. He held on tight and screamed at the appropriate times. It was funny because he'd scream around the corners, then be totally calm and almost uninterested in the straightaways. But that's him. He rolled with it.

I need to do that more. I need to see what I can do and enjoy that I can. I need to roll with life, take what comes, and enjoy the journey.

Summit and Venture, my 5 year old twins, were delighted to discover that the addition of inches increased their ability to ride. They did so great as we rode the fairly intense rides, knowing no fear. They were the epitome of cool. But then later, as they discovered that the really big rides were not yet available to them, they just sobbed. Big, huge tears. Real heartache. They saw the big and wanted it. Bad.

I need to do that more. I need to see something big and seemingly unattainable and want to badly reach for it. I need to want to climb on the high places that scare me. I need to push myself in my desires to want to climb those heights.

My most timid child, Serenity, amazed me. She wanted to ride the one that goes round and round backwards, fast. Really fast. She is the one most likely to hold back and watch, waiting to feel ok before she moves. This year, she knew what she wanted to conquer and went for it. Right before the ride began, she looked terrified, but that was the too late moment. We were on.

I turned to her and said, "You're going to do great, but just know that it's ok to have the best part be the end, when it's over. Then you get off, and even if you're glad to get off, you know you did it. Let's do it!" She looked a big eased. The ride went well, and she got off flying. I think she conquered her fear and learned something about herself: that she can.

I need to do that more. And I needed some of her courage for myself on that one. That ride was a lesson for me in sacrifice for my kids. Brian was sick for days before the fair, so going for him was a great stretch. That left me filling his role to ride the hurlers. I discovered that my low blood pressure makes those round and round rides pretty loopy for me. I was fairly sure that I was going to pass out at one point, and the look on Brian's face whizzing by me let me know just how pale I looked.

When we (finally!)got off, I forced myself to paste a smile on my pasty face and celebrate with my daughter. I guess I learned that I could do it, too. And I found a new use for Scripture: as I stared at the seat in front of me, I prayed, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength!" With my child, I found God faithful to give strength and capacity beyond myself.

I need moments like that more. I need to trust and push and find God faithful, like Serenity did.

Then, there was Sierra. She is 10 and absolutely fearless. She will ride anything! This one huge, ginormous ride called to her from last year. She was delighted to find that she was tall enough to ride this year, and she went for it. And here's the kicker: with her dad out of riding commission, and my near drop earlier in the day, she was on her own. She didn't care!

She, a tiny looking little thing, went up those metal steps and strapped herself in. As she whirled and spun over my head, way over my head, I sat amazed that a creature of such courage could be mine. Fear just doesn't register with her. Later, she did that ride again, and its bigger sister, and wanted to do everything else. It is a delight to watch courage in action.

I need to do that more. I need to see a big dream and just climb up there, even if I have to go alone. I need to be willing to venture into the great big ride and just go for it. I need some of her courage.

My kids were my teachers, but there were even more lessons during the day. My sweet husband taught me much.

Brian demonstrated incredible sacrifice for his children. He felt bad most of the time we were there, but he pushed through for their sake. I doubt they had any idea he felt bad. He just showed up and poured out for them. I need to do that more.

He also gave the kids a great picture of trust's foundation. While he was the champion of helping them push themselves, he also had a limit to what he would let them try, and the only limit was safety. The rides had to be safe, by height requirement and even basic construction. Sierra wanted to ride one that was being worked on, but even after it was ok, he said no. He explained, and she melted into, that he wanted to keep her safe.

I saw that when she knew that there was a point of a no, all the yeses had more validity and reason for trust. I need to do that more, to trust my Heavenly Daddy who sometimes tells me no.

My husband's messages to the kids were life words. From a gentle, affirming "I'll go with you," to a reassurance of ability "You can do it!" and tons and tons of atta boys, "You did it!" he was the picture of a courage infusing parent. I need to do that more.

The fair was a fun day, but it was also a treasure trove of great lessons, for my kids, and as it turns out, for me. I need more courage. I need more initiative. I need more adaptability. I need more sacrifice. I need more of so many things, which means I need more of Jesus.

And there it is: there's the hope. In my laundry list of all I can't do, I can easily become hopeless. But because my Jesus meets me there and promises to supply all my needs, I can rest in that reassurance. I find that He offers me courage and capacity to do all He calls me to do. Colossians 1:28-29 reminds me that I strive with all HIS energy, so I know that while I have to show up, the real work is up to Him.

The best part is that at the end, of life or even just a long day, He's right there, the perfect parent with the perfect words of life. "I'll go with you." "You can do it!" "You did it!" He infuses me with courage, gives me a congratulatory hug and celebrates with me whenever I do what I thought I could not.

Life is a ride. Life called to be selfless and holy is a wild ride. But in the midst of the difficult, I never want to lose sight of the fun of it. There can be real excitement with the unexpected. It is a little bit fun to be scared when you trust the limit of the risk. Adrenaline is a great tool for action, and it can even be quite enjoyable.

So buckle up: the Word will strap you in securely.

Keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times:
don't go flailing all around when you get freaked out.

Do not attempt to climb out of the car at any time: don't bail when you get scared; it's more dangerous to climb out that to ride it out.

And do not stand up until the ride comes to a complete stop: hold fast to the end.

You will be safe and the ride will be good, maybe even fun.

I am not blind to life's struggles. I know that some of what I am saying may sound overly simplistic. Coming off the most difficult year of my life, I am no stranger to pain and loss, and the tailspin that creates, when we're on a ride we'd like to be off. Like that rough ride at the fair I wanted to be off. I really thought I was going to create quite a memory for my daughter by passing out ("Daddy, is Mommy dead?!). It could have been BAD. And I have felt just like that at different points, like I might just lose it if I have to go around one more time. I know that spinning that causes me to believe I will not make it.

I am not trying to minimize loss. But I am saying that there can be things that we can, and need to learn when we feel like life is just spinning.

And I am also learning that there is so much good in the journey. There is purpose in every step, and I cannot stop looking for it. And maybe because I want to stay young for my kids, and maybe just because I want to stay supple for me too, I want to find whatever good, dare I say, whatever fun, may be in the ride.

Life is not a day at the fair. But there are days at the fair in this life, and I intend to milk the lessons and joy out of every one of them. They make the spinning days more tolerable. They build my trust, give me courage, encourage initiative, teach adaptability.

Besides, the food is really good. Corn dogs, fried mushrooms, huge chicken legs on a stick, even fried candy bars: do you think those are on Heaven's fat free banquet table? I think so. I hope so. At least an elephant ear. I'm sure of that.