Written by Kathy Fleming

Making it through this pandemic time has been difficult at every turn. It feels like my whole life has burst into many fragments. Some are just gone; others are only pieces of what they were. I am left trying to make sense of the shards. Strength has always gotten me through trying times like these, but my fear now is that my strength is too low, too old, non-existent. I am in my 70’s and it seems I must reconstruct my life yet again. Often I hear the advice about relying on hope. That spritely singsong “Just have Hope” is so often present. But when I reach deep within my stores, strength and hope are hard to find.

The Bible says to have courage, but what does that look like for me? Courage is something I have not considered in my life until now. I am an old woman. I make art and work in my gardens and I know that my courage is not the heroism of the battlefield that society so often sees. Strength has always been something that I pull up from inside me to help when times are tough. But when I look inside for courage, I can’t find it. I must reach out and intentionally take on this gift; take it into my old woman’s body.

Feminine Armor

This body of mine feels this new courage as a fine golden barrier to keep me whole. It’s a thin shell, not a sturdy wall. My artist’s eye sees this new courage surrounding and protecting me. It is sturdy and strong where I am not. It enfolds me in the darkness. It will support me as I confront my new normal and move back toward the light of day. It seems to me that my courage is like a milkweed pod in my prairie garden. Its curvy, tough pod shelters and nurtures the seeds within. Courage encompasses and shelters me like that, holding me safely, giving me breathing room. I’m learning to trust that courage is there, my holy armor.

So if courage is the “armor of God”, what does my armor look like? When I envision my woman’s armor, it seems to take the shape of my studio apron, but one with many more pockets than I now have. The bib covers my heart space as chest plates of old. My armor would definitely be paint spattered, with dirt deep in the crevices of the pockets. What gifts or tools the pockets hold I am eager to discover. Perhaps there is just empty space waiting there. Time and space are gifts I can always use. This image of courage is something that I can take with me to remind me to call on courage when I need to, as I might a talisman.

Vulnerable Strength

For the first time in my many years, I feel that I need a barrier from the world around me to mitigate its strength; to keep the punches of fear and uncertainty from landing on my person. Can courage stand between me and this tumult, offering a place of quiet in which to dwell? With this thought I feel the release of pressures I have been carrying on my shoulders through this pandemic time. Surprisingly, it seems that courage carries peace within it.

Courage was waiting until I was ready to reach out for it. As with most things spiritual, I had to get out of my own way to make this discovery. I am beginning to understand that the gift of courage is very much of the heart, not of the head. Courage is the knowledge that we are each the beloved of God. We are not left alone in peril. With courage, we know the presence of God is always with us. The fact is, I believe that I have had courage with me all along. It becomes evident when we are most vulnerable, not when we are mighty.

*This reflection grew out of The Sacred Line writing class facilitated by Victor Klimoski.

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Kathy Fleming serves as Artist Coordinator for the Benedictine Center. She is an Oblate of St. Paul's Monastery and has been an active volunteer for many years. Kathy is a visual artist working with paint and line. Learn more about her work online at www.kflemingart.com