A Lesson in Bravery from a Beggar
Perfectionism keeps me stuck. Bartimaeus shows what it looks like to ask boldly, commit fully, and trust God with the outcome.
August is my least favorite month. Besides the heat and humidity outside, school starts back. I have to say goodbye every year to kids going to college and my husband — a teacher who’s been home all summer. It brings its own kind of sadness. So this first week of August, instead of sitting in that misery, I decided to visit my daughter.
It’s nothing new to help my kids. That’s the thing that brings me the most joy in life. We cleaned, organized, and unpacked boxes (remember the moving fiasco and the hospitality of new friends). We talked about life and enjoyed good coffee. But there was more that God had in mind for this trip than I anticipated.
The Truth Comes Out
On the first night, my daughter invited me to a painting party with a friend — the kind where you follow step-by-step and paint a door hanger with your own hands. My daughter is an artist. A potter and a painter. She’s right at home with a few bottles of acrylic and a brush. It wasn’t long before she had a beautiful creation. I watched her tilt her head from side to side, deciding where to put the brush. A swish of color here, a bit of white there, and in a few strokes she added depth and beauty to the wood.
She wasn’t afraid to go further than everyone else in the room. It’s the thing I most admire about her. But I had an uncomfortable realization in those few hours we spent painting: I was afraid. Fearful of making a mistake. Terrified that I wouldn’t measure up — that everyone would see how much I’d messed up. I wasn’t in a room full of artists. It was ordinary people who wanted to have fun. But I questioned every brush stroke.
Not a New Problem
This isn’t a new problem for me. For most of my life, I’ve judged myself harshly. Been my own worst critic. It’s cost me some pretty great opportunities, because I overthink and expect perfection at every moment. Even writing a simple newsletter becomes a nightmare of second-guessing and uncertainty.
This same problem came up again the next night. My daughter invited me to work with some clay in her studio. She created the project form, told me what to do each step of the way, and guided me to be creative. But throughout the process, I kept changing my mind — questioning my own judgment.
“Mom,” she said. “You just have to pick something and commit. Don’t worry about how it turns out. That’s what makes it fun.”
Words of wisdom from my child. How many times have I stopped a project, not because I couldn’t finish, but because I was afraid of what people might think? Worried that if I opened myself up and let people see the real me, they’d tell me to be quiet or simply walk away. I’ve experienced both.
A Beggar Who Took a Chance
Sitting in my daughter’s studio with clay all over my hands, I recognized her desire to do what she loved, what God has called her to do, no matter what people thought about her. And I remembered the story I read just that morning about a beggar on a dusty road in Jericho.
Bartimaeus was blind. Unable to work, he begged on the roadside for help. There was nothing he could do to change his situation, but he’d heard about the man who could heal. “Jesus!” He yelled as loud as he could. But the crowd rebuked him. Shut up. Don’t bother the Teacher. He doesn’t have time for you.
When Bartimaeus heard that Jesus of Nazareth was nearby, he began to shout, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” “Be quiet!” many of the people yelled at him. But he only shouted louder, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”
— Mark 10:47-48
What if Bartimaeus listened to them? What if he’d quieted down and stopped asking? He would have missed the greatest event of his life — the thing that changed the entire trajectory of his existence. He probably wasn’t the only beggar on the road that day. But he was the one bold enough to ask. And that day, when Jesus gave him back his sight, everything changed.
I’ve felt that fear of being noticed — of asking boldly for anything, even help — more times than I’d like to admit. If a racing, second-guessing mind feels familiar to you too, I wrote more about that here.
Being Brave
The process of letting go of my fear and uncertainty takes practice. It takes solitary moments of not worrying about what people think when I create something. It means striving forward without perfection — moving with purpose through the uncomfortable fear and doing it anyway. And it means being bold enough to ask for help when I know it will make my life better.
There’s something beautiful about doing it anyway. About finding strength to do the hard, uncomfortable thing even when uncertainty hits hard. So I picked up the clay again and, this time, I kept going. Hands dirty, shaping something imperfect, and letting it be enough.
That’s what it looks like when faith overcomes fear. Not certainty. Just enough courage to commit.
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What are you afraid to commit to? Comment below. I read every one.
