Fortitude: strength of mind that enables a person to encounter danger or bear pain or adversity with courage
Fortitude. When I see this word, I think of my little brother. He is young, not yet old enough to know how brave he is, but almost. Then again, perhaps his fortitude will keep him from ever seeing what a trooper he really is.
He doesn't realize the courage it takes to pull off his prosthetic and hop along the edge of the public pool where people can see and stare. He just does it. He doesn't know how brave he is to hang onto his sister for balance while he puts his leg back on, even though he's eleven years old and shouldn't need help.
He didn't know how amazing he was at one year old when he learned to stand in a cast that came up to his chest.
He doesn't know the toughness of his character when he laughs about losing his leg or walking on his stub where the doctors dismantled his ankle before he ever learned to run.
He has overcome in ways most adults have never learned. You try climbing a tree with a prosthetic that comes up to your knee. Or maybe karate. He's learning how to do that too.
He doesn't realize that even in the tears that ask, "Why am I different?" and the anger that sometimes bubbles up, he is strong. Because after the tears are shed, he laughs again. He continues, without crutch or excuse, to compete with other boys and girls who have no handicap. He continues to overcome and to excel.
One day, he'll be a man and I'm sure that one day he will come to a crossroads where he either blames God for every difficulty he's experienced as a result of that amputation or he thanks Him for it. What he doesn't see is that every moment of fortitude now will contribute to his thanking God then. He will be able to look back and see how his "handicap" made him stronger. His limping run will carry him through to a steady race of victory.
