Can I be honest with you for a minute?

I…am a coward.

I admit it. I am a big, stinking, coward. When given the option between fight and flight, I will choose flight every single time. I shrink away from conflict, practice danger avoidance at all costs, and very rarely take unnecessary risks.

I am a coward.

I can admit it.

But that doesn’t mean I’m proud of it.

These feelings of shame can become especially strong when I look around at our culture and take in its definition of bravery. All it takes is one trip to the movies to recognize what I’m lacking. I’m certainly not the type to run into a dangerous situation to save the day. Or risk my life to save the world from an alien invasion, monster attack, or superhuman villain. And there is no scenario in which I’d ever be able to take out a dozen bad guys all on my own with my stealthy ninja moves. In each of these scenarios, I’m far more likely to be the cowering “damsel in distress” (sorry, feminists!) waiting to be rescued rather than being the rescuer.

Yes, by the world’s standards, I am a coward.

But, what really needles me is that, sometimes, I fear I’m a coward even by Biblical standards. I look at some of the heroes of the Scripture and worry that I could never do what they did. I’m not sure I could have even stood before Goliath, let alone challenge him to a battle as David did. I don’t think I could have ventured into the lion’s den with the tenacity and will of Daniel. In fact, I don’t think I could have even approached King Xerxes as Esther did, knowing that my very life was in the hands of an impulsive, unpredictable king.

Rather than being inspiring, sometimes these “heroes of the faith” can make me feel bad about myself. Ashamed even.

Thankfully, God understands. And, in His grace, He makes sure to include, not only the tales of these warriors, but also those whose courage was a little bit quieter. A little softer.

But just as powerful.

Take the bravery of the boy who offered his food to Jesus at the feeding of the 5,000. It took courage for this child to give up his bread and fish–which may have been his only sustenance–especially when there wasn’t any other food in sight and, more than likely, his stomach was rumbling. But this small act of generosity helped Jesus feed multitudes. (John 6: 1-14).

Think also of the woman at the dinner party who poured perfume on Jesus’s feet. It took such bravery to perform an act that was not only misunderstood, but also ridiculed. But this courageous act of worship earned Jesus’s praise. (Mark 14: 3-9).

We can also look to the woman who suffered from a horrible bleeding disorder for many years. Outcast and rejected, what must it have cost her to simply go out among the crowds, reaching out to touch Jesus’s cloak? The quiet bravery she showed in trusting that Jesus could heal her still echoes across generations. (Mark 5: 25-34).

Whenever I start to get down on myself, worrying about my lack of courage, God is faithful to remind me the truth: sometimes bravery isn’t big and loud and world-changing. Sometimes it is small and meek, showing itself in the form of generosity, worship, and trust. I may not ever rescue someone from a burning building, but I can welcome a new family to the neighborhood with a smile and a meal. I probably won’t ever diffuse a bomb before the world blows up, but I can pray with a friend when she’s hurting. And I certainly hope I won’t ever have to scale a tower to bring down an enemy plane (I’m terrified of heights), but I can choose to go to church, worship God, and remain connected to Him even when my circumstances feel anything but praiseworthy.

So yes, maybe I am a coward. At least as far as the world is concerned.

But, as long as I am choosing to quietly do whatever I can, whenever I can, to love God and help others, I can rest assured that God sees me otherwise.

And isn’t that what really counts?