I was a bit of a precocious child and any family or friends reading this are fervently nodding their heads in agreement. Many of the gray hairs on my parents head were probably caused by parenting me. I was independent and a bit stubborn, and I liked to do things my own way. I’d like to think these are positive attributes in adulthood, but they did cause me to be a bit unruly and challenging to raise.

I do not remember what the transgression was, but one summer day, the consequence was that I could not ride my bike for two whole days. In my five year old world, this was a travesty of justice and I was pretty sure it was going to cause me an early death. (Even at five years old, I had a penchant for the dramatic.) I loved my bike. The only negative about my bike was that it still had training wheels on it. This is because I begged my parents to leave them on my bike, despite their encouragement to go without them. I liked knowing those training wheels buffered me from any potential biking disasters, like skinned knees and elbows.

The first day of being grounded from my bike, I was in a funk, but found other things to occupy my time. By the second day, my funk turned into determination. My five old brain decided that I was grounded from my bike, but not my older sister’s bike. Therefore, while my mom was occupied with household chores and my sister, Lisa, was busy doing something else, I chose to avail myself of her bike. There was only one small barrier. Lisa, did not have training wheels. So, what was going to win out? My fear of bumps and bruises or my powerful love of bike riding. I’m sure you can guess the results. Yes, I rode Lisa’s bike and learned to love the freedom of biking without training wheels. It was exhilarating. At least, until my mom caught a glimpse of me through the window. After she scolded me, I explained my five-year-old logic. To this day, I believe she was fighting to hide a smile behind her scowl as she heard me express my rationale.

What is the value in the story of my five-year shenanigans? It is the metaphor. The visual of a little girl choosing between faith or fear has power for me today. Because while I am growing older, I still have the same question to answer as I make decisions about my life. Do I allow fear to keep me stuck, small, flying under the radar? Releasing my book and writing this blog is a step out in faith, but there are more steps to come. I want to take those steps with the same boldness motivated by a five-year old’s love of biking. But when I’m asked to do an interview or given praise for the book, I still peak around to see if there are any training wheels around. You know, just in case. So, I ask you, what are your training wheels made of? What are some ways you could step out in faith today?