Coward: (n) a person lacking courage
As I stood outside, I stared at a roaring fire ablaze at the motel where I was staying. Though nearly fifty yards from the direct heat of the flames, I was still terrified—frightened to move, my hands shaking.
There is an astronomical difference between considering bravery and bravely considering. I would never have imagined that the lifeforce and anger of fire could be so petrifying.
I was motionless.
I did not go inside to get my personal belongings. But I wondered if I could have mustered enough courage to run in and retrieve a family member left behind. Or, in that moment when I was looking to the right and left to see if there was anyone better qualified or willing to assist, would I have squandered the tiny window of opportunity and end up looking like a coward?
Where do we cross the line between valuing our lives and clutching them? Is there a point where we would be willing die that someone or something else could live?
I don’t know.
In the midst of that motel fire, I comforted many people, and fought off the urge to scream. I realized that the difference between being brave and becoming a coward may simply lie in deciding not to run away.