I remember like it was yesterday.  When the biggest brave his 6-year-old frame had to climb was to walk up to the counter and ask for a drink refill.  And I remember the toothless grin spanning cheek to cheek and the puffed-up chest and the spring in his step at the first taste of brave.  When the second cup of soda tasted so much better than the first. Because it cost something more than money. It cost the price of digging deep; even deeper than all his backyard attempts to dig to China.  Always more than the sum of all we possess.  And each new brave more costly than the last. We are meant for more than just tasting brave.  We are meant to gulp it and swallow a mouthful and feel the veins rush deep.  Until the excitement erupts from our very core, screaming of the Continue Reading