Your Gentleness Made me Great

I love the gentleness of mornings. The sun, making its 24-hour debut, is subtle, and its warmth pleasant. The day’s heat and humidity are trailing behind, allowing the summer morning hours to feel fresh and mellow. The occasional chirping of birds and murmuring of crickets allow the ears to tune up slowly after the quietude of the night. There is a freshness and calm at the start of a day that brings needed peace to a soul in a busy world. Early mornings have always attracted me, but today I am noticing its benefits in a new way. 

My internal critic naturally thrives. And because it’s something that I have been accustomed to since I was young, it hasn’t been challenged much. But in these last several years, through my brokenness, God has exposed much in me for my sanctification and, ultimately, my good. 

I am learning to treat myself with gentleness and compassion; this morning is teaching me how. Sometimes learning comes in the most unexpected ways—through experiences that touch the heart and make way for a fresh perspective. Self-compassion is a new and uncomfortable phenomenon in my world. And somehow, my Christian roots push against it. Yet, as I think about God in his greatness and glory, he also champions himself with tenderness, compassion, and gentleness that none could match.

God often uses the picture of a shepherd to show his immense tenderness and care for his people. “He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young” (Isaiah 40:11 ESV). King David spoke of God, “You have given me the shield of your salvation, and your right hand supported me, and your gentleness made me great” (Psalm 18:35 ESV). God disciplined and corrected David at times, but it wasn’t God’s severity that made David great, but his gentleness. In response to the oppression of religious legalism by the scribes and Pharisees, Jesus gives this invitation, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:28-29 ESV). Jesus offers his followers to release their burdens and walk in the newness of life and freedom he offers. 

But it can be challenging to receive these gracious invitations, unbelievingly good as they may be. I am reading a book called Try Softer by Aundi Kolber. One of the exercises in the book is to place your hands on your heart and repeat these statements.

•       I am experiencing pain. (Observe your emotion mindfully without judging it.)

•       I am not alone. (Remember that we are all surround by many others who have suffered or who are suffering.)

•       May I be gentle with myself. (God is deeply kind and compassionate with us, so we can be the same way with ourselves too.) (Kolber, 2020, p. 204). 

Admittedly, it felt quite odd—and surprisingly comforting. The following exercise has you say the same statements over people in your life whom you feel compassion for naturally. Saying these statements came easily, and my heart welled up in loving care for these individuals. I was shocked at the contrast in this experience. Why is it so easy to offer compassion to others and not ourselves? Maybe we are uncomfortable with our own pain. Perhaps we would rather try to ignore it and pretend we are strong enough not to let it affect us. Possibly we are ashamed of other areas of weakness or sin it may expose. Or could it be that we don’t feel worthy of the love and care from God or others in our lives?

I resonate in some ways with each of these questions. The goal here is not to become self-obsessed or let your pain become an idol—quite the opposite. When we see ourselves the way God sees us and feel about ourselves the way God does of us, we can surrender our pain, imperfections, and illusions of strength and find fullness in his love. We are free to love Him wholeheartedly and love our neighbor as ourselves. The focus shifts from self-preservation and self-preoccupation to giving entirely of oneself out of the abundance of God’s overflowing love.

“Trying softer isn’t about knowing or doing the right thing; it’s about being gentle with ourselves in the face of pain that is keeping us stuck. Because no matter how hard we try, we can’t hate or shame ourselves into change. Only love can move us toward true growth. This is the love given to us by a gentle, kind, compassionate, good God—and the love we are invited to give ourselves too” (Kolber, 2020, p. 193-194). So, receive the invitation to accept yourself, even as Christ has accepted you. Challenge your internal critic. Speak God’s gentleness and tender compassion to your heart in times when you feel pain or alone. Instead of trying harder, try softer—and be pleasantly surprised at the freedom and grace you find.