A Time for Gentleness

Another new normal has settled around us with some weird dichotomies. Pulling us in different directions. Bringing us together in untapped strength. Physically apart, socially together. The COVID-19 virus pandemic comes at us with contrasting forces. An enemy that demands we play our part hunkering down so the few with the medical weapons have a better chance of fighting it.

We watch these contrasts playing out on the news, in conversations on social media, and within our own families. Are we doing enough? Are we doing too much? Are we worrying too much? Are we not taking this seriously enough?  I watch us lash out in harsh criticism and I watch us spread hope with the gentleness of a morning breeze. I know this is the time for gentleness. For gentle words. Proverbs advertises the benefits of a gentle tongue over a crushing one.

A gentle answer deflects anger, but harsh words make tempers flare.

The tongue of the wise makes knowledge appealing, but the mouth of a fool belches out foolishness.

The LORD is watching everywhere, keeping his eye on both the evil and the good.

Gentle words are a tree of life; a deceitful tongue crushes the spirit. [Proverbs 15:1-2, NLT]

But what if the loudest contrasts you hear are going on between your own two ears while you attempt to practice gentleness?

Mine go something like this:

Harsh Self: Those stupid idiots, what is so all-fired important about their lives that they have to get out and spread this disease to others?

Gentle Self: You don’t know what is going on in their lives. Maybe they are a hospital worker just trying to get to work. Maybe they are personal shoppers so you can pick up your curbside groceries.

Harsh Self: All of them? Seriously? Some must be extroverts who just can’t sit with themselves for two seconds.

Gentle Self: This isolation must be really hard for them. You should be thankful you can store up all your introverted energy to recharge yourself.

Harsh Self: I may be recharged, but I’m tired of not being able to hug my grandbabies.

Gentle Self: You should be really proud that your kids want to protect you from unnecessary exposure. They must be exhausted keeping those little angels entertained. We’ll all get through this.

Harsh Self: Speaking of how long this is going to take… Easter? Doubtful. I’d rather trust the voices who use data, like Dr. Fauci. He doesn’t make stuff up.

Gentle Self: Leadership is difficult in times of crisis.

Harsh Self: Yeah, but good leadership 101 says to admit you don’t know when you don’t know.

Gentle Self: OK, you got me there.

Harsh Self: Why wasn’t anyone paying attention to Bill Gates when he predicted this would happen and we should get prepared?

Gentle Self: Well, you didn’t even watch that TED Talk yourself until very recently. Your head was in the sand too, wasn’t it?

Harsh Self: Hey, wait a second, isn’t that my line?

Gentle Self: Right. Touché. We need to be gentler with ourselves too, don’t we?

Harsh Self: Well, I guess so. Maybe. But you’re the one that is journaling this pandemic with a 2x2 matrix like some former corporate Powerpoint geek. Where is your faith?

Gentle Self: My faith is strong. His hand is holding me fast. You hear me play that hymn every morning before I log the number of cases and deaths in my 2x2 matrix.

Harsh Self: But those counts are curving upwards every day. They are getting closer.  I don’t want my loved ones to die alone in the hospital.

Gentle Self: Me neither. My heart just breaks for those who are dying alone and for their families who are home alone.

Harsh Self: Get a grip. Most people aren’t dying. Many people have light cases.

Gentle Self: Hey don’t be so calloused. This is serious.

Harsh Self: I’ll tell you what’s serious. What’s serious is whether you have dinner planned yet. Are you going to let us starve?

Gentle Self: No, we have enough food to hibernate for months. Thank God for His provision.

Harsh Self: When did black beans become your favorite ingredient?

So that’s what’s going on in my head. I have a naturally critical perspective. I’m not proud of it. But I’m working on gentle words even when my thoughts aren’t so gentle. And this health crisis is giving me plenty of practice. How are you practicing gentleness with others and yourself?

Drinking from Wells I Did Not Dig

At the end of each winter on a little spot of earth in southern Illinois, a little miracle happens. A small patch of daffodils pop through the dormant grass near trees that are still bare. This picture shows what it looked like this week. Only green stems but the yellow blooms will be full before Easter. I didn’t plant them, but I get to enjoy them. My mother-in-law planted them many years ago when she lived on that property. And now, her small act of burying a few bulbs gives me a daffodil crop that I didn’t sow. I don’t have to do anything at all, year after year.

There’s a passage in the Old Testament that speaks of our beneficiary status.

So it shall be, when the LORD your God brings you into the land of which He swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to give you

large and beautiful cities which you did not build,

houses full of all good things, which you did not fill,

hewn-out wells which you did not dig,

vineyards and olive trees which you did not plant –

when you have eaten and are full – then beware, lest you forget the LORD who brought you out of the land of Egypt, from the house of bondage.  [Deut 6:10-12, NKJV]

Between slavery and the promised land, the Lord was reminding the Jewish people of His promise for a new land of freedom in Canaan that would soon be theirs. But not just the land. They would benefit from all kinds of things that were already established in that land. He warned them in advance to not forget where they came from. Not to get so comfortable that they forget what the Lord had done for them.

I’ve always loved the imagery in this scripture of drinking from wells I didn’t dig. I know a lot of people before me have dug wells from which I still drink. My dad’s family lived in a vacant chicken house for a time when he was a first grader. Very humble beginnings, indeed. But his parents built and dug and planted. Then he and Mom built and dug and planted some more. And I got to enjoy the fruit of that labor. Yes, I’ve done some of my own building and digging and planting too. But materially and spiritually, I’m grateful for people before me, who invested in my future. I sit under big shade trees because someone I don’t even know planted tiny trees. And I sit under sound biblical teaching with my church family because of somebody’s praying grandmother. I live with many human rights and freedoms because someone else fought for them.

For all of this, I am grateful and won’t forget.

Now it’s our turn. Our time to plant trees that won’t shade us. Our time to dig wells that won’t hydrate us. Our time to build things that will outlast us.

What are you doing today that will mostly benefit others?