Growing Fruit: GENTLENESS
Growing Fruit: Gentleness
Of all the fruits of the Spirit, gentleness might be the one I understand the least.
Actually, if I'm being completely honest, gentleness might be the one I struggle with the most.
I understand love. I understand joy. I can wrap my head around patience and kindness. Faithfulness makes sense to me.
But gentleness?
Well...I have two boys.
And if you know my boys, you know that "gentle" isn't necessarily the first word that comes to mind.
They are rough and tumble, loud, energetic, active, and constantly moving. There is always something happening. Someone is running. Someone is yelling. Someone is climbing something they probably shouldn't be climbing.
And apparently, getting out the door is when all of this reaches its peak.
The lost shoe happens nearly every morning. It doesn't matter that we talked about it the night before. It doesn't matter that I reminded everyone that shoes belong in the shoe cubby and not strewn throughout the entire house. Somehow, every morning, one shoe has disappeared into the wilderness.
And just when we're finally ready to leave, inevitably one of the boys announces that he has to go to the bathroom.
Not in ten minutes.
Not when we get where we're going.
Right now.
Because apparently their bladder is incapable of surviving the ten-minute drive to our destination.
These are the moments when gentleness is not exactly my first strategy.
My natural response is usually to match their energy.
They're loud? I'll get louder.
They're moving slowly? I'll start talking faster.
They're not listening? I'll repeat myself...a little more loudly...and then maybe a little more loudly than that.
And then somewhere in the middle of the chaos, I remember: Oh yeah. I'm supposed to be growing gentleness.
Sometimes I think the Lord has a sense of humor.
Because it's easy to talk about gentleness when everything is calm. It's easy to imagine ourselves as gentle people when we're sitting quietly with a cup of coffee, Bible open, house peaceful.
It's a whole different thing when you're standing in the kitchen at 7:48 in the morning, holding one shoe, looking for another, while someone is yelling from the bathroom.
That is where the fruit gets tested.
Galatians 5:22-23 tells us that gentleness is a fruit of the Spirit. And I've been thinking a lot about what that actually means.
Biblical gentleness isn't weakness.
It's strength under control.
And that is something I am still learning.
Because I think I've sometimes misunderstood gentleness as being quiet, soft-spoken, passive, or easygoing.
But Jesus was gentle, and Jesus certainly wasn't weak.
He spoke truth.
He confronted hypocrisy.
He stood up for people who were being mistreated.
He overturned tables.
He challenged people.
But He also welcomed children. He noticed people who were overlooked. He touched the untouchable. He listened to hurting people. He made room for the broken.
Jesus never confused gentleness with weakness.
He could be firm and gentle at the same time.
That is the kind of gentleness I want growing in me.
Not a gentleness that means I never get frustrated. Because let's be honest, I do get frustrated.
Not a gentleness that means I never raise my voice. I'm still a work in progress.
Not a gentleness that means I let people walk all over me or avoid difficult conversations.
I want the kind of gentleness that changes how I respond.
It's choosing my words carefully when I could easily snap.
It's correcting without crushing.
It's listening before assuming.
It's remembering that the person standing in front of me is more important than whatever is currently making me irritated.
And sometimes, for me, it means taking a deep breath and reminding myself that my children are not intentionally trying to make my morning miserable.
They're just being boys.
They're still learning.
They're still growing.
And, apparently, so am I.
I've also been thinking about how gentleness applies beyond my children.
Proverbs 15:1 says, "A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger."
That's one of those verses that sounds beautiful until you're actually in a situation where you need to practice it.
Because sometimes a harsh answer feels justified.
Sometimes I have been inconvenienced.
Sometimes the other person really is wrong.
Sometimes I have every reason to be frustrated.
But Jesus doesn't call me to respond based on what the other person deserves. He calls me to respond based on who He is.
And I think this matters especially in the world we live in right now.
We live in a culture that can be incredibly loud. Everyone has an opinion. Everyone has a platform. Everyone is ready to tell someone else why they're wrong.
And Christians aren't immune to that.
It's easy to convince ourselves that because we're defending the truth, we don't have to be gentle while doing it.
But 1 Peter 3:15 tells us to be ready to give an answer for the hope we have, and then it adds something I think we sometimes overlook: "But do this with gentleness and respect."
Truth and gentleness were never meant to be enemies.
We can hold tightly to what we believe while still treating people with kindness and dignity.
And maybe that's one of the greatest ways we can show people what Jesus looks like.
I've also been thinking about how gentleness applies to the way I treat myself.
I can be much harder on myself than I would ever be on someone else. I replay mistakes. I think about what I should have done differently. I convince myself that I should have been more patient, more organized, more productive, more spiritual, more...
You can probably fill in the blank.
But perhaps the Holy Spirit is teaching me that gentleness belongs there, too.
I don't need to excuse my mistakes. I don't need to pretend I don't have things to work on.
But I can offer myself the same grace I so readily tell someone else about.
Because God isn't standing over me with a list of everything I did wrong today.
He is patiently shaping me.
And maybe that's what growing fruit really looks like.
Slowly.
Imperfectly.
One day at a time.
The more I understand how gently Jesus has treated me, the more I want to treat others that way.
And I think that's where I'm starting with gentleness.
Not by pretending I have mastered it.
I haven't.
I'm learning it in the middle of lost shoes and bathroom emergencies.
I'm learning it when my boys are bouncing off the walls and my instinct is to match their volume.
I'm learning it when someone frustrates me.
I'm learning it when I want to be right more than I want to be kind.
I'm learning it when I have to stop, take a breath, and choose a different response.
Maybe gentleness isn't about becoming a completely different person.
Maybe it's about allowing Jesus to change the way I use the person He's already made me to be.
Because He made me energetic. He made me passionate. He made me someone who cares deeply.
Now He's teaching me how to hold all of that with gentleness.
So, Lord, grow gentleness in me.
Not just when life is calm and everyone is behaving.
Grow it in the moments when I'm tired, frustrated, misunderstood, overwhelmed, and looking for the missing shoe.
Help me to be strong enough to be gentle.
Help me remember that gentleness isn't weakness.
It's strength surrendered to You.
And if my boys learn something about gentleness by watching me learn it alongside them, maybe even the lost shoes and last-minute bathroom emergencies can become part of the lesson.
After all, we're all still growing.
Of all the fruits of the Spirit, gentleness might be the one I understand the least.
Actually, if I'm being completely honest, gentleness might be the one I struggle with the most.
I understand love. I understand joy. I can wrap my head around patience and kindness. Faithfulness makes sense to me.
But gentleness?
Well...I have two boys.
And if you know my boys, you know that "gentle" isn't necessarily the first word that comes to mind.
They are rough and tumble, loud, energetic, active, and constantly moving. There is always something happening. Someone is running. Someone is yelling. Someone is climbing something they probably shouldn't be climbing.
And apparently, getting out the door is when all of this reaches its peak.
The lost shoe happens nearly every morning. It doesn't matter that we talked about it the night before. It doesn't matter that I reminded everyone that shoes belong in the shoe cubby and not strewn throughout the entire house. Somehow, every morning, one shoe has disappeared into the wilderness.
And just when we're finally ready to leave, inevitably one of the boys announces that he has to go to the bathroom.
Not in ten minutes.
Not when we get where we're going.
Right now.
Because apparently their bladder is incapable of surviving the ten-minute drive to our destination.
These are the moments when gentleness is not exactly my first strategy.
My natural response is usually to match their energy.
They're loud? I'll get louder.
They're moving slowly? I'll start talking faster.
They're not listening? I'll repeat myself...a little more loudly...and then maybe a little more loudly than that.
And then somewhere in the middle of the chaos, I remember: Oh yeah. I'm supposed to be growing gentleness.
Sometimes I think the Lord has a sense of humor.
Because it's easy to talk about gentleness when everything is calm. It's easy to imagine ourselves as gentle people when we're sitting quietly with a cup of coffee, Bible open, house peaceful.
It's a whole different thing when you're standing in the kitchen at 7:48 in the morning, holding one shoe, looking for another, while someone is yelling from the bathroom.
That is where the fruit gets tested.
Galatians 5:22-23 tells us that gentleness is a fruit of the Spirit. And I've been thinking a lot about what that actually means.
Biblical gentleness isn't weakness.
It's strength under control.
And that is something I am still learning.
Because I think I've sometimes misunderstood gentleness as being quiet, soft-spoken, passive, or easygoing.
But Jesus was gentle, and Jesus certainly wasn't weak.
He spoke truth.
He confronted hypocrisy.
He stood up for people who were being mistreated.
He overturned tables.
He challenged people.
But He also welcomed children. He noticed people who were overlooked. He touched the untouchable. He listened to hurting people. He made room for the broken.
Jesus never confused gentleness with weakness.
He could be firm and gentle at the same time.
That is the kind of gentleness I want growing in me.
Not a gentleness that means I never get frustrated. Because let's be honest, I do get frustrated.
Not a gentleness that means I never raise my voice. I'm still a work in progress.
Not a gentleness that means I let people walk all over me or avoid difficult conversations.
I want the kind of gentleness that changes how I respond.
It's choosing my words carefully when I could easily snap.
It's correcting without crushing.
It's listening before assuming.
It's remembering that the person standing in front of me is more important than whatever is currently making me irritated.
And sometimes, for me, it means taking a deep breath and reminding myself that my children are not intentionally trying to make my morning miserable.
They're just being boys.
They're still learning.
They're still growing.
And, apparently, so am I.
I've also been thinking about how gentleness applies beyond my children.
Proverbs 15:1 says, "A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger."
That's one of those verses that sounds beautiful until you're actually in a situation where you need to practice it.
Because sometimes a harsh answer feels justified.
Sometimes I have been inconvenienced.
Sometimes the other person really is wrong.
Sometimes I have every reason to be frustrated.
But Jesus doesn't call me to respond based on what the other person deserves. He calls me to respond based on who He is.
And I think this matters especially in the world we live in right now.
We live in a culture that can be incredibly loud. Everyone has an opinion. Everyone has a platform. Everyone is ready to tell someone else why they're wrong.
And Christians aren't immune to that.
It's easy to convince ourselves that because we're defending the truth, we don't have to be gentle while doing it.
But 1 Peter 3:15 tells us to be ready to give an answer for the hope we have, and then it adds something I think we sometimes overlook: "But do this with gentleness and respect."
Truth and gentleness were never meant to be enemies.
We can hold tightly to what we believe while still treating people with kindness and dignity.
And maybe that's one of the greatest ways we can show people what Jesus looks like.
I've also been thinking about how gentleness applies to the way I treat myself.
I can be much harder on myself than I would ever be on someone else. I replay mistakes. I think about what I should have done differently. I convince myself that I should have been more patient, more organized, more productive, more spiritual, more...
You can probably fill in the blank.
But perhaps the Holy Spirit is teaching me that gentleness belongs there, too.
I don't need to excuse my mistakes. I don't need to pretend I don't have things to work on.
But I can offer myself the same grace I so readily tell someone else about.
Because God isn't standing over me with a list of everything I did wrong today.
He is patiently shaping me.
And maybe that's what growing fruit really looks like.
Slowly.
Imperfectly.
One day at a time.
The more I understand how gently Jesus has treated me, the more I want to treat others that way.
And I think that's where I'm starting with gentleness.
Not by pretending I have mastered it.
I haven't.
I'm learning it in the middle of lost shoes and bathroom emergencies.
I'm learning it when my boys are bouncing off the walls and my instinct is to match their volume.
I'm learning it when someone frustrates me.
I'm learning it when I want to be right more than I want to be kind.
I'm learning it when I have to stop, take a breath, and choose a different response.
Maybe gentleness isn't about becoming a completely different person.
Maybe it's about allowing Jesus to change the way I use the person He's already made me to be.
Because He made me energetic. He made me passionate. He made me someone who cares deeply.
Now He's teaching me how to hold all of that with gentleness.
So, Lord, grow gentleness in me.
Not just when life is calm and everyone is behaving.
Grow it in the moments when I'm tired, frustrated, misunderstood, overwhelmed, and looking for the missing shoe.
Help me to be strong enough to be gentle.
Help me remember that gentleness isn't weakness.
It's strength surrendered to You.
And if my boys learn something about gentleness by watching me learn it alongside them, maybe even the lost shoes and last-minute bathroom emergencies can become part of the lesson.
After all, we're all still growing.
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