TENDER

I dropped my husband off at the airport this week. As we were standing by the car saying our goodbyes, the couple from the car in front got out. The woman was clearly upset. With suitcase in hand, her partner hugged her repeatedly; they didn’t want to say goodbye. I don’t know if this was goodbye for a weekend, a month, a year, or a final goodbye after a break-up, but this woman’s raw emotion was as evident as her tear-stained, blotchy face, and my heart went out to her.

As I drove away, I thought, “We’re just all so tender.” 

It’s rare to see such vulnerability—this woman displaying the pain of taking the risk to love someone. Yet we are all such vulnerable creatures with fears, hopes, delights, wounds, and longings that linger somewhere deep within. 

We (I) have become adept at hiding our (my) softness. 

My immediate response to this woman was compassion, and I would have loved to, with kindness and gentleness, offer her a hug, a cup of tea, and a listening ear. I wonder if I can offer that same compassion to the soft and tender places within me. The ‘out-there’ voices, both culturally imposed and self-curated, say, “keep going,” “work harder,” “push through the ­______,” “get over it.” 

Can I instead listen to the gentle and quiet voice within that reminds me, “We’re just all so tender.”

Perhaps these reflections are just for me as we start the journey into the Lenten season. In receiving the ashes on Wednesday, there’s honesty in considering our “from dust - to dust” human reality. As I turn towards God—the true meaning of repentance—perhaps my experience in receiving Love, Kindness, and Compassion will have the opportunity to deepen. In the invitation to let go of something during these forty days, perhaps I’m being invited to let go of the ways I hide my softness.           

Thank you to the woman at the airport. Thank you for not hiding your softness. Thank you for reminding me of the beauty in tear-stained and blotchy vulnerability. Thank you for being human— tender and all.