For years I believed softness and strength were opposites, and I knew which one the world rewarded. So I armored up. I became efficient, guarded, always ready. And somewhere in the armor, the softness I was made with began to disappear.
But look at the flowers. The zinnia is not strong because it is hard. It is strong because it is rooted — deep roots, patient stems, and petals that open without fear. Its softness is not weakness; it is the confidence of a plant that knows its place in the garden.
Gentleness, Scripture tells us, is a fruit of the Spirit. It is not passivity. It is strength under control — the power to be kind when you could be harsh, to be patient when you could be sharp, to trust when you could seize control.
A gentle woman is not a doormat. She is a woman who knows whose hands hold her, and because she knows, she does not need to prove her strength by wielding it.
I am learning to soften — not to lose my strength, but to let it flow through gentleness. The softest things in the garden hold the most life.
“She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come.”
Say · Believe · Receive · Forgive
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