Be Gentle
"For the measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you. -Lk 6:36-38"
“Be gentle” has become a quiet refrain in my life and work. It surfaces in conversation when someone feels discouraged by how slow change seems to be or weary of circling the same struggles. In those moments, the instinct is rarely self-compassion but a tightening inside, an inner voice demanding to know why they are not further along. Sometimes I hear in that voice an echo that did not begin with them but with expectations absorbed long ago. Correction without tenderness. Love that once felt conditional.
I recognize that echo because I carried it too. I did not learn gentleness easily. It came slowly, through someone who chose to be attentive. I met her when I was about my daughter’s age. Growing up in the projects meant I witnessed things children should not have to see. Fear lived quietly in my body before I had the language for it. Safety was never assumed. It was something I knew could shift at any moment.
My spiritual mentor created an atmosphere that felt different from the one I had learned to survive in. I vividly recall her words when I stood at the ambo as a teen: “Use your voice, and do it with God.” Initially, I interpreted this as a lesson in volume, projection, and self-assurance. Later, I realized she was offering something deeper: You are worthy of being heard. You do not have to perform to belong. You are not alone.
She often offered feedback, and I never felt shame, because her words were rooted in her desire to honor God and draw me toward Him. I accepted her words readily because they were delivered with love, gentleness, and trust. She walked with me as I learned to take risks, and whenever I made a mistake, I knew I could try again. Looking back, I see that she did not measure me by where I came from or what I lacked. She saw who I could become with God’s help. Over time, that measure reshaped how I saw the world and who God continues to call me to be.
During this Lenten season, my daughter had the opportunity to offer the gifts at Mass through liturgical dance, at the invitation of the woman who had once mentored me. As I helped her practice, I shared the same guidance I received years ago: “It’s not a performance. It’s praying with your whole self. Give your best, and give it with God.” Afterward, my daughter whispered, “I got teary-eyed, Mom. I felt God was with me.”
For a moment, everything inside me felt still. Not fear. Not performance. Just presence. Perhaps this is how healing unfolds, one measure at a time.
Lord, in this season of return, teach my heart a gentler rhythm, that I may live and love from Your mercy.
Tam Lontok