I came across the word while reading Anne Lamott’s book, Traveling Mercies.
I forget how she uses it or on which page, but it caught my eyes and I scribbled the word down.

The word also appears in Ephesians 4:32, “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

I really like this verse most days.
Some days I am better at being resentful and rude and king of my own world.
I don’t like those days.
On those days I need to go back to bed, read the Gospels, and then look in the mirror.

I am not sure how to put the word tenderhearted into words.
Maybe it is one of those words that isn’t supposed to be defined.
Like, hope and love and beauty.
We can try to define these words, but we will always try to define these words.
Maybe tenderhearted is best defined by a color.
Or sunset.
Or sunrise.
Or taste.

But, for what it’s worth, I looked up the definition.
And, as it turns out, it’s a great definition.

Tenderhearted: having a kind, gentle, or sentimental nature.

But I’d still like to think this word is difficult to define.

Something about this word slows me down.
All of me.
Not just my hands or mind or feet, but all of me.
It makes me wonder … Am I?

Am I tenderhearted?

It makes me pray, Lord, make me become tenderhearted like your Son. Even if it hurts. But please don't let it hurt that much, it’s been a big year. Amen.

This word, tenderhearted, can hold two things at the same time.
Joy and sorrow.
Heavy and light.
Healing and wholeness.
2019 and tomorrow.
Love and pain.
Tuesdays and Saturdays.

There isn’t a place where tenderheartedness isn’t welcomed (or needed).

And I want to bring it everywhere I go.

Even when I look in the mirror.

For more of my poetry, check out my books!