Embracing the Beauty and Value of Tenderness

A few months ago, my husband, Tony, and I were returning home after an annual five-day gathering with siblings and cousins. We always have a blast, and this year also included a wedding.

During our drive from Indiana to Florida, I-75 unfolded before me, but I wasn’t enjoying the view. I was tired. Not myself. My stomach had been bothering me, and to be honest, I’d been hormonal, despite being post-menopausal.

“At this stage in my life,” I texted a friend, “I thought I’d be this Mach-10, confident, no-doubt, kick-butt-and-take-no-names kind of woman. But instead I feel like—”

What did I feel like?

Without much thought I typed, “A tender reed.”

A weak, wobbly, tender reed.

My life was going well. My marriage? Strong and solid. My writing career? Holding steady. Friend and family relationships? All good.

My time with the Lord and Bible reading were also good. For about six months, Tony and I had been praying “on the 5s.” Five a.m. and five p.m. every day.

On paper, all the boxes were checked. Then why did I feel so blah? Why did I have occasional bouts of fear and anxiety?

I’d been in the ring with fear and anxiety before and won. I’d defeated those enemies. But now, at night, they’d found a way to knock on my mental door.

From all I read, my post-menopausal years were supposed to be free, empowering, and fun.

Yet the slightest rattling of plans knocked me sideways. Little things overwhelmed me. If I wasn’t careful, the daily news completely robbed me of my peace. A note from a reader stating they’d found a typo in my latest book almost made me feel condemned. My emotional center was catawampus.

Then 2020 arrived: the year of COVID-19, political rivalry, civil unrest.

And there I was on I-75, wondering if the Lord was hanging me out to dry. I hadn’t experienced his presence in a few weeks, although it seemed like months.

Where was the strong, independent girl who put herself through college? Who moved to a new city on her own to start her career? Who traveled the world by herself?

Why was I becoming a tender reed?

My friend texted back:

“I’d rather be a tender reed than a Mach-10, confident, no-doubt, kick-butt-and-take-no-names kind of woman. Because Jesus will not bruise a tender reed.”

I teared up. She’d spoken the Word of the Lord. In a world where strong women are admired, and rightfully so, we forget the beauty and value of being tender. Of being vulnerable.

Isaiah prophesied about Jesus in chapter 42 verse 3:

“A bruised reed He will not break. And a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish;
He will faithfully bring forth justice” (NASB).

When we are weak, he is strong. When we are lacking, Jesus will bring forth justice. Justice against sickness is healing. Justice against sin is his righteousness. Justice in our weakness is his strength.

Here’s what the Lord said to Paul in 2 Corinthians 12:9:

“ ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.’ Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me” (NASB).

Surprise! Our truest strength comes from walking out our weaknesses. That is when we cry out to him. That is when we drop to our knees. That is when we raise our level of pursuit.

Lovers pursue one another. While God is always pursuing us, he often steps back and invites us to pursue him more intimately. More intentionally.

When we embrace the “tender reed” moments in our lives, we enjoy an intimacy with Jesus we can’t know any other way.

“Who is this coming up from the wilderness leaning on her beloved?” (Song of Solomon 8:5 NASB).

If there’s no wilderness, there’s no coming up leaning. Jesus uses our glass-half-empty moments to draw us to himself. He’s jealous over us! (2 Cor. 11:2) He has no intention of leaving us where we are. He’s in the business of transforming us.

In Ephesians 5:25-27, Paul breaks into a glorious proclamation while giving us marriage advice:

“Christ also loved the church and gave Himself up for her, so that He might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, that He might present to Himself the church in all her glory, having no spot or wrinkle or any such thing; but that she would be holy and blameless” (NASB).

Hello, tender reed, you are on your way to being holy and blameless.

Above all, Jesus delights in us. “He brought me forth also into a broad place; He rescued me, because He delighted in me” (Ps. 18:19 NASB).

In our tender reed moments, we must meditate on the reality and truth that Jesus, the glorious bridegroom, delights in us. Our brokenness, weakness, and sin does not surprise him. He never turns away from us.

The tender moments send us toward our first love. Even when we feel dark, cold, alone and abandoned, he feels every whisper, every cry, every move of our heart toward him.

While we may feel nothing, he feels everything.

Where do Mach-10, confident, no-doubt, kick-butt-and-take-no-names kind of women rise from? The ashes of our tenderness—after we’ve endured every trial and sickness while leaning on our beloved.

I have a new vision for myself: to embrace tenderness. I want to abound in love even if it costs me. Even if love is not returned. I want to be that reed Jesus adores and brings under his justice. I want to know his delight.

Jesus, I bring you all my tenderness, my brokenness, and my weakness. I trust you to lead me and heal me, to transform me into a pure and spotless Bride. May I come up from every trial leaning against You. You are my source, my strength, and my joy. I love you.

Rachel Hauck is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. She lives in central Florida with her husband and ornery cat.

Photograph © Nyana Stoica, used with permission