Life hasn’t been perfect—whose is? But one thing I’ve learned in my 47 years of living, loving, parenting, and becoming is this: it is holy work to sit down and truly listen to someone.
Not to judge.
Not to diagnose.
Not to fix.
Just to listen—to understand their perspective with empathy.
And if—if—you have advice that can uplift, bring clarity, and you feel peace in sharing it, then offer it gently. Wisdom lands best when it’s wrapped in grace.
I’m reflecting on this today because something quietly powerful happened at church. From soundcheck to after-service fellowship, meaningful connections were made. And every one of those moments required transparency. I had to step outside of myself and allow others to see a version of me—unfinished, honest, and real. In doing so, something beautiful happened: they saw themselves too.
I’ve come to a place of peace in acknowledging that I am likely neurodivergent. Not just because I am raising neurodivergent children, but because when I look at them, I recognize parts of my own childhood. Then I look back at my parents—particularly my dad—and I see patterns. Tendencies. Behaviors that go beyond environment and point toward wiring.
And I’m okay with that.
Being a writer gives me the space to reflect deeply. Writing allows me to process my experiences and turn them into understanding—not just for myself, but for others who may be trying to make sense of their own stories.
As I move closer to 50 (three years and counting), my prayer is to maximize this next season by knowing myself better: how I interact with others, how I show up for my children, how I move through daily encounters, and how I can better serve my immediate community and the world beyond it.
So let me say this clearly—pause before assuming. Everyone is carrying something. Everyone is climbing a hill you may not see.
Scripture reminds us not to judge others without first examining ourselves (Matthew 7:1–5). That reminder isn’t about condemnation—it’s about compassion.
Grace first.
Listening always.
That’s the work.
© 2025, Lela Fagan. All rights reserved.
