One thing keeps coming back to me as I grow in ministry and in life: people need to know that you care.
It doesn’t always take something big or elaborate. Sometimes it takes a solid pause. Listening without preparing your response. Paying attention to what someone is sharing—and what it may have taken for them to share it.
I cannot be all things to all people. I am not Jesus. But I can be more intentional with the people in my life. I can remember the little things they tell me. I can follow up. I can make room to hear their hearts.
And if I’m being honest, I haven’t always done that well.
For a long time, my focus was on surviving and healing from my own hurts. Some of that became self-protection. Some of it became selfishness. I’m learning to recognize the difference.
I may have seemed open because I shared parts of my life, but there were places where I remained deeply guarded. There were reasons for that. We need boundaries. We need enough room to heal and enough strength to do what God has called us to do.
There is also room within those boundaries to pause and hear somebody.
Over the last month or so, there have been moments when I needed to stop and listen more fully. I didn’t always do it. And it cost me time and energy. It also brought some humbling lessons.
That pruning has been uncomfortable, but I can see the good growing from it.
I am not perfect. I make mistakes. And I’m learning to be honest about how I function. Multitasking is not my gift. I can switch between things, prioritize, and adjust when the needs change. But when I try to give everything my attention at once, something—or someone—can get missed.
That means I have to be intentional about circling back. About asking, “What needs my attention right now?” And sometimes, “Who needs my attention right now?”
I’m also asking myself some deeper questions. Am I being true to myself and to God? What is He teaching me about how I care for people? What am I discovering about my capacity, my relationships, and the places where I still need to grow?
Every relationship won’t last forever. Some people walk with us for a season. Some return. Some leave something in us that we carry long after our paths separate. Sometimes we get to offer that same gift to them.
I want to care well while we have each other.
I want people to know that I heard them. That the little things they trusted me with mattered. That even when I cannot fix something, I can be present.
And I’m learning to include myself in that care.
Because caring for people includes caring for yourself.
You’re a person too.
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If this reflection met you where you are, I hope you’ll carry this reminder with you: you deserve the same care and grace you’re learning to give others. How are you making room to listen—to the people you love and to what you need, too? Share in the comments. And if someone came to mind while you were reading, send this their way. There’s room for them in this village.
With love and a little Brooklyn soul,
Lela J. Fagan
memoirsofablackgirl.com • lelajfagan.substack.com • @lelajfagan
© 2026, Lela Fagan. All rights reserved.
