Fiercely, Jessica

I’ve been thinking about the lioness.

Not because she is the loudest animal in the wild. Not because she is the biggest. And not simply because she is fierce.

But because of what makes her fierce.

A lioness is a hunter. A provider. A protector.

She lives for her pride.

And when something threatens what belongs to her, something changes.

She fights.

Not because she wakes up looking for battle. Not because she needs to prove that she is strong. Not because she enjoys the fight.

She fights because there is something behind her worth protecting.

I think there is something profoundly familiar about that.

Especially in motherhood.

Before becoming a mother, I knew I could be strong. I knew I had opinions. I knew I could stand my ground when I needed to.

But motherhood introduced me to an entirely different kind of strength.

The kind that doesn’t always show up for yourself.

The kind you sometimes don’t even realize you possess until someone you love is standing behind you.

There have been times in my life when I have questioned whether I should say something.

Maybe I’m making too much of it.

Maybe I should let it go.

Maybe I should give more grace.

Maybe speaking up will make things uncomfortable.

And if the only person affected were me, there are probably plenty of times I would have chosen exactly that. I would absorb it. Rationalize it. Extend another chance. Decide it wasn’t worth the fight.

But put one of my children on the other side of that equation?

Everything changes.

Suddenly, discomfort doesn’t matter quite as much.

Because there is a difference between looking for a fight and being willing to fight for something.

I don’t want to spend my life angry.

I don’t want to assume the worst in people.

I don’t want my children growing up believing that strength means being the loudest person in the room or that every wrong deserves a war.

I want them to see grace.

I want them to see forgiveness.

I want them to see compassion.

Because those things aren’t weakness. They are part of the life God calls us to.

Scripture tells us to be “kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other” (Ephesians 4:32). It tells us that love is patient and kind, that it keeps no record of wrongs (1 Corinthians 13:4–5). And Romans gives us an instruction I find particularly important:

“If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” — Romans 12:18

I’ve always found those first few words interesting.

If it is possible.

As far as it depends on you.

We are called to pursue peace. But I don’t think we are called to manufacture the appearance of peace by remaining silent when something is wrong.

There is a difference between being a peacemaker and being a peacekeeper.

Sometimes keeping the peace means nobody says the uncomfortable thing.

Making peace may require that somebody does.

Grace does not require silence.

Forgiveness does not mean pretending something never happened.

Kindness does not require passivity.

And loving someone does not mean abandoning truth simply because truth might make the room uncomfortable.

Scripture tells us to speak “the truth in love” (Ephesians 4:15).

Both matter.

Truth. And love.

Without love, truth can become a weapon.

But without truth, what we call love can sometimes become avoidance.

I want my children to see both.

I want them to know the gentleness of Christ. I want them to know what it means to forgive when forgiveness is difficult. I want them to extend compassion when it would be easier to judge.

But I also want them to understand that there are moments when love requires courage.

Sometimes love is gentle.

Sometimes love gives another chance.

Sometimes love sits quietly beside someone who is hurting and doesn’t try to fix anything at all.

And sometimes?

Love stands up.

I think that’s where the lioness makes sense to me.

Her fierceness isn’t separate from her love.

Her fierceness exists because of it.

The same creature capable of tenderness toward her pride is capable of incredible strength when that pride needs protecting.

Maybe that’s why so many women recognize something of themselves in her.

We live somewhere between softness and strength.

Between extending grace and finding grit.

Between knowing when to let something go and knowing when letting it go would mean failing to stand for something that matters.

I’m still learning where that line is.

I suspect I always will be.

There will be times I speak when I should have listened longer. Times I stay quiet when I should have spoken sooner. Times I mistake fear for wisdom or frustration for courage.

I’m human.

But there is one thing I hope I never lose:

The willingness to become fierce when love requires it.

Not because I want a battle.

Because I have a pride worth fighting for.

And maybe that’s what being fierce really means.

Not being fearless.

Not being angry.

Not being loud.

Just knowing what you love—

and being willing to stand between it and whatever tries to harm it.

Fiercely,

Jessica