I find it astonishing that three of my daughters are into weight lifting. They show up at their respective gyms and wrap their fingers around metal poles attached to heavy lumps of steel. Fortunately they have trainers who know how to help them avoid injuring their backs, and guide them toward best practices. They are getting stronger. 

Last century there was no market for such things. Life was riddled with hoisting buckets of slop for the pigs, and bending under the heft of logs while you built a home for your children, so there was no need to fabricate exertion. You had it in spades. People in the early 1900's got stronger too, even without spandex and rubrics for your personal BMI. 

This week a friend described the strategy that her parents have clung to in their thirty some year marriage. It mattered less what they were arguing about than it did how they went about it. Their focus was on mindful listening, and compassionate words. Their version of heavy lifting was in raising their personal Agenda to a higher standard... their common trust in God. 

Whether the substance of the conflict swirled around how they each spent their free time, or money, or their convictions around women's ordination, the real exercise was whether they could be kind. 

In my book of Random Acts of Kindness by Animals, there is a story of an African woman who left her baby sleeping nearby while she washed clothes in the river. An elephant ambled along the path, picked up a large leaf in her trunk and gently placed it over the baby.

Being strong in your convictions, or your bench press best, or your gray or striped mass does not preclude being tender.