The root of mercy

January was a long hard month.  Really long and really hard.  We had just over three weeks of really wicked stomach bugs that we just passed around and around (well, they passed...Mama never got sick - I just had to clean up after all of them!). 

Then my Nana was taken to the hospital for a week long stay after a dangerously low blood sugar and now is finishing up a month or so of inpatient rehab. 

And the Big Sarge switched over to third shift. 

And I've been really, really, really tired.  And thus, really, really, really rude.  To everyone.  But mostly my husband.

At some point this month, I made a conscious decision to really pray about my mouth and its destructive power.  And I've been doing pretty well.  Not perfect...but, my name's not Jesus. 

I'll give you an example:  the other day, The Big Sarge said something that really irritated me.  Really.  I just totally thought that what he said was really stupid and immature.  And instead of telling him so, I kept my mouth shut.  I knew that I just needed to pray about this area for him - pray that he would get a little further along in his journey and really just be better...and because he had this little wrinkle in his personality, I really wanted to be merciful towards him...I'm not immature in this particular way so I should be patient and kind to him until he catches up with me.  That's mercy, right?

Wrong.

That's not mercy.  That's pride and self-righteousness.  My Holy Spirit whispered these loud, blaring words into my heart.  Mercy is not born out of seeing the one, microscopic aspect of myself that I have momentarily conquered and then patronizing and patting on the head those who are still struggling there.  Mercy is born out precisely the opposite place.  It is born out of the real, deep and total knowledge of my own shortcomings - when I view myself in light of God's perfect holiness, there is no room for me to be anything but humble....when I view myself in light of God's mercy on me, how can I do anything but show real, true mercy to those around me.

The end result may be the same - I may manage to keep my mouth shut - but Jesus isn't interested just in the end result....He is interested in the heart.

The Heart. 

My Heart.  Your Heart.

And while I do think (hope.  pray) that I get half-credit for at least keeping my mouth shut, dear Jesus isn't satisfied until my motivation is right.

Does this discourage you?  It discourages me.  A lot.  But it shouldn't.  Five years ago, none of this would ever have even occur ed to me. I would have gleefully slayed my man with my mouth and never looked back.  And I would have stomped on and flamed the little bits of him that had dropped off during my attack.  It's a process.  Five years ago, I had no idea my heart wasn't right - at least now I know and can pray for forgiveness. 

And strive.  Strive.  Strive. 

Not striving for right behavior.  But striving for a heart that is like Christ's.

soon and very soon

For the last few years, our crib has lived at my mom's house.  There wasn't any sense in it gathering dust here and she used it for my brother's kids when they came to visit.  But, since the Griz is getting bigger by the minute and rapidly outgrowing the bassinet, it was time to bring the crib home.  Good timing, really since the Big Sarge will be home in the next few weeks and there's probably not enough room for me, the Griz and the Sarge in a double bed.  Maybe back when Big Sarge and Mama were a bit skinnier, but now, perhaps not so much.....

So, job done - crib disassembled, moved and re-assembled.  I rock.  Yes, I do. 

And now, there it sits.

A large, obtrusive reminder that mid-tour leave is nearly upon us.  The monkeys are excited.  The Sarge is excited.  I'm.....scared to death.  I've been alone for over five months now.  And I'm tired, and a little harried.  But, I'm making it.  I always do. 

Since we've been married, the Big Sarge has often been away, or worked crazy hours or been on orders.  We lived through several years of his being a National Guard recruiter.  This equals crazy hours, always being available and taking appointments whenever and wherever you can get them.  Then the first 362 day deployment.  Then a few months of a civilian job where Sarge was home every night, but not making good money, so I worked at night.  Then a job in the mobilization cell at Indiantown Gap where we averaged two nights a week and every other weekend with him home.  Then last year, he was at Ft Dix for what amounted to almost 7 months when you added it all together.  And now deployment #2. 

dropping the Sarge off.....boo!

I'm good at being on my own.  And not so good at having him here.

Most people think that the hardest thing would be to let someone else make the every day decisions that I can make all by myself - and do make all by myself.  But for me, that's not really a big deal - it's actually a relief to have someone else hand out consequences, tell Firecracker if she's allowed to wear stripes and plaid together and tell me where they are going to drive me to eat supper. 

And our life is so chaotic and our house such a pig sty that there's very little order that can be disordered around here. 

For me, it's a heart issue.  Too much time alone cultivates a hard heart in me.  A heart that doesn't really want to need anyone.  A heart would just rather be left alone.  This is not exactly a healthy approach to marriage...

So, I'm striving to un-harden this heart of stone.....and I really want to succeed.  I really want us to have a good two weeks.   I really want the Sarge to head back to the sandbox knowing that he is loved, honored and respected.  I really want to do this well. 

Prayer gratefully accepted.