Any time a person opens up about hurts or perceived hurts, a chance for misunderstanding remains. As yesterday, I feel I came on strong about divorce, which is one aspect. I want to celebrate longevity of marriage, enduring love, but not in the grit your teeth way of we made it. The temptation for me had been strong over the years to think divorce would take me to a better place than where I was. But because I understood that to be a lie from the devil, I don't want anyone who was in a horrible marriage to think I am putting you down. In fact, I hoped to convey that I understand.
I am concern about divorce in the Church. I see many second marriages with blessings. I ran from thinking that divorce would free me. I don't see it that way. I feel in a way I may be back pedaling. I hope to encourage. Remember my spiritual gifts, mercy and encouragement, I wrote about before. Maybe I stand so strong against it, because it has hunted me.
We have to fight against the martyr syndrome. Hey, I stuck this out, why couldn't you? I see the blessings in my marriage of keeping it together. And I look to future blessings. This being said, I will go into the next confession.
Keeping family first is something for which I strive. Whether taking care of my mother or my kids or seeing my nephew return from Iraq, I put my family first. I find myself getting that little tinge of annoyance or condemnation if for a second, I think someone isn't doing that. Maybe, I need to be the one asking for forgiveness. Each story has many aspects. I'd get mad because some could go on missions trips and leave small children alone with friends or relatives. I thought, "Yeah, save the world and lose your family." I'd fume because I felt they were saying by taking this action, they loved the Lord more. Of course, they weren't. And the Lord does the saving, we only have to witness His love, wherever He leads us. Back to the prayer closet. I don't want to go too much into this because again, I fear I'll sound judgmental. I know I would never join the reserves or do twelve hour shifts in Cleveland, where a nurse could make a larger amount of money than here in the sticks. I couldn't leave my children. Was I afraid, maybe of losing that control that I never really had?
Even as I think I had forgiven, I'd glance down at that bloody hatchet, as I recollected something. I push it behind my back, trying to hide it even from myself. I have been doing a great amount of soul searching, hoping to reconcile. I know as busy as I am and everyone else is, many slights are so far from intentional. Each has a story.
Being a writer, I should know story. I want to listen now, hear your story. Jesus, too, listened, even as He knew the story. I think of the woman at the well, in John 4. He knew her story, but opened Himself to listen. And He had no confession to make.