“If I’ve done something wrong, I’m sorry.” “. . . . and I’ll try not to do it again, but I can’t guarantee anything.” “I was wrong to _____, but it was really your fault.” Have you ever heard statements like these, or maybe even said them yourself? Clumsy apologies—if you can even call them apologies. And in marriage a bad apology, or lack of an apology, can begin to cost you the whole relationship.
Perhaps the most glorious paradox that we have witnessed in couples experiencing deployment has been to observe how they have drawn closer together while living far apart. This can only be accomplished in the love demonstrated in the cross of Jesus Christ—in that sacrificial giving of oneself that puts the other’s interests above our own.
As Sonja held down the fort while her husband Jason was deployed, she quickly saw the need to go on the offensive against spirits of fear, worry, resentment, anger and bitterness. Instead of waiting for discouragement to invade and occupy her home, she countered it at every turn by wielding the Sword of Truth: God’s Word.
I’ve been married to a soldier almost 14 years now and I think I’ve spent the whole time waiting. I’ve waited for orders, for our children (infertility then the process of adoption – twice), for deployments to start, for deployments to end. By now I should have the patience of Job. But I don’t. Waiting is really tough stuff.
Bob and Cheryl Moeller do a great job of ministering and training singles—in the disciplines of the faith, in their spiritual walk as singles, and in their lives of dating and preparation for marriage. Recently on their website, ForKeepsMinistries.com, Bob included his list of “Ten Things I Did Right, Ten Things I Did Wrong” from his own season of singleness, with the Scriptures which inspired his reflections.
I would be surprised if you have gotten through deployments without any tears. Tears when your spouse left; tears during the long months of separation; tears at special occasions when your loved one’s presence is especially missed . . . tears matter. Tears matter to God.
"That's a great idea--I would have never thought of that!" A young Army wife shared with me something she had done to help prepare her family for her husband's upcoming deployment. Before her husband left for Iraq she had taken a picture of him with their children in each room of the house, and then framed them for displaying. The house was filled with Dad’s presence—reminders of times when they were together. This wife knew that in the days and months ahead there would be moments when both she and the kids would wonder--is he really real? He feels so far away--he is so far away! But the pictures were there to bring back the memories of his presence in their everyday lives.
Jesus was talking to a gathering of followers and just after telling them that they were like salt, He also told them that they were like light. They were salt because God used them to preserve those around them, but they were also light because through them, Jesus intended them to illuminate the truth of who God is. What is interesting to me in these verses is that Jesus doesn’t suggest that a city in a valley or a light under a bowl has any less light, He just focuses on what to do with the light. This is a call to do more with what we have.
Perhaps you desire to pray for our military members and their families, but just don’t know how. Or maybe you have prayed many times—daily, maybe even hourly, for years—and need encouragement to keep on praying. You are not alone.
The eternal impact of this unknown soldier’s prayer reminds me of the Book of Psalms—about two-thirds of which are attributed to a named author and the other one-third are “anonymous.” When we do not know the writer or exact history of a psalm, we are left to imagine what it is that the author is feeling or facing—and how he is reaching out to God for strength, comfort, justice, mercy, forgiveness, grace, healing, blessing, guidance, wisdom. We can reach into our own “story”—our own life circumstances—and know that just as God was faithful in the past (both for the psalmist and for ourselves), He is faithful in the present and the future.