Jesus loves me when I'm a jerk too...

So I was a big jerk yesterday. No two ways about it.

There's an old story about a grandfather and grandson. The grandson has a tendency toward harsh words. The grandfather notices this character flaw and decides to work a little cowboy wisdom. Fetching some nails and a hammer from the shed, they head out to pasture where a new corner post has been put in the fence row. The post is of new lumber, barley weathered, untouched except the signs of being hewn and debarked. "Take this...", grandpa says, extending the hammer to the boy, "and drive these nails into that post as hard as you're mad." The young boy begins to furiously hammer nail after nail into the post, teeth grinding, white knuckled, the hammer meeting his thumb and fore finger more than once. "There!" says the boy, somewhere between bewildered and accomplished. Staring at nowhere, grandfather then says, "Now, pull them out." Flabbergasted, the boy shrieks, "All of 'em! But you just...", "Yes. Let's get started..." grandfather interrupts.

One by one, the lad pulls the nails. They were; of course, harder to remove than they were to drive. Then, once finished, the boy stepped back, and the pair examined their handiwork. "Well son, what do you think?" "About what?", asked the boy exhausted and exasperated. "How's that post faring?" "Well..." started the boy, "It looks ugly, full of holes... and I feel bad about that... but I didn't mean to mess it up!" From which the grandfather calmly said, "Just like those nails, that's what words do. Once you drive them in, you can take them back, but the damage is done still the same."

At times, life compresses us. Our responsibilities, our voluntary mandantories, our fears, our collapsed hopes, they push.us to the brink. Jesus taught us that the words of our mouth come from the treasure stored up in our heart. That is to say that when life puts the squeeze on us, whatever is in us comes out. Then, there is no denying it. Salt water doesn't come out of a freshwater spring. The painful truth is that after 18 years of being saved, after all the healing and restoration and renovation God has brought me through, there is still a lot of ugly stuffed down in the cracks and crevaces of my heart.

This makes me thankful for the gracious forgivenss of my family. But also the grace of God through Jesus Christ that washes away my sins.

So, once again, I'm sorry for demonstrating first hand how I am.not holier than thou.

And once again, I'm thankful.

No, but I could make you some...

Such was the reply of the seriously harried, semi-haggard, nurse to my question. 

Let me set this up for you:

My mother is having her annual stay in the ICU (I guess if you can't joke about these things, you will cry). 

The first day I visited there was a hospitality cart floating around; complete with cookies and coffee. Some hapless romantic once stammered out that love is what the world goes 'round; but apparently, this man was not a coffee drinker...

So this morning, after a long night (I never sleep as well away from home) on my sister's couch (not the best seat in the house), we got to the hospital and as I passed through the halls somewhat zombified, I recalled the coffee pot. So after settling in for a bit, I got up, approached the desk, and sheepishly asked, "is there a coffee pot around here?" to which she replied, "No, but I could make you some..." Then got up from her terminal, went back to the "nourishment room" and brewed up a few fresh cups, one for me and one for my other caffeine dependent sibling. 

I know this doesn't seem like a big deal, but let me put things into context. 

Firstly, we are in Detroit. People don't really go out of there way for strangers around here. Second of all, this was not in her job description. She had plenty of other things to do, and initially, looked a bit annoyed that I had asked... a sort of "do I look like a waitress to you?" look. But her warmth, and the warm cup of joe, and the 2% milk she found for cream, and the Equal packets, all made it just that much easier to cope with the fact that my mother was laying there right in front of me, full of tubes and chemicals, hardly aware of where she was, and facing an exasperatingly uncertain future. Sometimes, very small things like this make a huge difference. As one friend noted, "so shines a good deed in a weary world..." Indeed. 

I may never, ever, see that nurse again... 

But if I do --- she's getting a hug.