Someone left a comment on a previous post to the effect that there is no mercy in this life.
My initial reaction was to dismiss this as a grumble from a cold-hearted cynic. But then I thought about it and realised that I, too, often live as though it were true.
When I live life on the defensive, when being right becomes more important than anything else, when I measure every circumstance and every event against its impact on my comfort and convenience, when I am so taken up with my problems, my challenges, my issues, my needs and my worries that I forget to acknowledge the needs or even the existence of others, I create for myself a world in which there seems to be no mercy.
These are the times when I need to stop and remember:
That my family is mercy.
That the food on my table and the clothes on my back are mercy.
That my house, my car and my business are mercy.
That when my son or daughter interrupt me to ask for something, this is mercy.
That the fact that I am still married after more than twenty years is mercy.
That my dog, when he rolls on his back and looks at me with those big, innocent eyes, is mercy.
That the warm caress of the sun on my arms, the smell of rain on the air and the faint sound of laughter carried on the breeze are mercy.
That the freedom to love, to fall out and make up, to cry, to laugh, to dance and to mourn… these are all mercy.
That when the day finally comes for me to let go of the thread and pass from this momentary life into the next – even that will be mercy.
All of life is mercy, fast and free. God, give me eyes to see.