Mercy

How faithful you are. Your kindness steals words from my lips. It’s beyond words.

When my own life’s destruction is magnified in my eyes and the blood on my hands leaves deep stains I can’t wash away, you say, 

Try again. 

When my heart is tenderised like meat under a mallet and it’s my own mind replaying pain in a thousand different ways, you say, 

Try again. 

Like a father, lifting me from the ground, assessing my scratches, bandaging me up and placing me back on the bike. 

How is it so small to you? I thought the pain was like cracks in the earth’s surface, magma spitting up from the molten core, 

But your hands pick them all up. You cover me, skin on skin, and heal the aching cuts. And I’m not fully healed, but the warmth of you gives me strength to 

Try again. 

When regrets fill me deeper than the waters of the sea and I curl into a ball to shield myself from the pain I’ve caused, you say, 

Try again. 

You are the gaps between where I am and where I was meant to be, covering my deficiency. How could you be so loving to me? A sinner, disguised as free, but still languishing in the light of eternity. 

And those two words seem like an impossibility, so gentle and encouraging, a command powered by love, spoken with soft eyes and an open heart, 

Try again, my love. Try again. 

A second chance. A past wiped clean. 

A gift I don’t deserve. 

Mercy.