Who needs mercy, you or is it always reserved for me? Does God in His infinite understanding observe this pitiful man and find all of His concentration captured by the Will to see me drawn to righteousness by repeated ill-deserved mercy and grace? Have I slumbered so in the explanation of all that is Holy and Pure that He must reserve extra daylight hours to my instruction, that someday I might be found an exception to His Wrath? Do my never ending prayers evoke God’s Direct counsel, establishing through intervention in this doubtful, perhaps impossible task, that there is hope for this dying world?

When, if ever have I passed by my own reflection in the shallow pool, to look upon the worlds’ need? What grace have I if I alone am grace with it’s mercy? Seven and half Billion People and the clock begins and ends with my whimpers and cries for solace? I think not said that man who tired of his own requests for mercy to the point where listening to any of the other billions would be a greater blessing that personally bestowed intervention. What must begets my pity? What harm arouse ire? What daylight dreams pass from tranquility to material and demand I stand with sword in hand and Spirit in Mouth fighting for the Lives of Others?

The Muse in Mercy’s reflection is truly knowing who God is, was and is to become and continue becoming beyond the edge of storm and tomorrow? He ponders their surety. He master’s their patience set against a world that He developed specifically that it might thrash them beyond capacity for their withstanding. He is their inspiration, their quest for mercy as He hands them at birth the challenge durable to destroy each of them without hope, a hope that they alone find in Him alone. He is their muse to mercy. That point where they realize their worth lacking, crying out to the impossible, the intervention of an unseen hand of faithful resolves so ominous that each of the billion and one half awaits it, can find no peace without it. Who then demands mercy, Him? Who then requires it none and who of us needs it, every thing that has breathed His Breath of Life?

Asking is receiving, needing is not requiring, but wanting, passionately wanting with guile, and hope and humble acquiescence, the Breath that restores mortal conquest and breeds the seeds of immortality. Where am I on this ladder of the deserving? Why the very first wrung, below sheep and artist and babe left to cry in darkness, for that is the way of a shepherd to stand the night in honor as pledged shield while God awaits their heart. He stood for me and continues to sleep across the open gap while I am wandering often aimless in the short grass of my contemplation. For mercy is not found but finds us where we are, exactly where we are not where we’ve tried to be, believed to be or told others and ourselves that we wish to be. It is the moment, it is the starvation of belly’s call, the blood ebbing from the wound needed attention the lost breath in lung as the last tree branch knocks it from our lungs, falling lifeless to the ground.

There are no requirements for mercy yet all receive some manner of its touch, for this is the character of God, which all that are loved are given. Do we ask for fear of no answer? Do we pray for thoughts of self reliance? Do we gather never having known winter’s bite? What then cries mercy fowl? Who then denies its sovereign hand beneath the falling visage? Shall it cradle my cries, why yes? But alas Lord let me lie in faith knowing, certain, sure of thy mercy. Grace give it to them who have grand need that pulls tear from my eyes even now in the midst of my displeasure. For you have loved me enough to see just how much you are in love with all of them.

Jesus, My King, My Salvation, My Redemption, faith and cure. Amen.