It Wasn't A Gift I Asked For

With moonlight caressing my face and tears of hopelessness and helplessness soaking my pillow, the gift was quietly present.

Jesus Christ, son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

When anger tumbled out of my mouth in a torrent of words spilling from a trampled soul, the gift belonged to me.

Jesus Christ, son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Forgetting the darkness in my heart and judging the shadows in my neighbor’s, the gift whispered its presence.

Jesus Christ, son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

While coveting another’s talents and sulking in scarcity and ingratitude, the gift shimmered its offering.

Jesus Christ, son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Arrested by penetrating love shining from my crucified Savior’s face, the gift announced its name.

Mercy

Mercy flows on the parched landscape of my soul.

Mercy transforms ashes to beauty.

Mercy triumphs over judgement.

Mercy illuminates my beloved uniqueness.

The gift I didn’t ask for comes wrapped in extravagant mercy and overflows with love for me.

Jesus Christ, my Savior and my Friend.

Jesus Christ, son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.