MERCY, MERCY!

MERCY, MERCY!!

by Brenda L. Agee

 

~Mercy Me!             

~ Lord, have mercy!             

~ Traveling mercies

~ At the mercy of my heart/enemies/friends/or something

~ Or, how about this one?   One male character in a popular 1990's sitcom always said, "Have MER-cy!"

~ Abraham Lincoln said, "I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.”

~ Psalms 23:6 is one of the most well known references: "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life . . . "  

~ Say, did you know that in the New King James Version of the Bible, the word mercy is listed 275 times?  That is a lot of mercy!        

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          In my early teens I felt great.  I was now a woman!  Or so I thought.  I started wearing a bit of make-up, I got my first pair of shoes that were "heels", my clothes were a bit more stylish and not childish, and I was in middle school!  Hooray!  I wasn't smug about it - or as the adults would say, "full of herself" -  I just felt great.  I was sure that all of the pain of my childhood would be forever gone and I was just simply happy.  I was a grown-up.  And my parents let me think so.  

          You remember how it was, don't you?  We absolutely wanted to be treated like adults, and we were sure that we were adults, but at the same time, we slept with our stuffed animals or held our baby-dolls when we thought no one could see us.  My brothers still held onto their airplanes and trains.  And maybe some of us still cherished our paper dolls.  That was me!

          Most of the time growing up, I walked to church since we only lived three blocks away.  To get there, I walked one block south and then had a choice.  I could either turn right for three-fourths of a block before going south again or I could turn left for one-fourth of a block and then turn south again.  Going right, I would walk on a sidewalk beside nicely kept houses.   If I went left, I would walk the last two blocks beside the highway.  Always as a child I took the residential walk and never thought of going the other way.  BUT!  Now that I was a teen-adult, I occasionally walked along the highway.  

          So there I was one Sunday evening, at the corner where I had to choose either left or right.  It was late spring, nice and balmy, with a soft breeze, and I had on a new dress.  My mother had made it, as she did most of my clothes, and I felt absolutely fabulous.  The dress was in a denim-colored summer fabric with a sailor's collar in red bandanna material (or handkerchief material if you want to be technical).  It buttoned up the front, was double stitched with red thread, had a shiny red belt, and the most glorious red buttons.  I also had on my new red heels and there I stood.  Was I to go right to the residential sidewalk or left to the highway.

          I can tell you that it took all of one second to decide I would go down the highway.  The highway would take me past two gas stations in that first block.  It had rained the day before and in front of the second gas station, beside the drive was a small bit of grass that had a slightly rippling water puddle.  Just a little puddle, you see.  I thought I was so cool, so cute, that even as a new young adult, I decided to take off my pretty red heels, and walk through the little bit of water.

          I was only slightly aware of the teen aged boys who worked at the gas station.  Oh, I didn't mention that part?  No matter, let me go on.

          Gently and oh, so gracefully, I took off my shoes.  I merrily looked at the little bit of water and walked right into it.  I suddenly discovered a whole new meaning to the phrase "Still Waters Run Deep" when quickly, quite quickly, I sank nearly up to my knees in mud.  It hadn't looked like a mud puddle!  And as much as I tried, I simply couldn't get out of it.  I tried to step up with one leg but the other wouldn't let go.  I tried the other leg and still couldn't get out.  I tossed my new shoes onto the drive and tried using my hands and arms to as leverage to pull myself up but then I was covered up to my knees and elbows in mud.

          I was horribly aware of the teen age boys who worked at the gas station with their dad because all of them started to laugh and they continued laughing all the while they lifted me up out of the mud. 

          I briefly mumbled my thanks, picked up my pair of shoes with my thumb and one finger, and turned around to trod home.  And, as if that wasn't enough, for the first time in all the weeks I had walked down the highway to go to church, a car load of boys drove by and whistled, honked, and yelled something I could neither understand nor wanted to understand.

          I have no memory of walking the rest of the way home.  I have no memory of what I said to Mama and Daddy.  I have no memory of how they responded but I do believe they probably laughed when I went to take my bath.  It was a long, long time before I walked down the highway again to church.  Maybe I wasn't so grown up after all.  How humiliating!

          There you have it.  That is how I started my teen years.  Life went on a bit less eventful and I was a lot more humble . . . until I was 15.

          At 15 I was ready to drive.  We took our Driver's Ed class in school the semester before turning 16.  My class was the second semester of my sophomore year in high school but since I wouldn't turn 16 until the following November, when I was a junior, Daddy said I could use the summer to learn how to drive a standard transmission, or stick-shift.  In fact, he said I couldn't even get my license until I learned to drive a standard and could hold the vehicle on an up-hill road while using only the gas and the clutch.  Sounded good to me.   I simply wanted to drive.

          The volunteer teacher was a young man who was working for Daddy and who also owned a brand new 1965 shiny black Ford Mustang.  And before you jump ahead of me, no, I did not crash his car.  After work in the evenings, my older brother and I piled into his car and off we went to a dirt road in the country.  I learned quickly and moved through the gears with ease and no grinding.  It wasn't long before I could balance that car on any steep hill, as Daddy required, and I could take off without rolling backwards.  Everyone was surprised and I was pleased.

          My young teacher had a younger brother who was home on leave from the Navy and occasionally went with us during the driving lessons.  He knew I could drive and drive well.   All was okay until I forgot my lesson in humility.

          Every Saturday afternoon during that summer, my girlfriend and I would walk downtown to the movies for the Saturday Matinee.  One Saturday after the movie, we were walking home and only had five blocks to go when the younger brother, the sailor, stopped and asked if we would like a ride home.  Now I have to admit that I was a bit flirtatious and a bit bold when I replied, "Yes, but only if I can drive."  I didn't expect him to say yes, but he just laughed let me drive.  Saying I wanted to drive his car seemed just as innocent as that water I walked into a couple of summers before, but proved to be anything but innocent. 

          I got behind the driver's wheel and took off.  As soon as I started my right-hand turn at the next intersection I had my first devastating lesson in driving a car with no power steering!  I rammed right into the car that was waiting at the stop sign at that intersection.  I didn't think to apologize to the young sailor, even though his skin kept going from green to yellow and back again because all I could think of was how I was going to tell Daddy.  

          Oh, you just don't understand!  My Daddy was wonderful, loving, caring, and protective of his children and family.  My Daddy would put anyone in his or her place if he knew one of his children was being wronged.  But!  Daddy was also strict and stern and expected his children to behave and to be respectful and to not do anything close to what I had just done.  I so rarely got into trouble and I was scared to death to tell him.  Part of it was knowing that I had let him down.

          I called him but he sent one of my older brothers to the scene.  My brother took care of talking with the officer and getting all the information correct and in sending home.  I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening sitting alone in my parents' bedroom, on a chair in front of their floor to ceiling mirror.  I cried and I looked at my reflection with pity.  What a sight I must have been!  If you had only seen me, how dejected I was, and how pitifully I looked at myself in the mirror, you would probably have felt sorry for me, too, and then laughed when you left the room.   A couple of times one of my siblings came in, not to comfort me, but to remind me that I was in a lot of trouble!

          Daddy came home early for dinner that evening and said nothing to me.  I was scared.  He didn't even come into the room to see me so I was even more scared.  Daddy didn't go back to the shop to work after dinner and my fear increased.  My brothers and sister sat in the living room all evening just waiting to see what Daddy would do.  They seemed to always get into trouble, but not me, so when my siblings sat waiting, I was even more scared.  

          Finally, after the late night news, Daddy sent my brothers and sister to bed and mama came to me.  All she said was that Daddy wanted to talk to me.  She stayed in their bedroom so it would only be me and Daddy. 

          I slowly walked into the living room with my head low.  Daddy sat on the sofa and patted the place beside him.  I sat down absolutely not knowing what to expect and dreading the moments to come.  But suddenly, Daddy placed his arm around me, drew my head to his shoulder, and he softly called me by the baby name he had used when I was a little girl, "Well, Sugar Foot, they tell me you had a bit of a problem today.  Tell Daddy all about it."

          Oh how I cried and gulped for air as I told him every little detail.  The more I cried, the more he cried.  And he held me even closer.  When I began to sob less and breathe a bit more, all he said was, "We all make mistakes, Brenda, and I'm sure you'll never do anything like this again."

          Oh no, Daddy!  I never will!

          We sat there like that for the longest time.  When all was calm, he hugged me tighter, told me he loved me, gave me a good-night kiss, and sent me to bed.

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           Over two decades later I cried to my Heavenly Father.  I was divorced for the second time and felt like a failure.  I was still depressed and in counseling trying to grapple with my fears because the pain of my childhood had again reared its' ugly head like the serpent in the wilderness with Jesus.   How was I to survive a lifetime of pain and the belief that I was always failure?  How was I to raise my two children as a single parent who was afraid of making every mistake I could imagine?  I was terrified that my adult life would mirror my childhood.  I wondered if I would ever know peace or joy again or if my life would be a façade of outward joy with inward panic.     

          What troubled me most was that I believed I was letting God down, that I was a failure in His eyes, also.  I had known God's mercy, grace, miracles, peace, and joy throughout my life so how could I feel such anguish?  How could I feel what I did and still claim to know His love?  I gulped and sobbed even more and had no words.  How could God answer what I didn't know how to ask?  But He knew.  And He answered.

          In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, God reminded me of previous time I had cried and sobbed and I heard my Daddy's words, "Well, Sugar Foot, they tell me you had a bit of a problem today.  Tell Daddy all about it."  It was as though God Himself was saying those words to me.  

          "Oh Jesus!  Oh Abba!  I'm so afraid I've let You down and failed You.  I'm afraid and I can't stop crying." 

          I instantly knew mercy.  I stopped gulping and gasping.  I stopped crying.  I thanked God with a soft whisper and after a few moments, I started to drift asleep.  I wondered in those last moments before sleep if my Daddy ever knew that he had been the picture of our Father in Heaven and His mercy.  I wondered if Daddy had known what he taught me about grace.  I don't believe he did and I don't think it was a conscious thought with him.  Daddy was just being who he was.  Daddy was merciful because he himself had known heartache and pain and because he, too, had known the mercies of God.   

          I think of the Psalmist who wrote, "Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am in trouble; My eye wastes away with grief, Yes, my soul and my body! " (Psalms 31:9; NKJV).  Had he also known the peace of God only to find himself later thrown into despair?  I don't know, but that writer knew God would give mercy and peace from the grief.  The Psalmist cried, I cried and sometimes I still cry.  I know some of you do, also.  It matters not what our individual circumstances are, at times we all simply hurt and grieve, crying in our soul.  Will we turn to the One who is all merciful?    

          God's mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23; KJV) because He is faithful.  We need His mercies daily, every moment because of our own lives, our own actions, our own memories, our own experiences, our own needs.  There is no shame in our crying out to Him again and again because He is always there for us.  He has always known that we would need new mercies, a refreshing of His grace.  And yes, God promises that for those who trust in Him, His mercies are new every morning! 

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          I need you today, God, just as I always have needed you.  You have healed me of much, taught me much, and loved me much; yet, every moment, every morning, I need Your mercy anew.  Please be with all who know and recognize their need for Your mercy.  Some are only beginning their journey of healing while others realize we are in a constant state of healing.  All I can say, God, with a humble heart and gratitude is thank You.  Thank You and Praise You!  For Your Mercy Endures Forever!

"Blessed be God, Who has not turned away my prayer, 

Nor is mercy from me!"  

"If I say, 'My foot slips,' Your mercy, O Lord, will hold me up."

(Psalm 66:20 & Psalm 94:18; NKJV)