The Road to Mercy
8:15 a.m.
Today is Ash Wednesday and my mind is heavy, almost as heavy as Christ’s cross. I have been thinking about the people in my past and sadly, in my present, that I have hurt and continue to offend. If you know me personally, you may be one of them, and to you, I am genuinely sorry.
I keep thinking about the first stanza from a hymn written by Jack Miffleton that I remember singing often on Good Friday: “Lord let me walk that lonely road with you under the weight of the wood.” I do not particularly care for the hymn because I feel like a hypocrite when I sing that stanza since I don’t believe I could ever make the sacrifice that Jesus did. The fourth stanza better suits me because it says, “How many times have I nailed you up today?”
11:30 a.m.
Sipping tea on the backyard swing, I notice two small birds staring at the pond from their respective perches on the fence. A mere few feet apart, they both seem oblivious to the lizard basking at the opposite end of that fence. I smile as I recall three serendipities that happened earlier in the morning.
Leaving the house for church services, I had the opportunity to photograph three wild ducks enjoying a stroll on the front lawn. On my way out of the church, I watched a small, blond girl in braids repeatedly reminding her mother that she had to pee. Then in the drugstore checkout lane, there was a boy, seven or eight years old, listening carefully to an older woman giving him directions as to where he would find the candy bar she had promised to buy him.
These incidents may seem ordinary, not notable, or of extraordinary interest. But to me, these are “God-speaks” moments that he sends me to lighten my heart and remind me that he is near. Still, I wonder, who am I that the Lord of all creation would gift me such blessings?
“I am a fading flower, a tossed wave, a vapor in the wind,” I tell myself, paraphrasing Mark Hall’s lyrics to “Who Am I?” from Casting Crowns’ first album release. Then I begin singing quietly, reminding myself that I am His, and in moments of darkness, I can secure my heart against despair by calling upon memories of God’s grace. Lent is an invitation for the “Bright and Morning Star to light the way for my ever-wandering heart.”
2:45 p.m.
After a bite to eat, I move to a lounge chair on the side of the yard where the sun shines from behind me. I tilt my head back and spy cumulus clouds floating in a perfectly blue, fair-weather sky. En route to somewhere else where perhaps no being will reflect upon their calm beauty, they speak to me in divine tongue, “We’re angels of nature, angels of mercy sent by the One who loves you no matter what.”
They bring visual entertainment with them also: the Grinch, Olaf, (the snowman from Frozen), and even Pac-Man, as well as a bikini top, a tugboat, and dragons. My imagination makes me laugh at myself, and soon, I remember that God made me this unique spirit. Only God truly gets me; no human ever will, yet, knowing my Best Friend has my back as well as my soul gives me reprieve from shame and guilt.
7:00 p.m.
It has been dark for over an hour now, but I take comfort in knowing that with each day, daylight extends another second and by this time on Easter evening, it will still be light outside. After enjoying hours of open air, I have risen from the blessing of the ashes and feel exceedingly grateful that mercy is an undeserved gift. “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy, like the wideness of the sea,” we sang this morning, a hymn that will become my anthem for the next forty days as I embrace the Cross and cling to the hope of eternal life.
