Sometimes Mercy

Sometimes.

I wonder.

What mercy looks like.

Is mercy, a child, swaddled sweet?

Is it tests, proving, health?

Or a life, spared?

Sometimes.

I wonder.

Could mercy wear the face of heart, broken?

Is it mercy when pain, ravages?

Or when all that's left are ashes?

Sometimes.

Mercy is full.

Of sunshine and flowers and giggles of delight.

Sometimes.

Mercy is storm, bursting.

And all the world falling, down.

With tears streaming and arms empty, our hearts, finally, fall upon Him.

Mercy is whatever causes.

Hearts to turn, like blossoms, seeking light.

And worship.