have mercy on me

I kneel beneath the weight of choices made,

a harvest grown from seeds my own hands scattered.

This pain did not arrive as a stranger.

It bears my name.

It follows footprints I left behind.

I cannot point toward Heaven and say,

"Abba-Father, You did this to me,"

for I know the road that brought me here.

I turned my eyes away from Christ.

I drifted from His Word.

And slowly, almost unnoticed,

my hunger faded.

The Holy Bible was a doorway to peace.

A doorway to comfort.

A doorway to strength for today's assignment.

But I lost interest.

One day became twenty-four hours wasted.

Then another.

Then another.

A chain of vanished mornings.

A procession of lost afternoons.

A cemetery of evenings

I will never visit again.

The clock does not return what it has taken.

Now I sit among consequences,

counting the cost of my own decisions.

I compared myself to others.

I looked at people who had reached destinations

I still dream about.

I looked at people surrounded by opportunities,

people with choices,

people whose money opened doors

that remain closed to me.

And comparison became a thief.

It stole gratitude.

It stole contentment.

It stole focus.

While my eyes studied another person's path,

my own path gathered weeds.

My financial lack did not appear overnight.

It grew through habits.

Through neglect.

Through decisions repeated often enough

to become a future.

And now that future has arrived.

Abba-Father,

have mercy on me.

Not because I deserve it.

Mercy is receiving what justice does not owe.

I know that free will is a gift You entrusted to me.

I know You do not force different outcomes

upon actions I willingly chose.

The consequences are real.

The pain is real.

The tears are real.

The loneliness is real.

And still I whisper:

Have mercy on me, Abba-Father.

Not necessarily to remove the consequences,

but to help me endure them.

Not necessarily to erase the harvest,

but to give me strength while I gather it.

Not necessarily to restore yesterday,

but to help me steward today.

For though many twenty-four hours are gone,

this one still breathes.

This one still stands before me.

This one still carries possibilities.

And if Christ is willing,

perhaps even a weary heart can return.

Perhaps even a cold flame can burn again.

Perhaps even a man sitting among consequences

can find grace beside them.

So I cry.

I confess.

I wait.

And while the pain remains,

I lift trembling hands toward Heaven and pray:

Abba-Father,

have mercy on me.

For I have wandered.

For I have wasted.

For I have compared.

For I have chosen poorly.

Yet You remain my Father.

And even here,

among the consequences of my own actions,

I still call Your name.