Mercy Runs Before You Turn

The afternoon sun is bright, and the shadows it casts are sharp. You asked for mercy this morning, but now, in the middle of the day, you feel unworthy of having received it.

The silence between your request and your relief has become a wall. You are waiting for a feeling that proves you are forgiven, but the light does not wait for your permission to shine.

It simply is. There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off.

He ran. Before the apology, before the speech — he ran.

The father did not wait for the son to feel worthy. He moved while the son was still covered in dust.

Mercy is not a reward for the worthy. It is the ground you are already standing on.

You do not have to earn what has already been given. The paralysis breaks not when you feel better, but when you realize the running started before you even turned around.