There’s something you should know about me. I don’t believe the darkest parts of our story disqualify us. I believe they reveal what mercy has done.
There’s a moment in scripture where a man everyone had quietly adjusted to being broken is restored. His life had been chaotic and public, and people had learned to live around his pain because it was easier than believing he could change. Then Jesus stepped in and everything shifted.
What stays with me is not just that the man was made whole, but that the people around him were unsettled by what that restoration cost them. The change disrupted their normal. It exposed priorities. It rearranged things. Instead of celebrating a restored life, they asked Jesus to leave.
That tension feels familiar. We say we want God to move. We pray for healing, for freedom, for things to change. But when that movement challenges our comfort, our systems, or the quiet compromises we have made, we hesitate.
I have experienced mercy in ways that could have defined me by my worst moments. I do not want to protect comfort more than I value transformation. If God restores us, it should show. Not in noise or performance, but in alignment. Over time, the distance between what we say we believe and how we actually live should grow smaller.
That is what mercy is meant to do.
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