Mercy

For a few months now I’ve been on a journey to discover what Mercy really means. Bethel came out with a song called Mercy and I definitely sang it like I meant it for a while, but I realised I had no clue what it meant and it left a bitter taste in my mouth singing a song that I didn’t understand.

Last night I was at a worship night at a friends farm. Afterwards guy came up to me and started talking to me. Over the next hour and half he went over multiple topics, from sin to the cross. He then talked about healing and freedom. He talked about so many topics that my brain was kind of spinning and I was fluctuating from freedom to condemnation to joy to confusion to conviction. I didn’t know where my heart would land as I tried to take in all that he was saying.

On the drive home I turned on some worship music and the introvert in me pulled into my brain as I began to process all that was said. Mercy came to mind, and the way he so passionately spoke about mercy hit me like a ton of bricks. Mercy. A word that made me so angry with judgement and despair. Suddenly a reel of footage went through my brain and I saw all of the bad things that had happened to me. The things that had broken me. And I was filled with disappointment and grief and judgement. I was so so angry about all the things that have happened. Then a reel of an event that happened just a week ago came through my brain.

It was the snowday, and a lot of my friends came over to my house to get snowed in together and eat food and watch movies. There was wine a champagne and it was fun until something went south. I said something that unbeknownst to me hurt someone else. Out of hurt they spoke back and out of confusion I came back at them harder- and it was off. Back and forth we went, but I didn’t realize or care how hard I was going. Finally, she said something and I rolled my eyes and stayed quiet. After a few seconds I realized how hard I was and I was disgusted at myself. My anger quickly fizzling into despair as I stumbled over my words, trying to process what just happened, quickly apologizing for fault though it was a commotion in the house and nothing I said at this point could be heard. I withdrew into myself, angry at what I had said, mad that I had one drink too many and my words which could have been kind simply became a poison. In that moment I hated myself. Even though the person was wrong it didn’t make my response ok. Soon after I hid into my room, tipsy and tired, I took a few sleeping meds and cried because I felt guilty and ashamed. But crying didn’t help, and the sleep meds hadn’t kicked in yet. So i grabbed a blade and self harmed, something I haven’t done in such a long time. The next day I woke up realising how badly i cut and was upset, wanting to hide in my room for the rest of the day.

Mercy.

The word brought me back from the memory, which made me sick. Though shame could have consumed me, it didn’t. Instead mercy did. In that moment and in this moment as I write, I realized that for the first time I encountered the mercy of God, and it took my breath away. I have been unable to fathom mercy because I failed to receive, so there was no way in hell I could I could give it to anyone. As I began to realize moments in my life where I had failed to show people mercy, this one moment, ingrained in my mind was monumental to my understanding of mercy.

This word, mercy, that I still don’t understand has the ability to bring the more freedom to my life than I’ve ever seen. It’s incredible that a God who is Holy and Righteous and Just would grant mercy to me. I realized the judgement seat is a large one, made for One who lives and reigns in perfect judgement. And that is not a seat I long for- though it has been for a long time. The seat I crave, with the dull understanding that I have of it, is the seat of mercy. For the first time in my life, I crave the seat of mercy. I am humbled by the movement and breath of righteousness. I am in awe of Holiness that I am yet to walk in. I am amazed by a love that as far as the east is from the west, He has removed my transgressions from me. I am taken aback that His mercy will never run out on me.

 

“You delight in showing mercy, and mercy triumphs over judgement,

oh Love, Great Love, fear cannot be found in You..

and there will never be a day, where You’re uncertain of the ones You choose.” 

 

“Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment.” James 2:12-13

Anxiety, A New Year Kiss

when I was in fourth grade, my mom and dad had a parent teacher conference with one of of my teachers from school. It wasn’t anything out of the norm as all teachers held conferences with parents at least once a year. But for me it was different. I was deeply convinced that my teacher didn’t like me as a student so she would say all these bad things about me to my parents. Anxiety overtook me and I made myself ridiculously sick for two weeks. That is my life.

This past year has been full of downs for me. Not because I am a debbie downer, but because it seemed like nothing was working out. I felt squished and worn down by the trials of my life. MDD has overshadowed most of my year, since the end of June. And as I lost traction I found every fear, every worry, and every anxious thought overcoming me like a riptide hellbent on dragging me under. I have been diagnosed with an Anxiety Disorder, PTSD and MDD. And since I left the hospital all three, until this year, sat on the back burner, resting on a low heat, controlled and maintained in a somewhat healthy way. Until this year. Since the end of June I have felt like I couldn’t breathe, anxiety stripping me down to the bone, overshadowing me and melting me to the ground. I managed it until September, when even in my own job I was overtaken with anxious busy thoughts of everything that has happened to me. The second to last week of September I became very ill, and having been battling illness and a weak immune system since.

I never took the time to realize how my own anxiety was killing me, goading me towards death and despair. My anxiety, paired with MDD and PTSD has been slaughtering me since June. And tonight as I sat in my bed, I became painfully aware of that anxiety as I felt a weight pressing down on my chest, daring me try to fight it. Anxiety was my new years kiss. A kiss hello and a kiss goodbye, as I confronted the very thing that has tried to kill me for the very first time, and kissed it goodbye, sending it off to a far away place. I don’t have my anxiety under control. I’m not even sure what it looks like to manage it let alone conqueor it. But I do think I am one step closer to slaying it to death, simply because I acknowledged it.

In The Pain

Searching for Lucy, the kids dog, I stepped out onto the front steps. A sprawling entry way, covered in bricks and mums. The November mist kissed my skin and I looked up at the sky, the grey and black billowing clouds comforting in it’s consistency. I let out a whistle calling Lucy as I looked around me, knowing she hates the rain. The large, empty houses covered with fallen leaves left a peaceful yet dreary lump in my throat. I was overcome with emotion, words left unsaid, bad decisions finally catching up to me. Yet none of those things were the blow that my heart ached for. None of those things answered the pain that I felt.

Lucy ran up to me, but just out of reach. She hated being caught, she liked to be free and move on her own. I sighed, as she looked at me, and I looked back up at the sky. Every memory of the past few months coursing through my mind. Every shameful thought and action shrouded by the rain, hidden in the pouring rain. Looking down at Lucy’s baby blues, I found she was resolved and would only come in from the rain by her own free will.

I turned, and closed the door. And as soon as I turned the lock, Lucy came scratching at the door. Opening the door she came bounding in and I laughed a little at how stubborn she was, and was reminded a little of myself.

The October Air

3 years ago I overdosed on a load of pills. It was my last attempt at committing suicide. It’s crazy because It didn’t work. LOL. I was inpatient at this hospital where my socks always got stolen and where people would wake up in the middle of the night screaming and yelling about how Obama was out to get them. There at the hospital, 2 hours away from where I live, I met my plug, the weed man, who just so happened to live 10 minutes from me.

When the dust settled, I found myself four years out, questioning who I am and what I want to be- where I wanna go and what I want to make for myself. Hope has never come easily for me. It’s not something that stirs inside of me. I wouldn’t call myself a dreamer. I don’t dream. I live realistically and aim for the best. If I hope anything I hope that my life doesn’t implode on me.

I’m learning to navigate my emotions like a ship in the storm. A lot of people would say don’t let your emotions effect you. That’s been my problem all along. I haven’t let my emotions affect me so much so that I can’t even figure out where they begin. But I’m figuring it’s worth a shot.

Four years ago, September 2012, was the first time I tried to commit suicide. I spent a few weeks in the hospital, only two leave for a day and come back. When I walked outside it was a crisp October day. Hurricane Irene was coming through. I hadn’t been outside into freedom for weeks. As my friend Ricky picked me up in his fancy camaro to take me home, I almost fell apart. Being outside was amazing for me. I saw the clouds and I felt the cool fresh air. And though it took some time for me to grasp, I found that the October Air brought me some much needed clarity. So here’s to October. And here’s to hope.

When It’s Time To Write

When it’s time to write, I sit before my computer screen for quite sometime. I twiddle my fingers nervously, trying to decide if I am truly brave enough to say what I am thinking. Fifty million topics flutter across the chalk board of ideas in my mind-  but I quickly erase them all, too afraid to write what I’m thinking because it makes me vulnerable.

I have been a blogger for 5 years, and it’s always nerve wrecking as you realize that you are a story teller- of your own story. My story is neither graceful nor pretty. It’s full of tragic mistakes that brand my heart as I seek a God to mend and restore. Lots of tears and lots of process, but it’s mine.

I used to blog with the hopes of impressing  my hundreds of followers with my love for God. LOL. That is so gross.  Now I blog, knowing I am so fragile and breakable. That my writing is for my own sake, to help make sense of my story. I’m writing for my health, because talking just won’t do.

My name- Ariel- means lioness of God. But I’ve been nothing but fearful. But I am learning the importance of my voice and my sound. I am learning how to be free.

So when it’s time to sit down and write, more than any other time during the day- i feel brave.