I went before the King
bowed, begged, pleaded
pure in intent, hope
despite knowing the impossibility
of restitution in even a lifetime of servitude.
and all was forgiven.
but when I returned to my day
I noticed, like a piece of food stuck in my teeth,
a gnawing irritation.
an injustice, which
every so often I would pick at
and my irritation would grow.
my soul would burn
with self-righteous entitlement, for
I was right. I had been wronged.
There was no relief, no changing this.
It wasn't until I told the first story out loud
(about my insurmountable debt that was forgiven
by that great King)
did I see it.
How could I miss it?
What does being right have to do with anything?
When mercy has been poured over me in full abundance,
surely I have some wealth to share.
I am no widow clutching her last mite,
this mercy, this forgiveness?
I laughed inside at the thought - the ease of letting it go.
I was light.
I was free.
I was sorry for my blindness.
Best of all, I was filled with love.
and so it was
Mercy bestowed to me, in even greater proportion.
That was a sweet Sunday.
That was yesterday.