The Quality of Mercy: The Power to Forgive and Give Grace When You Don’t Have To
- Alan Lowis
- May 28, 2025
- 30 min read
Updated: Jul 5, 2025
By Alan Lowis.
To err is human, to forgive divine. So what, then, is Mercy?
Mercy is having the power to punish—but holding back because you are loving and kind.
Mercy is about who you are, not about what they have done.
It is seeing the wrongs clearly, fully—deeply comprehending what truly drives them, and choosing not to retaliate, condemn and punish out of anger or vengeance, but to hold accountable and responsible with reason, compassion and understanding.
Mercy is not blindness. It is not weakness. It is love wielding power justly, with gentleness and ultimately grace.
"Forgive them, for they know not what they do."
"Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone.”
Mercy is when you have the power to truly punish—but you use it with restraint.
Mercy is when you could condemn & destroy—but you choose instead compassion & understanding.
Mercy does not excuse wrongdoing. It sees beneath it.
It sees the fear, pain, confusion. It sees that most harm comes from blindness, not malice. From fear, not evil. From the smallness and desperation that drives humans to hurt others in search of power, safety, or meaning.
And so, choosing to be merciful is choosing the highest form of strength, the truest mark of greatness and the most divine expression of power.
Shakespeare on Mercy From The Merchant of Venice (Act IV, Scene 1)
The quality of mercy is not strain’d,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath.
It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
’Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes The thronèd monarch better than his crown. His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice.
The Deep Wisdom in Shakespeare's Words
"The quality of mercy is not strain’d, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven"
Mercy cannot be forced. It is not a transaction or a requirement. It flows freely like rain—gentle, nourishing, unconditional. Without trying to decide who deserves its grace, it falls everywhere and upon everyone, cleansing and renewing.
"It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes."
Mercy heals both the giver and the receiver. It frees the one holding anger and offers hope and the possibility of redemption to the one who fell.
"’Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes the thronèd monarch better than his crown."
True strength is not domination—it's restraint. The more power you have, the more noble and the more necessary it is to show mercy and to be merciful, lest your power corrupt you. To show mercy when you have the power to punish is the greatest form of strength. It is the mark of a wise and noble soul.
"Mercy is above this sceptred sway; It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings."
True Kingship-true greatness- is not in dominion, but rather in choosing compassion when you could choose control. The highest form of strength is restraint. The truest mark of greatness is compassion. The most regal expression of power is mercy.
"It is an attribute to God himself."
God has infinite power—and infinite mercy. When we show mercy, we reflect the divine.
"And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice."
Mercy does not replace justice. It completes it. To be merciful is to acknowledge our shared humanity. It’s not about forgetting or excusing—it’s about rising above. Primitive justice was often about an eye for an eye, punishment, anger, vengeance, and cruelty. True justice, divine justice, is about accountability and responsibility seasoned with compassion, kindness, and love.
🎵 The Songs of Mercy
Shakespeare’s words stirred something in my heart.
“Mercy drops like rain"
Those words echoed in my heart long after I read them—
“Mercy not strained.”
And then I thought… with an open heart .. thats how healing starts…
and then those words led to a songs.
Mercy isn’t just a virtue to understand.
It’s something to feel.
To live.
To sing.
So I wrote this song as an homage to Shakespeare, and to honor mercy in all its colors—The quiet grace, the fierce redemption, the radiant joy.
And because mercy wears many tones, we brought it to life in three versions:
🎤 Pop – Upbeat and celebratory. Mercy as a path to freedom and joy.
☀️ Reggae Pop – Warm and playful. Forgiveness like sunlight.
🔥 Rock/Metal – Raw and powerful. Mercy in the midst of fire.
Forgiveness, Mercy, and Grace
We often use the words forgiveness, mercy, and grace interchangeably.
But they are not the same.
Each has its own power.
Each asks something different of us—and gives something different in return.
Forgiveness
Forgiveness is letting go of resentment, anger or bitterness; regardless of whether the other person has asked for or deserves it.
It is the unbinding and liberation of the self.
Mark Twain said “Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” Forgiveness releases you from ongoing suffering. Forgiveness sets you free.
Buddha taught, “Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” When you forgive, you don’t change the past—you change what it means for you and, in doing so, you change your future for the better.
Mercy
Mercy sees the wrong, acknowledges it fully, but chooses not to retaliate out of anger or vengeance. It chooses restraint and understanding.
It holds someone accountable—but with compassion and even pity, especially when they are sorry, when they are truly contrite. Mercy is seeing the fear, confusion, or brokenness that drove the offender’s wrongdoing. It explains it, does not excuse it, but does offer a path to redemption.
Mercy is an acknowledgment of our shared humanity and perfect imperfection. It allows that errors, mistakes and even substantial wrongdoings must have consequences, but do not condemn the soul nor eliminate the potential for future growth or goodness.
Grace
Grace goes even further. It is not about merit or deserving. Grace is being merciful even when the wrongdoer remains bitter and cannot admit their wrongdoing. It sees the soul behind the wound. The wounded child behind the anger. The pain and anguish behind the cruelty.
Grace sees that there are really only two kinds actions in the world - acts of love and cries for help.
Grace does not ignore the harm. It understands it with clarity. It says: "I will not destroy you for crying out in pain, even if your cry wounded me, even if your cry was destructive. I see you. I see the soul underneath. And I offer love, anyway.”
Grace is not about what we’ve done, no matter how terrible.
It’s about who we still can become.
Grace doesn’t erase the past.
It opens a doorway to a different future.
It’s not about what you deserve based on your actions.
It’s about what your soul is still worthy of.
And giving grace is not about them. It’s about who you are.
Grace is the most divine expression of mercy.
It drops like the gentle rain upon the place beneath,
generously cleansing and healing even those who don’t expect it,
don’t ask for it, and may feel they don’t deserve it—
Grace is a blessing upon you when you give it,
and upon all who receive it,
because it, like gentle rain, nourishes the soul,
repairs what is broken,and allows a beautiful garden of healing to grow.
🌿 5 Powerful Stories of the Power of Mercy
The following five stories—drawn from history, scripture, and the human spirit—help us grasp the true power and blessing of mercy.
Some feature those who were deeply wronged, yet chose to forgive and embrace. Others show those who were forgiven and shown mercy, rising to walk a new path of redemption.
All remind us of this simple, sacred truth:
Mercy doesn’t erase the past—
It transforms what the future can become.
Let these stories stir something inside you.
Let them remind you of the mercy you’ve received.
And inspire you to offer that same mercy to others…
🐾 1. Angulimala and the Buddha – The Mercy, Forgiveness & Grace That Stops and Redeems a Killer
Angulimala was once feared across the land. His name meant “finger garland”—because he had brutally killed 99 people, cutting off a finger from each victim and stringing them into a gruesome necklace around his neck. In his mind twisted with anger, fear and hatred, he believed he needed one more to complete the ritual—100 kills—to fulfill what he thought was his destiny - being the worst and most destructive and feared monster in the land.
And on that day, he saw the Buddha walking calmly down the road.
Angulimala chased him, blade in hand, determined to make him the final kill. But no matter how fast he ran, he could not catch the Buddha—who walked calmly, steadily, without fear.
Finally, gasping, he cried out, “Stop, monk! Stop!”
And the Buddha replied: “I have stopped. It is you who must stop.”
Angulimala didn’t understand. He asked, “Why do you say that you have stopped while I have not?”
Buddha replied, “I say that I have stopped because I have given up killing all beings. I have given up ill-treating or harming all living beings. I have cultivated love and patience through meditation. But you—you have not given up killing or ill-treating others, and you have not cultivated love and patience. Therefore, you are the one who has not stopped.”
These words and more importantly the merciful, graceful loving kindness with which they were delivered, shocked, shifted and penetrated the fog of Angulimala’s mind and calmed his rage. He thought, “This man is wise and brave. He must be the Buddha himself. He must be here just to help me!”
He had been chasing death. Chasing violence. Chasing a path soaked in fear and blood. But for the first time, someone did not run. Someone did not fight. Someone saw him. And loved him anyway.
And in that moment, he stopped.
He fell to his knees. He laid down his weapon. And he asked to become a disciple. From that day forward, Angulimala became a monk—a man of peace.
And yet, his past did not disappear. When he walked through villages, people threw rocks. People attacked him relentlessly. And yet, he bore those injuries silently. He never raised a hand in return. He never responded in anger or rage - the things that had previously ruled his life an driven him to his previous retched state.
Because the grace he had been shown became the grace he lived by.
And eventually people forgave him as well. Because they saw he had renounced the darkness and was truly committed to walking in light and to redeeming himself to the best of his abilities through his actions going forward and through growth and contribution.
He knew he had caused pain.
But he also knew: he had been seen as more than his past. He had been shown mercy and grace. And that opened his heart.
That changed everything.
👣 2. The Prodigal Son – The Embrace of Grace
There was once a man with two sons. One day, the younger son came to him and said:
“Father, give me my share of the inheritance—now.”
It was an insult. A rejection.
In essence, he said: “I wish you were dead. I want what’s mine.”
The father gave it anyway.
The son left home. He squandered the wealth on reckless living—parties, pleasures, people who vanished when the money ran out. He ended up broke, starving, living among pigs—envying their food.
Finally, he said to himself:
“Even my father’s servants have bread.
I’ll go back—not as a son, but as a servant.
I am no longer worthy.”
He rehearsed his apology as he walked home.
But he never got the chance to finish it.
Because while he was still a long way off, his father saw him.
Ran to him.
Embraced him.
He didn’t ask what happened.
He didn’t demand an explanation.
He called for a robe, a ring, a feast.
“My son was dead—and now he is alive.
He was lost—and now he is found.”
That is mercy. That is grace.
Not waiting until someone is “good enough.”
Not punishing them to prove a point.
Not holding them hostage to the pain they caused.
Grace meets us on the road home.
Covers our shame with love.
And restores the soul who was once lost.
🤝 3. Nelson Mandela – Choosing Mercy Over Vengeance
After 27 years in a South African prison, Nelson Mandela finally walked free.
He had been locked away under an oppressive system designed to break the spirit of an entire people. He was called a criminal, denied basic human dignity, and robbed of nearly three decades of his life.
And yet… when he became president of South Africa, he did not call for revenge.
He forgave.
He invited his former jailers to his inauguration.
He shook their hands.
He chose mercy—not because he forgot the pain, but because he refused to become like those who caused it.
“As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom,I knew if I didn’t leave my bitterness and hatred behind,I’d still be in prison.”
As newly elected President, he held the power to punish.
He had the ability to retaliate. Many might even say he had the right to retaliate.
But he chose something greater. He chose instead to forgive, to be merciful—and to lead with grace.
He showed the world that true power is not found in domination, vengeance, or retribution.
True power is in restraint.
In compassion.
In mercy.
The mercy and grace that heal the past, anchor the present, and open the door to a more just and hopeful future for all.
🪨 4. Jesus and the Woman Caught in Adultery – Forgiveness, Mercy and Grace That Defends, Protects and Restores.
She was dragged into the public square—alone, exposed, and ashamed.
A group of men caught her in the act of adultery and threw her before Jesus.
“Teacher,” they said, “the law says we must stone such women to death. What do you say?”
They weren’t just accusing her. They were testing him. It was a trap—they want him to either defy the law or approve the punishment.
Jesus didn’t respond immediately.
He knelt down and began to write in the dust with his finger.
Then he stood and said:
“Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone.”
Silence…
The air grew still. Stones dropped to the ground. One by one, the accusers slipped away.
When it was just Jesus and the woman, he looked at her—not with condemnation, but with compassion.
“Where are they?
Has no one condemned you?”
“No one, sir,” she whispered.
“Then neither do I condemn you.
Go—and sin no more.”
That is mercy. That is grace.
Not denial of wrongdoing.
Not avoidance of accountability.
But a radical embrace of the soul—in the moment they expect to be destroyed.
Mercy says,
“I see what you did. But I also see who you are beneath it.
And I will protect you with love rather than condemn you forever.
Because I know you will go forward in grace,
and choose to be a better version of yourself.”
⚓ 5. Amazing Grace – The Song of a “Wretch" Redeemed
John Newton was a man who had sunk into the darkest depths a soul can reach. In the 1700s, he worked in the transatlantic slave trade—a brutal, dehumanizing system that tore people from their homelands and treated them as property. Newton captained ships that trafficked human lives. He profited from suffering. He oversaw cruelty that broke bodies and spirits.
By every measure, he was a “wretch”.
And yet… something began to stir in him.
One night, in the middle of a violent storm at sea, with death nearly certain, he cried out to God—not out of piety, but out of desperation. And somehow, the ship survived. That moment cracked something open inside him.
He did not change all at once. It took years.
But slowly, over time, he turned away from the slave trade. He came to see it for what it was: evil. Inhuman. He became a minister. He publicly repented. He used his voice to speak against the very system he had once served. His testimony would later help fuel the abolition movement in England.
And then… he wrote a song.
A song not from pride or righteousness, but from sorrow—and from redemption.
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.”
He called himself a wretch—not out of shame, but out of true regret for his state of being.
When he wrote the line “that saved a wretch like me,” he wasn’t saying he didn't deserve saving. He was saying: I was lost. I had done terrible things. I was drowning in my own guilt and regret.
Because he knew what he had done. He knew how lost he had been.And yet, he had been found.
“I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.”
That is grace.
Grace is what allows a soul—no matter how lost—to find the way back.
Not erasing what was done—but opening the door to a different future.
Grace is not a reward for good behavior.
It is the mercy of being given another chance, even when your past screams that you don’t deserve one.
Grace is the light that calls to someone still trapped in fear, anger, addiction, or destruction and says:
“I see what you’ve done. I see what you’ve become.
But I also see what you can be.
And I will love you now, as if that is already true.”
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, That saved a wretch like me…”
This line hits differently when we realize:
We’ve all been wretched at some point and to some extent.
We’ve all been lost. We’ve acted in ways that caused pain even if unintended.
And yet… there is grace. Not just for them. For you. For us all.
We can pity them.
Have mercy on them.
See that their wretched condition is caused by their own blindness and pain.
Grace is the hand that reaches into the dark to save them from the path they’re on.
To save their soul, even if we never excuse their actions.
Separate the soul from the behavior—
but still hold the soul accountable to rise.
Grace doesn’t ask, “What did you do?”
It asks, “What will you do now?”
Mercy and Grace shine the light of God onto the suffering wrongdoer and embrace their soul in spite of the wrongdoing.
Like Buddha with Angulimala.
Like the father with the prodigal son.
Like Mandela with his jailers
Like Jesus stopping the ‘stoning’ of a woman
Like Amazing Grace—a ‘wretch’ working towards redemption
Like any of us, who have ever been lost… and then found.
Forgiveness, mercy, and grace don’t change the past—
They light the way forward.
They open the door to growth, redemption, and peace.
And as Shakespeare wrote, they are twice blessed—
blessing the one who gives,
and the one who receives.
❤️ Mercy in Everyday Life: The Kindness that Keeps Relationships Strong and Alive
Mercy isn’t optional—it’s essential.
It’s not just a lofty ideal or spiritual virtue.
Mercy is the key to life.
Because no one is perfect.
We all make mistakes.
We all say things we regret, fall short, act from fear, or lose ourselves in pain.
Without mercy, relationships collapse.
Without mercy, life becomes a cycle of rejection, punishment, and loneliness.
Mercy is what softens the sharp edges of our humanity.
It’s what keeps love from breaking under the weight of imperfection.
It’s what allows us to stay connected—through the stumbles, through the storms.
In a world that’s often too quick to cancel, condemn, or turn away,
mercy invites us to see deeper—to choose love anyway.
👩❤️👨 Mercy In Intimate/Romantic Relationships
When you truly love someone, you don’t keep score.
You don’t punish them for every mistake.
You recognize that they’re human—flawed, vulnerable, doing the best they can in the moment.
They’ll have bad days.
They’ll say the wrong thing.
They’ll forget to do what they promised.
They’ll react out of fear.
They’ll snap out of exhaustion..
Yes, they’ll mess up.
Yes, they’ll do the wrong thing.
Yes, they’ll forget or fumble or fall short.
But you know their heart. And mercy looks at the heart.
You know this truth - Everything is either an “act of love” or a “cry for help”.
And, if it wasn’t an "act of love”, then it must have been a “cry for help”.
Was this a moment of forgetfulness, not betrayal?
Was it stress, not indifference?
Fear, not rejection?
Were they lost in their own pain and unable to act as their true self?
When there’s no ill intent—just human frailty—
You choose mercy.
If its a minor misstep, you let it slide.
If it matters, you speak up—but gently. With compassion.
You remind them of who they are, not just what they did.
You see the soul behind the stumble.
Rumi said - “If you seek a perfect friend, you will remain friendless.”
We are all perfectly imperfect.
In that imperfection, mercy is the lubricant that keeps love moving.
In a relationship, mercy says,
I’ll always hold you accountable if what you did matters—but I’ll never hold it against you.
👨👧 Mercy In parenting… The Kindness that Shapes a Soul
When children fail (and they will), mercy reminds us that their mistakes are not the end of the world—they're part of their becoming.
Children are not miniature adults.
They are raw, growing, emotional beings, still learning how to live, feel, express, and connect.
They will stumble.
They will cry.
They will test your boundaries, forget your rules, and act from impulse or fear.
It’s not because they’re bad.
It’s because they’re becoming.
When a 3-year-old spills juice, or a teenager slams the door, we don’t crush them.
We guide. We teach.
We set boundaries—but from love, not rage.
Especially when they’re little—we don’t respond to mistakes with fury, punishment and shame. We hold them close. We steady them. We guide them.
We teach, we don’t destroy.
We remind them who they are—not just what they did.
Because mercy in parenting says:
“I will teach you to do better, without making you feel like you are bad.”
“I will correct your behavior, but never confuse it with your worth.”
“I will hold you accountable—but never make you feel unloved.”
Mercy in parenting is knowing this:
Every meltdown is not defiance—sometimes it’s often overwhelm.
Every slammed door is not rebellion—sometimes it’s a cry for understanding.
Every forgotten chore, every bad grade, every harsh word isn’t proof they’re broken—it’s proof they’re human.
We don’t crush them for falling.
We don’t shame them for being imperfect.
We guide. We teach. We hold the line—
But we do it from love, not fury.
Especially in moments of discipline, mercy matters most.
Because the goal isn’t to punish—
It’s to raise a whole, emotionally resilient, morally grounded human being.
Mercy in parenting says:
“I will teach you responsibility, but always from a place of safety and love.”
It’s mercy that allows a child to grow without fear.
To make mistakes without being crushed by shame.
To learn, heal, and become stronger with each lesson.
Mercy doesn’t mean letting everything slide.
It means we guide without shaming.
We discipline without destroying.
We raise our children with strength and softness—
Because what you say to your child in their worst moments...
Becomes the voice they hear inside in their most vulnerable ones.
Let that voice be calm and kind.
Let that voice be clear and loving
Let it be filled - with mercy and grace.
🧑🤝🧑 Mercy in Friendship… The Glue That Holds Us Together
At its best, friendship is one of life’s greatest gifts—
Built on trust, loyalty, laughter, and deep mutual care.It’s where we show up for each other.
Celebrate the highs.
Walk through the lows.
And hold each other through the messy middle.
But even the best friends mess up.
They forget things.
They cancel plans.
They say the wrong thing.
They miss our pain.
They don’t always show up how we hoped they would.
It stings—especially when we expected more.
But mercy reminds us to pause.
To breathe.
To remember that this mistake may not be the whole story.
That a single bad moment doesn't erase a good person.
Because we’ve been that friend, too.
Busy. Distracted.
Struggling behind the scenes.
Sometimes not the best version of ourselves.
And we hoped—maybe even prayed—that someone would give us the benefit of the doubt.
Mercy in friendship doesn’t mean we ignore pain.
Or pretend that patterns of harm are okay.
It means we recognize the difference between a true fracture—and a temporary falter.
Mercy says:
“This isn’t who you are—it’s just a moment that got the better of you.”
“I won’t throw away something good over something small.”
“I’ll speak with you, not about you.”
“I’ll come to you with curiosity, not condemnation.”
That kind of mercy doesn’t lower the standard.
It raises it—by expecting honesty, growth, and reconnection.
It holds space for being human while staying rooted in respect.
Because without mercy, even strong friendships can crack.
Little misunderstandings grow into big resentments.
Distance becomes silence.
Silence becomes goodbye.
But with mercy…
Friendships can weather disappointment.
They can recover from missteps.
They can deepen through the act of forgiveness.
Mercy lets a friend say:
“I know I hurt you. I want to make it right.”
And lets us reply:
“I know your heart. Let’s grow from this.”
Mercy doesn’t erase accountability—
It invites it.
And it makes healing possible.
Real friendship isn’t one-sided. Mercy flows both ways.
It’s not about endlessly excusing someone else’s behavior while neglecting your own needs.
Mutual care, effort, and grace are what make friendship real.
Because mercy is not weakness—it’s strength shared.
The strongest friendships aren’t those that have never been tested—
But those that have weathered storms together.
The ones that bent without breaking.
That stumbled, but stood back up—together.
The ones that chose grace over grudges, conversations over silence, repair over retreat.
Friendships like that don’t just survive—they deepen.
They grow roots.
They become safe harbors in a chaotic world—anchored in honesty, watered by mercy, and sustained by mutual care.
Because true friendship isn’t about perfection.
It’s about choosing each other—again and again—
With honesty, with respect, and with grace.
🧑💼 Mercy at Work… Your Competitive Advantage Is Compassion
Work is where we pursue purpose, growth, achievement—and often, where we find connection, meaning, and respect as well.
Whether it’s a career we love or simply a job that helps us provide, we spend our days alongside other human beings, each with their own stresses, stories, and struggles.
And sometimes... those humans frustrate us.
They miss deadlines.
Interrupt in meetings.
Forget to respond.
Take credit.
Drop the ball.
Say things they shouldn’t—or say nothing when they should’ve.
And it’s easy to become cynical.
To write people off.
To vent behind their backs.
To decide “that’s just how they are.”
t’s tempting to react with resentment.
To label, judge, or stew in in silence
To carry a mental tally of every mistake.
But mercy offers a different lens.
It asks:
What’s beneath the frustration?
What pressure are they under?
What fear or insecurity might be driving that behavior?
Mercy at work doesn’t mean being a doormat.
It doesn’t mean tolerating toxicity or poor performance.
It means separating the person from the problem—
Addressing issues directly and professionally,
While still remembering that everyone is human.
Mercy might sound like:
“I know this wasn’t your best moment. Can we talk about how to do better next time?”
Or:“I’ve been there. Let’s figure out how to move forward together.”
Mercy invites accountability—without cruelty.
It turns tension into trust.
It makes room for honest feedback—without destroying team morale.
It protects both performance and partnership.
Because we’ve all had off days.
We’ve all needed someone to give us the benefit of the doubt.
And when we extend that grace to others,
we don’t just build better teams—
we build workplaces where people feel can truly succeed together.
🚗 Mercy for Strangers… The Grace That Ripples
We share this world with billions of souls—each carrying unseen burdens, dreams, and struggles.
And every day, we brush past some of them.
On the road.
At the grocery store.
In airports, lines, sidewalks, elevators.
They cut us off.
They interrupt.
They get our order wrong.
They seem rude, rushed, careless, or completely unaware of how they’re impacting others.
It’s easy to get irritated.
To roll our eyes.
To snap.
To assume the worst.
But mercy invites something better.
It whispers: Pause. Breathe. Soften.
Offer kindness—not because they earned it… but because you choose peace.
Maybe they’re grieving.
Maybe they just got terrible news.
Maybe they’re lost in anxiety, panic, or heartbreak.
Maybe… they are selfish.
But even selfishness is often the armor worn by someone who was once wounded, neglected, or unloved.
And those wounds—though hidden—shape behavior far more than we know.
You don’t have to excuse bad behavior.
But you can choose not to mirror it.
You can choose mercy because of who you are.
Let them merge.
Let it go.
Say “no worries” instead of snapping.
Take a breath instead of taking offense.
Because every act of mercy is a ripple.
A moment that touches a stranger… and maybe softens their day.
And if enough of us live that way—something shifts.
Science shows that kindness is contagious.
So is frustration. So is rage.
You get to choose what you welcome into your heart and what you choose to pass onward.
Mercy for strangers doesn’t just make their day better—
It makes your heart lighter.
It helps you live in peace, even in a world that often isn’t.
You may never know what they’re going through.
But you’ll know who you chose to be.
💫 Mercy for Yourself
Perhaps the most important mercy of all is the one we so often withhold:
Mercy toward ourselves.
You are human, too.
You will forget, fall, and get it wrong.
And if you carry guilt like armor, you will never feel light enough to grow.
Forgiveness, mercy and grace are not just for others. It is for you.
Let go of the self-condemnation.
You can still be responsible without being cruel to yourself.
“Show yourself the mercy you’d offer to someone you love.”
Growth doesn’t come from punishment—it comes from kindness, accountability, and compassion. So remember to be merciful towards yourself.
🔥 There Are No Justified Resentments
We often believe we’re justified in our anger.
That we deserve to hold onto resentment.
That someone’s betrayal gives us the right to feel bitter… maybe even the right to strike back.
“They made their bed, now let them lie in it.”
“They had it coming."
“They need to feel what they put me through.”
This way of thinking may feel fair.
But it’s not freeing. It’s not healing.
And in the end, it poisons us more than it punishes them.
There’s an old Chinese proverb that says:
“If you're going to pursue revenge, you’d better dig two graves.”
Resentment, anger, and the desire for retribution are low energies.
They may burn bright—but they burn you first.
🙏 Justice Seasoned by Mercy
This doesn’t mean abandoning accountability.
It doesn’t mean there should be no consequences.
Justice matters. Responsibility matters.
But if justice becomes vengeance, if we take joy in the pain of those we call wrongdoers, we become like that which we hate.
Mercy must season justice, must temper it with restraint.
We can hold people responsible without hating them.
We can protect ourselves without poisoning ourselves.
🕊️ The Peace of “No Enmity”
In the Yoga Sutras, Patanjali teaches that when a person is firmly established in Ahimsa—nonviolence in thought, word, and action—even wild animals become calm in their presence.
“In the presence of one firmly established in nonviolence, all hostility ceases.”(Yoga Sutras II.35)
This is not metaphor. It is deep spiritual truth.
The goal is not to win battles, or to prove others wrong.The goal is to become so rooted in love, compassion, and non-violence even in your thoughts and feelings… that you carry peace with you wherever you go.
That is what it means to live where there is no justified enmity.
That is the fruit of forgiveness, mercy, and grace.
💡 Mercy in Action – 6 Simple Reminders
1. Pause before reacting.
Ask yourself:
“Is this really about me—or are they just tired, stressed, overwhelmed, or hurting?”
Most missteps aren’t personal. They’re symptoms of someone else’s struggle.
Mercy knows: Everyone’s doing the best they can with the tools they have in that moment.
That doesn’t excuse the behavior—but it can help you respond with wisdom, not wrath.
2. Assume positive intent—first.
Even when someone does something that stings, begin with trust.
“This doesn’t match who I know them to be. Maybe there’s more to the story.”
This isn’t being naïve—it’s leading with love.
You can always adjust later, but mercy begins by giving people the benefit of the doubt.
3. Forgive quickly when it’s small—and speak up wisely when it’s not.
Most things aren’t worth keeping score over.
If it was an aberration, and they’re sorry—let it go.
Mercy falls like rain. It cleans the slate.
Don’t let small wounds fester into deep scars.
And if the hurt runs deeper: forgive, but don’t forget.
Require change. Require repair.
Mercy isn’t about letting people keep hurting you—it’s about giving them the chance to do better.
If the wound repeats—don’t allow it.
Mercy without boundaries isn’t kindness. It’s self-neglect.
4. Speak the truth—but only if it passes through three doors.
Is it true?
Is it necessary?
Is it kind?
If not, wait. Reframe. Or release it.
Mercy doesn’t mean silence. But it means speaking with grace—not just honesty, but helpful, kind, purposeful honesty.
5. Mercy is strength. Practicing it daily makes you powerful.
It’s not weakness to forgive.
It’s not foolish to choose grace.
Mercy frees your heart from resentment, anchors your spirit in peace, and empowers you to lead with love—again and again.
Because mercy, practiced daily, becomes not just something you do…
It becomes who you are.
6. Let People Be New — Let Them Move Forward and Grow
If someone owns their mistake and shows they want to do better, let them.
Don’t trap them in a past they’ve outgrown.
Don’t punish them forever for a moment they regret.
Mercy says:
“I see your remorse—and I believe in your redemption.”
This is the lesson at the heart of Les Misérables.
Jean Valjean stole a loaf of bread to save his starving family.
He paid with 19 years in prison—and when he was finally released, he was still punished by a society that refused to let him move on.
Everywhere he went, he was branded as convict 24601.
Doors were slammed. Opportunities denied.
He was judged, feared, and rejected—not for who he was, but for who he had been.
But when a kind bishop showed him mercy—when he was seen not as a criminal, but as a soul worthy of grace—it changed everything.
Valjean chose a new path. He became honest, kind, generous—a protector of the vulnerable.
Not because someone excused his past… but because someone believed in his future.
All because someone let him be new.
People do grow.
They do change.
And mercy gives them room to do so.
To hold someone in their worst moment forever is to deny their capacity to become more.
Mercy doesn’t pretend the past didn’t happen—
It believes that the future can be different.
Mercy doesn’t erase what was. It opens the door to what could be.
Let people grow.
Let them heal.
Let them begin again.
🌿 The Mercy Practice: From Understanding to Freedom
A healing reflection for those ready to see with new eyes.
🔔 Before You Begin: A Gentle Word of Care
This practice is a path to peace—but like all paths, it must begin from where you are.
If you are holding on to a smaller hurt—a betrayal, misunderstanding, or the sting of someone who let you down—this practice may help you release that weight, offer mercy, and walk lighter.
But if you are carrying the burden of a deep wound, the kind that leaves lasting scars—especially if someone harmed you in a serious or traumatic way—please proceed with great care.
Mercy is never meant to override safety.
Forgiveness is never meant to bypass your healing.
***If you are working with a therapist, counselor, or healthcare professional, consider sharing this practice with them and exploring it together—especially if the hurt runs deep or brings up overwhelming emotions.
You don’t need to do this alone. And you don’t need to rush.
You are not weak for needing support.
You are wise.
Start where you are. Let the gentle moments of mercy begin with yourself.
✨ What Mercy Is (and Is Not)
Mercy is not saying “what they did was okay.”
It is not excusing, forgetting, or pretending.
Mercy is this:
Choosing not to destroy when you feel like you have every reason to.
Seeing the pain that drove the act that hurt you.
And deciding to open to and act from love and who you are inside - instead of anger, pain or vengeance.
It’s above justice. As Shakespeare said, it is "mightiest in the mightiest”—finding your godliness within.
💔 The Truth: Most Harmful Acts Are Done by People in Pain, Fear, or Blindness
Most of what people do to us… isn’t really about us.
It’s about them.
Their wounds.
Their fears.
Their unmet needs.
Their inability to cope, to love, or to act from clarity and strength.
This does not excuse or justify their actions.
But it may help explain them.
It feels personal—deeply.
But often, it’s not.
And when we understand that, even slightly, we begin to reclaim our peace.
We stop blaming ourselves.
We stop internalizing their chaos.
And sometimes—we even find room for pity, or compassion,
For those so lost in their own suffering that they could only cause more.
Most people don’t hurt others from evil—they hurt others from wounds they never healed…from fears they never faced…
from stories they believed that told them they weren’t enough.
from needs they never learned how to meet in healthy ways.
Imagine this:
A person cheats—
not because they’re evil—but because they feel invisible, unloved, or insignificant.
They’ve never learned to value themselves, others, or their word.
They’re chasing a moment of feeling alive or desirable, hoping to fill a deep emptiness they don’t understand.
Yes, hold them accountable.
Yes, set boundaries and enforce them.
But punishing yourself with bitterness, anger, or vengeance?
That only deepens your own pain.
A gang member holds a gun—
not from power, but from fear.
Desperate to feel in control in a life that’s spun wildly beyond it.
Taught that violence means safety, that respect means fear, that love is a weakness.
They aren’t just reacting to this moment—they’re carrying lifetimes of trauma.
A father who abandons his child—
Not because he doesn’t care, but because he believes he’s failed.
Because he’s so afraid he’ll never measure up.
Because he tells himself the lie, “They’ll be better off without me.”
Because he tells himself the lie that “he doesn’t care” because, in the moment, his mind believes it to help him escape from his pain.
And in his cowardice, in his misguided attempt to protect, or just to escape,
he causes the very pain he hoped to spare his children from.
It’s tragic.
It’s damaging.
It’s not okay.
But it is—on some level—understandable.
Addictions. Betrayals. Violence. Abandonment. Rage.
They’re often cries for help in a language of destruction.
Understanding this truth doesn’t mean we forget what someone did.
It doesn’t mean we let them back in.
It doesn’t mean they go unaccountable.
It doesn’t mean they should escape responsibility.
But it might mean we can finally stop carrying the poison of resentment.
It might mean we can stop re-living the pain again and again in our minds.
It might mean we can soften—not toward them, but toward ourselves.
Because when we understand where the pain came from…
Sometimes, just sometimes…
We can finally let go.
🌪️ A Grounded Reminder
If you had lived their life,
with their fears, their parents, their wounds,
if you had felt what they feel and believed what they believe…
You would have done the same as they did.
That doesn’t make it right.
It doesn’t remove their responsibility.
But it does make it more understandable.
The Bible teaches:
“Forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
This is mercy:
Not saying what they did is okay—but seeing that they were not okay when they did it.
Sometimes, we are on the receiving end of someone else’s unhealed story.
We didn’t cause it.
We didn’t deserve it.
But we were impacted by it.
Still, how we choose to move forward—that part is ours.
That’s where our power begins.
“Hurt people” often hurt people.
“Wounded people” often wound people.
But healed people?
They stop the cycle.
They choose to live with peace, not poison.
They grow strong enough to feel without being consumed.
To let go—not for the other person—but for their own freedom.
Forgiveness, mercy, and grace don’t erase the past— They heal your future.
They let you lay down burdens that were never meant to be yours.
So you can rise—not defined by past pains,
But grounded in your truth.
Rooted in self-respect and compassion.
Steady in your strength.
Open to joy.
And ready to walk forward—clear-eyed, whole-hearted, and truly free.
🌿 The Mercy Practice: Seeing Through Eyes of Compassion & Understanding
Only begin this practice if you feel safe, calm, and strong.
If not, that’s okay.
Start with gentler work—gratitude, breath, grounding.
You can always return when you feel ready.
Please read the instructions completely first, so you understand the practice before doing it.
Step 1: Anchor in Your Own Strength
Sit quietly. Breathe deeply.
Place a hand on your heart—or anywhere you feel strength and peace.
Feel your breath.
Feel your body holding you.
You are safe. You are here. You are powerful.
Now, call to mind a moment when you felt proud of yourself.
A time you showed courage. Or resilience. Or deep love.
See yourself in that moment.
Hold it clearly. Own that strength.
Now take it one step further:
See yourself as a superhero.
Powerful. Calm.
Surrounded by a shield of light that protects you—physically, emotionally, spiritually.Nothing can harm you here.
You have wisdom. You have power.
You are strong enough to look at pain without being pulled back into it.
Step 2: Bring to Mind a Manageable Wound
Gently now… bring to mind a time when someone hurt you.
Not the deepest wound—not yet.
Just something painful, but within your reach.
Something you can hold without being overwhelmed.
Honor your pace. This is not about re-living trauma.
It’s about seeing something that once stung… from a new, empowered place.
You can always return to this practice later and vanquish other pains.
With each successful journey, your capacity to understand, release, and rise will grow.
Step 3: See the Wound Through a Wider Lens
Now, picture the person who caused the pain—not as they are now, but as they once were:A child.
Confused. Small. Lost.
Or see them older—worn down, hollow-eyed, desperate.
Someone carrying more pain than they ever knew how to process.
Someone acting from fear, not clarity.
Ask yourself with genuine curiosity:
What fear were they carrying that made them act that way?
What kind of wound had never healed in them?
What lies had they come to believe about life, love, power, or themselves?
What traumas twisted their judgment?
What were they so afraid of losing—or never getting—that they lashed out?
Imagine their day-to-day life.
The stress, shame, isolation, or insecurity they may have felt.
The pressure they never knew how to name.
The deep need for control, approval, or safety that shaped their worst actions.
This is not to excuse.
It is to understand.
Because when you see their brokenness, their fear, their fragility—
You may even come to pity them.
You may also find that the pain of the past begins to loosen its grip.
You don’t have to forget what happened.
You don’t have to pretend it didn’t matter.
But you also don’t have to carry it anymore.
Now, speak these words aloud—or write them:
“I see, hear, feel and know now,
The actions that cause pain were not born from power, but from pain.
Not from evil, but from blindness.
Not from malice, but from fear.”
“This does not excuse those actions—they were wrong.
But I release the pain—because I will not carry it any longer."
"I choose to let go—for my sake, and for all those whose lives my healing will bless.
I choose mercy.
I choose peace.
I choose the freedom that is my birthright—
The freedom to be whole,
To be unburdened,
To live and love fully."
Sit with that. Breathe. Let it land.
Feel the weight leave your body.
Feel your heart open to something greater.
You’ve just done something few ever do:
You’ve chosen healing where others choose bitterness.
You’ve chosen your future over your past.
You’ve chosen strength through understanding and release.
Come back to this practice as often as you need.
Each time, start where you are.
Go gently. Go bravely. Go with love.
Because every time you choose understanding over resentment,
You choose wholeness.
You choose wisdom.
You choose mercy—not just for others…
But for yourself.
For those you love.
And for a world that is quietly changed
By the light you bring to it each day.
🌦️ Final Reflection
As Shakespeare wrote,
“Mercy is an attribute to God himself.”
And truly, who doesn’t want to feel and reflect more of the divine in themselves?
"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy."– Matthew 5:7
Think of those in your life you can be merciful toward—today and every day.
Commit to welcoming and living with more forgiveness, mercy and grace—
for yourself, your family, your partner, your children, your friends,your coworkers, your neighbors, and even strangers—
because like you, they’re carrying battles no one else can see.
Remember:
Most of what people do isn’t personal.
So don’t take it personally.
And even when it is personal—mercy is above the sceptered sway and so are you.
Choose mercy and grace not because they deserve it…
but because it’s who you are.
🌟 Share the Mercy. Spread the Light.
If this touched your heart—pass it on.
Mercy grows when it’s shared.
One act of understanding can ripple outward—healing relationships, softening hearts, and reminding someone they’re not alone.
Sometimes the right words at the right time can change everything.
If this page helped you…
If you believe it could help someone you love…
Share it.
Send it.
Let it be a gift.
You never know who needs to read these words today.
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