09/24/2026
This morning, as I sit with the Lord, I find myself coming back to two words I have preached, sung, and prayed for years—and still do not fully know: grace and mercy.
I know them well enough to define them. Mercy is God not giving me what I deserve. Grace is God giving me what I could never earn. One withholds the blow. The other opens the hand. They are not the same, and yet I cannot think of one without the other. They are how God has loved me. They are how He is still loving me today.
Mercy found me first
If I am honest, mercy is where my story begins every morning.
I woke up again. I was not handed the full weight of yesterday’s words, yesterday’s impatience, yesterday’s half-hearted prayers. Psalm 103 is not poetry to me this morning. It is a description of my life:
“The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. He will not always chide, nor will He keep His anger forever. He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities… as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us.” (Psalm 103:8–12)
He has not dealt with me according to my sins. That sentence alone could keep me on my knees.
His mercies are new this morning—not recycled from last week, not stretched thin from last night. New (Lamentations 3:22–23). When I was dead in my trespasses, it was not my resolve that raised me. It was His rich mercy that made me alive with Christ (Ephesians 2:4–5). And that mercy did not depend on how well I performed. It never has. “It depends not on human will or exertion, but on God, who has mercy” (Romans 9:16).
So this morning I am not standing before Him as a man who finally got it together. I am a man who was spared.
Then grace did what mercy alone could not
Mercy kept the judgment from crushing me. Grace went further. Grace gave.
I did not climb my way into salvation. I was carried.
“For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.” (Ephesians 2:8–9)
I fall short. I know that in my bones. And still I am justified by His grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus (Romans 3:23–24). Grace came to me in a Person. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us… full of grace and truth… For from His fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. For the Law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ” (John 1:14, 16–17).
And this grace is not a passive pardon that leaves me as I was. It trains me. It teaches me to say no to what used to own me and yes to a life that looks like Jesus (Titus 2:11–14). Sin does not get the last word over a man who lives under grace (Romans 6:14). I forget that. I live some days as if I were still on the clock, still trying to earn the smile I have already been given. This morning I am reminding my own heart: I am not under Law. I am under grace.
I need both when I come to Him
I do not come to a cold bench. I come to a throne—and the writer of Hebrews tells me what kind:
“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” (Hebrews 4:16)
Mercy for the wound. Grace for the walk. Mercy for what I have done. Grace for what I must do next. I need both before I preach, before I pastor, before I walk back into my home. I need both when I have been faithful and when I have not. Mercy triumphs over judgment (James 2:13)—not because judgment was imaginary, but because Jesus bore it. That is why I can come with confidence instead of excuses.
And if this is how He has treated me…
Then I cannot keep it. Not if I have actually received it.
“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.” (Matthew 5:7)
This morning that verse searches me. Have I been shown a kindness I refuse to show? Have I been forgiven a debt I still collect from others? Has grace washed over me while I stand dry-eyed over someone else’s failure?
If God has not dealt with me according to my sins, I have no right to deal with my brother, my sister, my family, according to theirs.
So I am asking the Lord, quietly, before the day gets loud:
• Where am I still demanding payment from people You have already released?
• Where have I received grace and then rationed it?
• Where do I need to come again—empty-handed—to the throne, and ask for mercy and grace for this morning?
I do not write this as a man who has mastered these gifts. I write as a man who is living on them. Again today. Still today.
If you are reading this and you feel the weight of what you deserve, come. The throne is still a throne of grace. His mercy is still new. His gift is still free. And the same Jesus who is full of grace and truth is not weary of you.
Come receive. Then go give what you did not earn.
Father, this morning I thank You that You have not dealt with me according to my sins. Thank You for mercy that withheld the blow, and grace that placed in my hands a life I could never have purchased. I draw near again—not because I am worthy, but because You are kind. Make me merciful as You have been merciful. Make me gracious as You have been gracious. And when I fail before the sun goes down, meet me again with both gifts. In the name of Jesus. Amen.
