Mercy

I live in the town of Mercy. We are a small rural community of lovely cottages and home run country stores. We live our lives based on three principles: love God, love each other, love the land. As a part of our lifestyle we hold worship services every evening. While some might think this silly or strange, we are in comparison to some surrounding towns, people of genuine love… for one another and our God. However, our beloved town is also subject to an ancient curse…one very few speak of as it plagues the mind and heart. It confuses one to the point of thinking oneself to be separated from their own God. This plague is doubt and there are only two options when it visits a person: they either leave town or they commit to a night of struggles.

My husband and I have both lived in the town of mercy since we were babes and our hearts beat for the people of this town. Our town elders have presented us many a time as the example for what the young adults of our town should look like. We are held to a higher standard, but we’ve never minded…until last week that is. I woke up last Monday night stricken with the most acute sense of fear that I have ever experienced. My heart was pounding. My face flushed. I turned to my sleeping husband and said, “honey, it’s happened.” “What?” he said. “Doubt.” The curse had come for me. He rushed me in my night gown and slippers to the town elders. I told them how I was feeling… the fear, the confusion, the panic. After a few moments of deliberation, the chief elder turned from the group, stared intently at me and said: “My dear, the choice is yours. You have two options. Leave. Give up this life or embark on a great journey….the night of struggles.” I pondered. Everything that I love is here. Everything that I have is because of mercy. I decided to fight.

The chief elder sent us back home with direct orders to rest as the next night would be the most difficult of my life. I slept hard on our clean, white sheets and woke up the next morning with dread for I knew within a few short hours, I would face a great battle. My husband stayed home with me and helped me with my house chores. When all was done that could be done, we sat by the fire holding hands…waiting. As the sun went down, we heard a rustling outside the door. My husband answered, but found nothing, but a note. It said, “The enemy will knock thrice. Do not answer. Light a candle in the window when the struggle has passed and the elders will come.” I felt terror rip through my heart like a knife. An anxious hour passed before we heard it.

Knock, knock, knock.

My husband and I stood in front of the door holding each other…frozen in fear and sheer ignorance as to how to respond. Panicked, I cried: “Hello.” “Hello?” cried an old woman. She’d heard about my curse and had come to bring me sweets and breads to comfort me. My husband reached for the latch on the door as I cried, “No.” We had to be careful. The elders said not to answer. “Ma’am, we appreciate your kindness, but we will not be welcoming any visitors tonight.” We could hear the old crone’s steps as she left our front porch. I put my ear to the door to make sure she was gone when I heard the woman say in eerily hushed tones: “We will see.” Another hour passed as my husband and I sat by the fire. I couldn’t help but think to myself that if the whole night of struggles went like our first encounter we’d have it made in the shade. The moment this thought passed through my mind, we heard

Knock, Knock, Knock.

It was gentle this time. My husband and I crept over again as he cried “Hello?” “Hello?” answered a small voice, that sounded as though it shivered in the cold. My heart immediately yearned to help the child and as I reached for the latch, my husband called “What do you want, child?” The child was freezing and wanted nothing more than to warm itself by our fireplace. I could barely control myself and was unlatching the door when my husband caught my hand. He called again to the child “Why do you think we have a fireplace, child?” The child’s tone turned suddenly sinister as it cried “because I’ve been watching….watching her.” My husband turned to me with eyes that for the first time showed the same dread I’d been experiencing for the past 24 hours. Hysteria welled up inside me as I heard “she won’t make it through the night.” My husband began banging on our side of the door. “GET OUT OF HERE YOU DEMON! GO!” But the child detailed how he could help me…how if we would just let him inside, he’d make all my troubles disappear. “Don’t you want a little boy? Haven’t you always wanted a child?” He wasn’t wrong, but I knew he spoke lies. “YOUR WORDS MEANING NOTHING TO ME. GO.” We listened intently as the child turned and left our porch.

The final and most grueling of the hours passed both slow and fast all at the same time. Then the still night was burst open with the loudest sounds I’ve ever heard:

KNOCK,KNOCK, KNOCK,KNOCK,KNOCK.

It did not stop at three this time, but went on and one for what felt like a life time. My husband and I were cowering on the ground covering our ears when it finally stopped. We inched our way to the door holding each others’ hand tightly when I heard:

“Honey?... my love, you have to open the door. He’s been inside with you this whole time.”

I rushed to the opposite side of the room. The man I thought was my husband stood staring, transfixed as if he were trying to see through the wooden fixture to the other side.

“Honey, open the door.”

My husband turned to me with tear-filled eyes. I stared back already feeling guilty for even momentarily questioning him. “What should I do?” “What does the note say?” he replies despondently. “Don’t answer.”

We wait again in the quiet. Then the most horrifying voice called from the other side: “I can give you everything.” The voice was a mixture of pleasure and pain…the sound of enticement intertwined with regret. “Why? Why would you want to help me?” I called. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m happy to help you….if you are willing to help me. Just open the door and come with me. Leave Mercy behind. We’ll walk through the town square hand in hand and just go. All the people that require so much from you…they’ll see. You’ll show them, won’t you?”

I thought about all of the times we’d had to give up our lives to worship, all the standards the elders required us to set, all the days where I asked myself why the chief was so much harder on us than everyone else.

“No.”

I don’t remember much that happened after the third struggle. My husband said he immediately lit the candle and then I spent the rest of the night sitting in the corner rocking back and forth on my honches, but I have no recollection of it. The elders arrived at day break. My husband told me the chief elder himself picked me up and carried me out of our house and to the town doctor. Everything spun around me as I tried to forget, to lose myself for a bit. But as the chief elder walked through the square with me in his arms, he whispered to me: “You fought a good fight, beloved. Thank you for holding on,” and that I’ll never be able to forget.

I didn’t give up on Mercy because it never gives up on me.