Why didn’t I think to call it mercy? Twenty-five years ago tomorrow, I gave birth to a miracle. In November 1993 I had nearly been killed in an interstate collision with an eighteen-wheeler. I was eight months pregnant with Molly at the time. Rushed to FGH in a jet helicopter, I was stabilized and released from the hospital after four days. I carried to term, giving birth on December 15, 1993. For years I struggled to explain our close to scar-free survival. As a Christian, I know luck should only enter my vocabulary when discussing a situation resembling a role of the dice, but I often mutely nodded when others said, “How fortunate.” I preferred the word blessed, ignorant to just how presumptuous I seemed – deaf to the sound that makes in the ears of one whose outcome appears far less than anointed with goodness. Ignorant, until now.

Mercy finds itself with a look-up popularity in the top 20%, according to Webster’s, maybe because people generally know what it means but don’t know what it looks like. In the Old Testament, the Hebrew word used is from a root meaning womb. In modern usage, we mostly agree that mercy means compassionate treatment of one in distress. Just how it is delivered is often debated. We stamp the label easily on miraculous deliverance from a near-deadly road accident. What about the microscopically small breakdown of cells leading to a stage IV diagnosis and eventual death? I’m not sure I’m ready to call it mercy.

A few words are sharp enough to cut both ways, describing survival of one child and death by cancer of the second. When we peel the layers of meaning to the essence, we find mercy shown is really mercy given. A gift.  And that gift forges an unbreakable connection between giver and recipient without regard to the package or delivery method. Why shouldn’t we experience God’s compassion through a broken heart? Oswald Chamber’s writes, “Through those doorways God is opening up ways of fellowship with His Son. Most of us collapse at the first grip of pain. We sit down at the door of God’s purpose and enter a slow death through self-pity. And all the so-called Christian sympathy of others helps us to our deathbed. But God will not. He comes with the grip of the pierced hand of His Son, as if to say, ‘Enter into fellowship with Me; arise and shine.’”

December brings many gifts. One is the birthday of an incredible miracle in my life, my daughter Molly. This year the celebration is muted. We’ll move forward with the party all the while missing her sister. But we smile – through tears – knowing we’ve been gripped each step of a difficult journey. And there are other presents, too. The fellowship of family returning home. The first rays of light announcing a fresh start. The flood of gratitude filling empty spaces causing vessels to overflow. And the greatest gift. God placing Himself in a womb and deciding to call it mercy.

Happy Birthday.