By Kristen Entwistle

If you haven’t figured it out by now, it’s almost over.  Summer, that is.  Yup. Hate to burst your bubble, but it is.

It’s been a weird summer for me.  It’s not at all what I was expecting.  It wasn’t spent with who I thought it would be spent with.  I didn’t do anything exciting or particularly relaxing.  In fact, I’ve probably worked more this summer than ever before.  I’ve written more this summer than ever before.  I’ve felt more alone this summer than ever before.  And through it all, God has( re)taught me so much.  None of it easy, but taught nonetheless.

Just like every other summer, there have been weddings.

Just like every other summer, there have been babies born.

Just like every other summer, there has been loss.

Just like every other summer, there has been change.

Change.  Not exactly my favorite word. I generally like things to stay the same, to a point.  I like my comfort zone.  I expected this summer to be different.  I expected to spend it with different people.  I expected to get more work done.  I expected to be able to spend more time doing other things.  I expected it to be normal.  I didn’t expect it to change me. 

But pushing me out of my comfort zone and challenging my expectations seems to be God’s calling on my life.  And yet I still struggle with my own desires, my own plans for my life.  I seem to think that if I make the perfect plan, God will see that it’s perfect and it’ll all work out.  But never are my plans perfect.  Never are they superior to His.

God’s been (re)teaching me that His plans are better than my own.  Never did I expect to find and become a part of a ministry team (within the span of about 72 hours!) that can encourage hundreds of people in Christ.  Never did I expect to write my own Bible study – and let other people read it, and maybe even publish it.

God’s been (re)teaching me that He can use me much more outside of my comfort zone where I must depend on Him.  Never did I expect to be leading worship from the piano on Sunday mornings.  Never did I expect the songs I sing to touch people’s lives.  Never did I expect the words I write to be encouraging to someone else.  Never did I expect God to use me as He has.

God’s been (re)teaching me that I need other people, that I can’t hope to walk this road alone.  Never did I expect to be so alone in a crowded room, to be so invisible.  Never did I expect to be physically alone.  And yet through it God has taught me that I must let people into my life, into my struggles.  I can’t do it all alone.  Even when I have been hurt, rejected, beaten down, and struggling with more things that even I know, I have to continue to let people love me, help me, lift me up in prayer.  That’s hard for me.  To let people in, to let them see – I definitely identify a little bit with Elsa from Frozen there.  (Now you’re singing it – admit it…Let it go, let it go…).  Sorry – rabbit trail.  But it’s hard for me to let people into my life, knowing that they could hurt me, that I could hurt them.  But we have been called, like Paul and Silas and Timothy, to not only share the Gospel, but our lives as well.  And that means letting people in.  That means letting them know that you’re not perfect.  That you struggle with things too.

God’s been (re)teaching me these things, and more, and He’s been changing me.  I’m not the same person I was three months ago – still the same messed-up person, still the same struggling soul, still the same overextended grad student – but I’ve changed for the better.   I’m not the same because I’ve been through more.  I’ve learned more.  I’ve lived more.  If I’d gone through this summer and hadn’t been changed at all, I wouldn’t have learned anything.  Through the change – over a lifetime, and over a summer – we get to see God do something extraordinary with ordinary people.  There will still be weddings, and babies and loss.

And there will always be change.  That much is certain.  The question is, will you let it change you for the better?

By Kristen Entwistle

There are days, more often than not, when I find this hard to believe.  I have never been the girl that turned the guys’ heads.  I have never been the prettiest girl in the room, the skinniest girl in the room, the smartest girl in the room, the only one someone sees.    Most of the time I just feel like I’m invisible.

I know that it’s not about outward beauty.  I know that inside, outside, backwards and forwards.

I know that I am a child of God and I am beautiful in His eyes.  I know that right side up, upside down, and sideways.

But we live in a world where to be single means that there is something wrong with you.  What is it that people don’t like about you?  What’s wrong with you?  The girl with the foot fungus and hipster glasses is married – why aren’t you?  Are people scared away by your disease?  You do know you’re not going to stay young forever, right?  Do you want a family?  Why aren’t you good enough for anyone?

We live in a world where to be accepted you have to be beautiful, skinny, athletic, popular, genius – or at least two of the above.  We live in a culture that encourages girls to dress in the least amount of clothing possible and to be as skinny as possible.  We live in a world that worships outer beauty, and if you’re not beautiful or pretty or even average, you’re not good enough and you’re not worth it.

I have believed these lies for many, many years.  Some days it’s easier to suppress them than others.  But they never go away completely.  It’s something I’ll be fighting my entire life, something I’ll be praying for deliverance from every day.  There’s no fix for it, only the will to keep reminding myself of this truth: I am His, I am a daughter of the King.  And nothing can take that away.

Not poor health.  Not the lies of this world.  Not even Satan himself.

So I’ll stand, with arms high and heart abandoned, to Him who chose me, who died for me, who sees me as beautiful even when I do not.

By Kristen Entwistle

I’m to that point in the summer that I feel like I need a vacation.  Perhaps to somewhere like this:

Or this:

Or this:

Or here:

Pretty much anywhere but here:

But what I realized today is that I don’t need a vacation from a place, although I probably do. What I really need is a vacation from real life.  I need a time where I don’t have to worry about the medications and treatments, the doctor’s visits and the pulmonary function tests and the bloodwork; when I don’t have to worry about where I have to be when and all of the things that I have to get done; when I don’t have to think about the people hurting all around me, the scars and hurt in my own life – is there a vacation spot for that?

… No?  I didn’t think so.

The closest I’ve been able to come lately is through Bible study every morning, songs of truth flowing through my headphones and speakers throughout the day, writing devotionals for our women’s group, and praise team.  I still have to take all those medications and do all those treatments.  I still have doctor’s visits and pulmonary function tests and bloodwork.  I still have to be places on time, my schedule is still full.  My heart is still aching for those around me who are struggling and hurting.  The scars are still healing, the hurt is still there.  Real life doesn’t go away, but I do get a glimpse of what true rest is in Christ.

True rest is a peace that passes all understanding.

True rest is joy even in the toughest of circumstances.

True rest is knowing that the grace of Christ is a gift that I don’t deserve.

True rest is knowing and believing that I belong to the God of the Universe, and trusting Him no matter what.

True rest is knowing that He will carry us when we can’t take one more step.

True rest is hope.

I’m not going to get a vacation – from here (at least for a while), or from real life.  Life doesn’t stop, whether I want it to or not.  Things still happen that we don’t understand.  The dishes still have to be done.  The treatments still have to be done too.  But we can find true rest in the arms of our Father – arms that are reaching down to us, leading us and guiding us, comforting us and strengthening us.  We were not promised an easy life here on Earth, but we were promised that He will never, ever leave us.  Every step of the way, He will be there.  He has been there from before the beginning, and knows all that will happen in the days to come.  Trust in Him.

Find your true rest in Him.  You’ll probably still need a vacation, though.

By Kristen Entwistle

Dear Dad,

Twenty four years ago, you became a father.  When you and Mom signed up for this crazy thing called parenting, you had no idea what you were getting yourselves into.  Really, though – you had no idea.  I’m sure that you were scared to be holding a little life in your hands, worried that you wouldn’t be a good dad, that your child wouldn’t turn out okay, that your child would get hurt physically and emotionally.  Three months after you became a father, you held me in your arms and faced the unknown of a diagnosis of a terminal illness.  I can’t imagine what thoughts went through your head, how many sleepless nights you and Mom had wondering why this happened to your little girl.  I can’t imagine what it was like to hear that your child had a life expectancy less than your own age that day.

Three years and one week after you became a father for the first time, you became a father again to another beautiful little girl.  I’m sure you had some of the same fears but the best news was probably that she was healthy.  I can imagine the relief and the joy that that news brought.  You probably still worried that your second little girl would get hurt someday.  I’m sure you still worry about that – actually I know you do.

Almost six years after you became a father for the first time, you became a father again to your son.  Again, the relief and joy when he was pronounced healthy and whole.  This time, different fears and worries and hopes – that you would together with Mom raise a son that you would be proud to have carry on the family name someday.

Over the years, I know the three of us kids have nearly given you heart attacks when we’ve jumped from trees and swingsets and broken arms playing soccer and needed stitches after playing with a tape measure at your office and needed stitches after falling in the street.  I know we’ve made you angry and you’ve probably wondered at times why you signed up for parenting.  I know we’ve disappointed you when we’ve made the wrong choices.  I know that your heart has broken with ours when our circumstances aren’t what we hoped.

Over the years, I’ve seen you have a passion for people in Poland and I’ve seen God use you in amazing ways to bring glory to Him there.  I’ve watched you invest in hundreds of college students as they pass through your classes.  I’ve watched you invite families into your home and build relationships with them that have lasted many, many years.  I’ve seen you love Mom the way she deserves be loved.  I’ve seen you cry when I sing.  I’ve seen you glow with pride when talking about my sister, who is traveling the world and following her dreams and who is incredibly smart.  I’ve seen your joy when you talk about the accomplishments of your son as he graduated from high school.  I’ve seen you give up time out of your busy schedule to build a porch with your son, take your daughters to swim practice at inhumane hours in the morning, skype with my sister almost daily while she was in another country.  I’ve watched you encourage Mom to go back to doing accounting after staying at home with us for many years, and encourage her art (which is incredible, by the way).  I’ve seen you help my sister pursue classes and internships and friendships that will serve her well in life.  I’ve watched you building your son up in Christ and encouraging him to follow his dreams at Calvin next year.  You and Mom have raised my sister, an incredible daughter, and my brother, a fantastic son; both of whom are wise beyond their years and are bringing glory to God in all that they do.  You should be proud of that.

I’m sure at times you wondered if you were doing it right.  I’m sure you wondered if we were going to turn out alright.  Well, the three of us are living proof that you did something right, Dad.  Thanks for being my Dad.

You took me to innumerable doctor’s visits as a child and adolescent.  You got involved with research in coping with my doctors because it meant something to you.  You’ve ridden countless miles to help raise money for the disease that I have.  You’ve listened to my long rants about doctors and hospitals and medications and insurance companies – and never complained about it.  You’ve encouraged me to go away to college and pursue my graduate degree.  You’ve read pretty much every single entry on this blog and encouraged me to keep writing and studying the Scriptures.  You’ve listened to me sing and play piano and flute and piccolo and told me it sounded good, even when I’m sure it didn’t.  You’ve driven hundreds of miles to see me even when I never asked you to.  You’ve prayed for me in every situation and every circumstance.  You’ve loved me even when I didn’t deserve it.  You’ve shown me what it looks like to live for Christ and an example of what a Godly man is.  I know you’re not perfect, but you have allowed God to use you to bring about His glory and to continue shaping you to be more like Him.

Thanks, Dad, for far more than I’ve been able to say here.  Happy Father’s Day!

Love,

Your daughter

Walking down the street, I see people hurting.  I see people putting on a smile even though their heart is breaking.  I see people who are in trouble.  I see people who are incredibly and indescribably happy.  I see people who are searching for something.  I see people who need a word of encouragement today.

Maybe you’re one of those people I passed on the street this morning (figuratively, of course) and you need to hear that you are not alone.  You are not the only one who is struggling.  You are not the only one who is hurting.  You are not the only one who is smiling through tears.  You are not the only one who needs Jesus.  May these words encourage you today, wherever you may be walking, whatever your circumstances, and whenever you may be feeling these emotions.

To the weary and overwhelmed, you are not alone.  It may seem like there is no end to this tunnel right now.  It probably seems like your world is crashing down around you and that nothing is ever going to change.  Rest assured, you are not alone.  Christ has offered us rest in Him.  Take your cares to Him, lay your burdens at His feet.  He will care for you in this time of need, even though it may not be what you are expecting.  When you are overwhelmed, run to Jesus.  His perfect peace will wash over you – maybe as a gentle whisper, maybe as the crashing of the waves on the sea.  But He will give you rest, and He will give you His peace.  You need only come to the feet of Jesus.

To the joyful and happy, you are not alone.  It’s clear from your face that you are enjoying a time of plenty right now.  Share it with others, if you can.  Be the person who brings a smile to someone else’s face because you are just so joyful that it’s contagious.  Share what God has done in your life and praise Him for it.  Praise Him now, and praise Him when the happiness fades and the true joy remains.

To the sick and sorrowing, you are not alone.  Maybe you are physically sick right now, and you can’t seem to even get out of bed.  Perhaps it is your heart that is sorrowful, mourning the loss of a child, a parent, a friend.  It is not the healthy that need a doctor, but the sick; not the blue skies that need the sun, but the grey.  Christ is the great healer, the Son that we need.  He may not physically heal you or bring your loved one back to you right now, but He has promised us a better future where there will be no more sickness, and we will be with Him forever.  Have faith that there are better things coming, friend.  Hold on, because better days are coming.

To the blessed and in awe, you are not alone.  Share your awe with those around you.  Perhaps it is the birth of a child or the new job that you didn’t expect, or the expectation of a bright future with the person you love of which you are in awe.  Shout it from the mountaintops that Christ is good, that His love endures forever!  Share it with your church, your friends, the person on the corner.  Don’t hold you joy and awe inside, tell the world what Christ has done in your life.

To the battered and broken, you are not alone.  It may seem like this time of trial won’t ever come to an end.  It may seem like nothing good could ever come of it.  But take heart, friend, for He has overcome the world.   Nothing escapes His perfect plan, no rain returns to the sky without first watering the Earth.  These trials are only going to make you into more of the person that He is shaping you to be.  Take this time of molding to come to the cross and remember that Christ died for you.  He died to save your soul, and better days are coming.  Keep praying for that rain upon your life.  It will come.

To the confident and assured, you are not alone.  It seems like everything has fallen into place lately, the future is certain.  Keep the door open, though, because something that God has planned for you might come along, and you certainly don’t want to miss it.  Enjoy this time of certainty, and be sure to praise Him for it.  Share it with the friends and family around you, and tell the world that He is good.

To the unsure and apprehensive, you are not alone.  In this time of the unknown, rest in the peace that God has a plan, and that He will carry it out in His perfect time.  That doesn’t make it any easier now, but pray for peace, comfort, and wisdom.  He will surely grant it to you.

If you know me at all, you can probably take one guess and be right about which one of these categories I”m in right now.  If you know me really well, you’ll probably know why, too.  But that’s not the point.  In fact, many of us probably resonate with more than one of these emotions right now.  It is my prayer that you are encouraged today, wherever you are.  He loves you more than you could ever know, and He will never leave you or forsake you.  Rest in His promises, and drink in His peace.  Fall on your knees before Him, and He will give you what you need.

This song, by Laura Story, was the first one that played when I turned on Pandora this morning, and it’s been a good reminder after the last few days and weeks.

Perfect peace.  That sounds really nice.  But peace is not the absence of violence or a lack of trouble.  Peace is so much more than that.  God’s peace is shalom, a quiet goodness that is not dependent upon circumstances.  It is perfect because he knows what we need, when we need it.  His peace is perfect, but it isn’t always what we expect.

Though this life is hard, He will still give us perfect peace.  When no one sees the tears you cry, the pain that you hide behind that smile, He will still give us perfect peace.  But that peace does not mean that He will calm the waters raging at our feet, or the winds that whip around us.  It does not mean that the pain will go away, or that the sorrow will be gone tomorrow.  His perfect peace means that we will never be alone in our lives, in the good and the bad.  His perfect peace won’t solve all our problems overnight, or that it will ever get easier.  His perfect peace is exactly what we need, though.  It’s not what we expect, but it is what we need.  And I am so grateful.

Because I’m one of those people who cries behind closed doors.  I’m one of those people who hides the pain behind the smile.  I’m one of those people who says  I’m fine when I”m really not (unless, of course, fine means frustrated, insecure, neurotic and emotional).  I’m one of those people who tries to do it all myself.  I’m one of those people who is broken, hurting, imperfect, struggling, in need of Christ.  I’m one of those people who needs His perfect peace.  And I’m one of those people who has to throw my expectation of peace out the window, because His perfect peace is what I need, not some human interpretation of peace.  The storms aren’t going to go away tomorrow.  My soul needs the rain.   The wind isn’t going to die down immediately.  Sometimes I need my expectations to be blown away in the wind.  I need His perfect peace.  And He has given it to me freely.  Thank God.

My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine;
For Thee all the follies of sin I resign.
My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

Every time I hear this song, sing this song, or the words cross my mind, I think of Evangelyna.  Vangie was a classmate at Gordon who had an incredible voice, was a wonderful actress, and who had a glittering career ahead of her.  In addition to being written by one of the founders of Gordon, this hymn, My Jesus I Love Thee, it was also one that was sung at the beginning of every school year at opening chapel.  My senior year, a quartet of singers, including Vangie, sang a beautiful a capella rendition of this song.

I love Thee because Thou has first loved me,
And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree.
I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I was not a close friend of Vangie’s, but yet I knew her from afar.  I always loved seeing her act, and hearing her sing.  No one would ever guess from her outward appearance that she had cancer.  She had entered Gordon one year ahead of me, but her sickness had caused her to be on track to graduate with my class.  Vangie was always a bright ray of sunshine on campus, and it seemed like even the birds would stop to listen to her sing when the windows were open and she was practicing.  On September 11, 2011, Evangelyna was called home to be with the Lord.  She was 21 years old.  I will never forget the morning when our chaplain announced the news at the beginning of chapel.  I don’t have a clue what the speaker then said, or who it was.  All I remember was the hollow feeling of loss, and shock.  Because just days before, she had stood at the front of the chapel and raised her voice in the words of My Jesus, I Love Thee.  It’s the third verse that really hit home that day.

I’ll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death,
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath;
And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

Evangelyna praised God until the day He took her home.  She was a bright light for Him in this world, and has continued to be so in her death.  Her death hit home for me, someone who has (medically) a shortened life expectancy.  But her death also gives me hope, because she could sing those words when she knew they would be true in her life sooner, rather than later.  When she sang those words, she knew the cancer was back and that there was nothing more the doctors could do.  When she sang that she would praise thee as long as thou lendest her breath, it was truer then than ever before.  And I have to believe that when she sang this next verse, she was looking forward to hearing Him say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

In mansions of glory and endless delight,
I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;
I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

Thank you, Vangie.  For living your life as an example to many, and for this song.  I will never forget it.

May is CF awareness month.  I’ve never really paid much attention to it before, but this year, a Foundation that I follow on Facebook has taken to asking a question about CF every day and giving away prizes for the correct answers.  They’re the basic questions so far – how many copies of the defective gene must you have to get CF? Does a lung transplant cure CF? What color is associated with CF awareness?  What test is used to diagnose CF?  What drug made major advances for CF in the last year? How many people are diagnosed with CF in the US?  (Answers: 2, no, purple, sweat test, kalydeco, 30,000)  But rather than simply give the answers, some people have been posting to the comments things about their kids who have CF or their own situations, or their friends who have CF… But what has stopped me in my tracks when reading these comments is the negativity, the complaining.  The Boomer Esiason Foundation also has a twitter account and have a number of hashtags trending, such as #CureCF, #CFTrivia, and #Cureitfast.  I’m not a big fan of hashtags to begin with, but one that a patient/parent/friend used once really bothers me for some reason: #CFsucks

I didn’t say that it wasn’t true.  I just said I didn’t like it.  Rather than complain about our situation, or that Kalydeco isn’t available for our specific mutation, or that your two kids are two too many to have CF, or that lung transplants aren’t a cure, or that CF sucks, why don’t we get off of our high horses and realize for one minute that there is more to life than this, and that in fact our CF could be a blessing to both ourselves and others.

There is more to life than treatments and hospitals and doctors and PICC lines and being sick.  Yes, it is something we have to deal with, but we are not defined by it.  I am not my disease.  It may limit me, beat me down, and drive me to my knees more times and in more ways than I can count, but I refuse to let it rule my life.  It influences my career, my research, my friendships, my life, but it is not who I am.  I am a child of God, a musician, a student, a researcher, a scientist, a daughter, a friend, a sister, a colleague, a Bible study leader, a singer, a girlfriend, a teacher, a swimmer, a runner, a volleyball player, and a patient who has CF.  The first and the last things on that list are the only ones that are really in order.  The rest come in different circumstances and with different people, but I am first and foremost a child of God.  I am loved beyond imagination, and I don’t deserve any of it.  I am a great sinner, but Christ is a great Savior.  And at the end of my list comes CF.  It does not define me, though it influences me.  It is not the first thing I want people to see of me, nor is it usually the first thing I tell people.  I have chosen to not be bitter (though I have my days), to not complain about it (though, again, I have my days), to get up and do something about it rather than answer trivia questions in May on Facebook, to use my sphere of influence to show Christ through my CF rather than me.  I don’t always get it perfectly, and I screw up more times than I can count.  But let’s take #CFsucks out of our vocabulary and get rid of the short 100 and some character tweets and actually start talking to each other, telling our stories of difficulty and triumph in the same breath, and giving praise to the One who went through so much more for us than we could ever imagine.  (Maybe we could get rid of hashtags altogether, that would be nice…).  We need to realize that no matter what we go through here on this earth, be it CF, cancer, divorce, abuse, and more that I don’t have space to name, we can be a light to someone else.  One of my favorite Bible study authors, Beth Moore, has chosen to use her story of childhood abuse to influence millions of women worldwide.  Steve Chance, a family friend, has chosen to use his cerebral palsy to minister to college kids all over the United States.  Friends at church have used their stories of struggling to find work, running away from God, surviving cancer, raising children alone, a difficult marriage, ailing parents and so much more to influence the lives of those around them.

So let’s get up out of our chairs, and walk through those church doors out into a world where we can be real, honest people, who lead broken, messed up, hurting lives, but who have chosen to rise above it – not in our own strength, but in the power and love of the One who gave it all for us.  No more #CFsucks – instead #PraisetotheOnewhogaveitallforme and #Thankyou and #LivingforHimwithCF.  Okay, take the ridiculous hashtags out and what do you have?  A broken, sinful person who has been saved by grace alone through faith alone by Christ alone, who does not let her disease define her, but who wants to live every day for Him, through everything, no matter what, and who will use her CF for His glory in whatever way she is called to.  That doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy or that I won’t be tempted to complain or give up sometimes – but it does mean that Christ is with me, walking with me, molding me into the woman He wants me to be.

Some of you know that for the last few months I have been battling sickness.  My lung function declined fairly rapidly, and pretty low.  After trying oral antibiotics for a while and not getting anywhere, we placed a PICC line two weeks ago for IV antibiotic therapy.  Unfortunately, we haven’t seen much of a difference in my lung function yet with these treatments.  However, I am optimistic that some different antibiotics and a longer therapy will eventually fix this decline.

It isn’t so much the PICC line or the antibiotics that have plagued my thoughts and conversations lately, though I have had many people ask what strange thing I was hooked up to at work.  What has bothered me lately is that this sickness took my voice – twice. It’s not so much that I couldn’t talk to people, although that was annoying at times, but that I couldn’t sing that bothered me.

I have always loved singing – in the car, in the shower, in church, at work – pretty much anywhere.  My parents tell me that, as a child, I could sing ‘Jesus loves me’ on key, and since then I’ve pretty much never stopped singing.  I used to take walks around the pond at Gordon, and just sing praise songs.  When I feel particularly disappointed in my day or my situation, I sing.  When I’m amazed by the beauty around me, I praise God by singing.  I was once challenged to spend an entire church service without singing.  It nearly killed me.  In fact, I don’t think I made it the entire service.

I’ve lost my voice to sickness before, and it’s always frustrating.  This time, though, it hit me particularly hard because I lost my voice, and then, when I almost had it back, I lost it again.  Even now, it’s  not quite back completely, which frustrates me  beyond belief.  But, all selfish frustration aside, not being able to sing has reminded me how much I need it.

Sometimes we have to lose something to know how much we depend on it, or how much it brightens our day.  When I’m feeling sick, or exhausted or disappointed, it helps me to sing.  Because it reminds me to praise God when things are tough, and not only when they are good.  It reminds me that what might be tough now will eventually pass, and that God will use it for His glory, even if I can’t see how.  It reminds me that His blessings can come through raindrops, and His healing does come through tears.  It reminds me that He will raise me up, when troubles come and my heart is burdened.

What if your blessings come through raindrops?

What if your healing comes through tears?

What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know you’re near?

What if trials of this life, the rain, the storms, the hardest nights,

are your mercies in disguise?