Saved by Mercy: The Night I Didn’t Deserve Another Chance

Frank Wible
Jul 12, 2025
2 min read

I had made peace with the idea that I was beyond saving. Not spiritually—just in life. My marriage had collapsed, my business was in shambles, and my phone had become a museum of unopened bills and ignored calls. I was living in a rundown studio apartment with peeling paint and broken trust, mostly in myself. People used to say I was a “good guy,” but somehow I’d become the kind of man who couldn’t even look his own son in the eyes.

Frank Wible Man sits on couch in dim room, head down, surrounded by scattered papers and stacks on table. Walls are peeling; mood is somber. — When your life feels like it’s beyond repair, remember—God’s mercy starts where your strength ends.

That night, I didn’t plan to drive off that bridge. I just wanted to sit there, stare at the water, and disappear into silence for a while. But the thought crept in: “What if no one would even notice?” That was the part that hurt most. Not the failure, not the pain—but the feeling that I was now invisible.

I gripped the steering wheel and stared at the black water below. I thought of the people I hurt. The money I owed. The promises I’d broken. If salvation was for the righteous, then I was on the wrong team. My record didn’t scream “redeemable.” It whispered “too late.”

Then I got a message—literally. My old friend Mark, who I hadn’t spoken to in almost a decade, texted me out of nowhere: “Hey, man. You’ve been on my heart. You okay?” It felt like God Himself reached into the darkness and flipped on a light. One line. That’s all it took. I started bawling behind the wheel.

I pulled away from the edge and answered him. For the next two hours, we texted. I told him everything—the bankruptcy, the affair, the nights I spent drinking instead of dealing. He didn’t flinch. He just kept reminding me of something I had long forgotten: mercy doesn’t wait for you to clean yourself up. It finds you in your mess.

Frank Wible People seated in a church with stained glass windows, a man in focus appears contemplative, others hold hymnals. Peaceful atmosphere. — You don’t have to belong to be called. Mercy sits with you and leads you to the front line of grace.

A week later, I sat in the back row of his church. I didn’t understand all the songs. I didn’t belong there. And yet, as the pastor read from Titus 3:5—**“He saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of His mercy”—**it felt like the verse had been written with my name on it.

I wasn’t saved because I got my act together. I was saved because God’s mercy doesn’t require a resume. I had spent years believing that grace had a limit, that forgiveness came with conditions, that only the “good guys” got second chances. But that verse stripped away every excuse I had left.

Today, I’m rebuilding. Not quickly, not perfectly—but faithfully. I’ve made amends where I can, and where I can’t, I pray that time and integrity will do the talking. My son hugs me like he means it now. I joined a men’s group that actually talks about real stuff. And every time I share my story, I lead with that verse.

Because no matter how dark your night, mercy still works the night shift.

Where do you most need to feel God’s mercy right now?