I heard a fella say once, “I’ll forgive, but I won’t forget.” Now, I understand where he’s coming from, but if we’re being honest, that ain’t real mercy. That’s just keeping score with a smile on your face.
Jesus said in Luke 6:36, “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.” Now, that’s a tall order, because God’s mercy is deeper than the ocean and wider than the sky. But He calls us to it because mercy isn’t just something we receive—it’s something we’re supposed to give away like it’s going out of style.
Mercy means loving people when they don’t deserve it. It means cutting folks some slack even when they’ve made a mess of things. It means looking at somebody who’s hurt you and saying, “I’m gonna let God handle this instead of carrying it around like a sack of rocks.”
Truth is, we’ve all needed mercy more times than we can count. And if God, who knows every mistake we’ve made, still pours it out on us, then surely we can pass a little along. So today, let’s be merciful—not just because folks need it, but because we do too. And when in doubt, just remember: if God had a limit on mercy, none of us would have made it this far.
You ever been in one of those situations where you didn’t have the slightest idea what to do? Like standing in the middle of the grocery store, staring at 47 different kinds of peanut butter, wondering if creamy or crunchy is the right choice for the meaning of life?
James 1:5 says, “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him.” In other words, God ain’t stingy with wisdom. He’s not sitting up there, rubbing His hands together, saying, “Well, let’s see if they can figure this one out on their own.” No, He’s ready and willing to pour it out—you just have to ask.
Problem is, we often don’t ask. We try to Google our way through life, phone a friend, or just fake it and hope nobody notices we’re lost. But real wisdom—the kind that won’t steer you wrong—comes from God. And the good news? He doesn’t roll His eyes or shake His head when we come to Him for the hundredth time. He just says, “Here, take all you need.”
So next time you’re stuck, whether it’s a big life decision or just trying to pick the right peanut butter, don’t stress. Just ask. God’s got more wisdom than we’ve got problems, and He’s more than happy to share.
A Review of the Foundation Aksum Maduro Double Corona (7” x 54)
There are cigars that are merely cigars, and then there are cigars that whisper stories from the depths of time, carrying the weight of forgotten empires and the wisdom of old souls. The Foundation Aksum Maduro Double Corona certainly belongs to the latter. This is not merely tobacco rolled in a fine wrapper—it is an invitation, a passage, a meditation in slow-burning devotion.
At first light, the Aksum Maduro reveals itself in waves of dark chocolate and black coffee, as if it has absorbed the strength of the earth itself. The Ecuadorian Sumatra Maduro wrapper, rich and oily, feels ancient in my hands—like a relic from a civilization that understood patience, craftsmanship, and the sacredness of fire.
The first draw is bold, unapologetic. A light pepper tingles on the tongue, but it is not an assault; rather, it is a reminder—of life’s fire, of passion restrained yet potent. Beneath it, a current of dried fruit and leather rolls in, whispering like a monk who has long understood the power of silence and blessing of solitude.
As the burn evens out, the body of the cigar swells into something grander. It is not just a smoking experience; it is a communion. I can feel the spirit of the Nicaraguan tobacco farmers who nurtured these leaves, the artistry of the rollers who honored them with steady hands and took the time to box press them.
Halfway in, the Aksum Maduro deepens—earth and cedar take the stage, harmonizing with a subtle molasses sweetness. The draw remains effortless, smooth as the wisdom of an elder who knows that rushing through life is a fool’s errand. Each puff is a lesson: slow down, breathe, be present.
As the final third unfolds, I am no longer just a man with a cigar; I am a traveler at the gates of something greater. A nutty richness arrives, with hints of espresso and licorice, as if the cigar itself has aged and matured in these last few inches. The strength builds—not to overwhelm, but to leave a mark.
This is a cigar that does not fade into memory. It lingers, much like the stories of kings, the echoes of prophets, the laughter of old friends who knew the value of a well-told tale and a well-smoked cigar.
This is not a cigar for the hurried man, nor for the one who smokes merely for the sake of smoke. It is for those who understand that a cigar, when made with reverence, is a key—a key to history, to meditation, to gratitude.
So, if you pick up this fine offering, do it justice: sit down, exhale your worries, and let the spirit guide you. After all, the best things in life—be it love, wisdom, or a fine cigar—are meant to be savored.
Michael Joe Harvell 