God does not look at your outward forms, he looks at your hearts: the heart behind the act is what registers
The Prophet said this plainly. A person who has come through something terrible often makes some small gesture toward God, then wonders whether it counted, since it looks so thin next to everything that happened. The longing packed inside that gesture is what God receives, and the outward act is only its shape.
My mercy outstrips my wrath: mercy has the longer reach
God says this in a saying the Prophet passed on. When severity has run its course, people brace for the next blow and start to assume anger is God's settled attitude toward them. Mercy runs deeper and lasts longer, so the harshness is the passing part and mercy is what God returns to.
Al-nafs al-ammāra bi'l-sūʾ: the self that keeps pushing a person toward wrong
The Quran names it in the same breath as God's mercy. Anyone honest knows the pull starts early and does not vanish with age or with a clean slate, because scrubbing the outside changes nothing about what leans inside. Saying that out loud steadies a person, since the flaw is admitted at the start and mercy is not waiting for it to disappear.
Raḥmat al-imtinān: mercy handed over as a gift, not as payment
Ibn Arabi separates this from the mercy a person earns by what they do. The difference matters to someone who knows they have not improved and cannot promise they will. Wages stop when the work stops, while a gift keeps arriving during the weakest stretch, which is why the promise holds.
He has written mercy upon himself: God binds his own hand
The Quran uses that exact phrase. Anyone who has watched destruction happen lives afterward with a low hum of dread that it could begin again without warning. A promise God makes to himself takes that dread off the table, because the safety now rests on his word instead of on how well people behave.