Every morning is a fresh canvas. Before the day fills with its demands, there is a moment — a thin, holy space between sleeping and waking — where you belong entirely to God.

Lamentations was written in the darkest hour of Jerusalem's history. Yet in the middle of ashes and mourning, the writer discovered something unshakeable: God's mercies don't run dry. They reset with the sun. They don't accumulate and diminish — they overflow, every single morning, as if yesterday never happened.

You are not carrying yesterday's failures into today. Today is new. The slate is clean. The grace is fresh. Whatever heaviness you woke with — God's compassions are meeting you right here, right now, before you've done a single thing to deserve them.

Reflection: What would it feel like to truly begin today as a new day — unburdened by yesterday? Sit with that for a moment. Then let the newness of this morning be enough.