There’s something sacred about the quiet of morning — the hush before the world stirs, the soft light breaking through the dark. It’s in that stillness that I remember: His mercies are new every single morning. Not borrowed from yesterday, not held off for tomorrow, but fresh — tailored for today.

I’ve come to know this not just in theory, but in experience.

God doesn’t recycle grace. He doesn’t offer leftovers from yesterday’s strength. He meets me, daily, with what I need for this moment, this heartache, this joy. And He does it with tenderness.

I see His mercy in the way creation breathes — in morning light that warms my face, in birdsong that reminds me I’m not forgotten, in trees that keep growing even after winter.
I see it in you — in people who send a text at just the right time, who show up with arms wide open and hearts ready to listen.
I hear His voice whisper to my soul when it’s too tired to form the words — reminding me He is near, He is faithful, He is enough.
And I’ve seen Him provide in ways that are not just sufficient, but extravagant. He doesn’t hold back. He doesn’t ration. He pours out.

Even in days full of grief or uncertainty, there is mercy. Fresh. Gentle. Abundant. Tailored for that exact moment.

And so, I rise — not because I’m strong, but because His mercy lifts me.

If you’re weary today, I pray you look for it. His new mercy is already on its way.