I'm confused at first, not quite sure where or when I am, limbs heavy and mind foggy in the gray pre-dawn. It's one of those mornings when the night has bled over, spilling its burdens into the next day. Some nights, no matter how long they are, seem insufficient to contain the things that happen...the rush of feelings, the raised voices, the teething baby, the wakeful child's nightmare, toys thrown at a wall in fury, the limp, helpless aftermath of rage.
Gripping my mug and waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, I remember. This day is new. I may have just arrived, but Jesus is already here. God is still God, over the night that has passed and over the day to come. I haven't made any mistakes yet, and although I surely will before the sun gets too much higher in the sky, God's mercies are new every morning.
The morning always comes.
No matter how long the night, there is eventually morning again.
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
I sip my coffee and it tastes like mercy.