Morning has a way of telling the truth.
Before the noise starts.
Before the expectations pile up.
Before I remember what yesterday took out of me.
I didn’t wake up perfect.
I woke up covered by mercy.
That matters—because perfection was never the requirement.
Some mornings, the light feels soft, almost hesitant, like it’s checking to see if I’m ready. Other mornings, it pours in boldly, reminding me that God didn’t ask my permission to be faithful again. Either way, mercy arrives first. Before effort. Before repentance gets fully formed into words. Before I’ve proven anything.
Scripture says His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22–23), not recycled, not diminished, not dependent on how well I handled yesterday. New. As in untouched. As in sufficient. As in already decided.
That truth confronts something deep in us—the quiet belief that we have to wake up better than we went to sleep in order to be worthy of grace. But mercy doesn’t work like wages. It doesn’t wait for improvement. It covers first, then transforms.
I’ve learned that some of my most spiritual moments weren’t marked by victory, but by honesty. The mornings where I could finally admit, “God, I don’t have this today.” And instead of correction, what met me was covering.
Mercy doesn’t excuse sin—but it does remove shame.
Mercy doesn’t deny growth—but it refuses to rush it.
Mercy doesn’t ignore yesterday—but it refuses to let yesterday lead today.
That’s the difference between striving and abiding.
When God covers us with mercy, He’s not lowering His standard—He’s lifting the weight. He knows what formation takes. He knows growth requires safety. And He knows that seeds grow best in soil that isn’t constantly being beaten down by self-condemnation.
So if today you woke up tired, unsure, or still carrying the residue of what didn’t go right—hear this clearly:
You didn’t miss your chance overnight.
You didn’t wake up disqualified.
You woke up covered.
And sometimes, that covering is the very thing that gives us the courage to keep becoming.