The Comma, Not the Period

“It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.”

Lamentations 3:22-23

My son, my daughter, I know what you did yesterday. I know about the word that wounded, the wrong choice, the day you swore you wouldn't fall again and fell again anyway. I saw it all — the delayed regret, the shame that tightened your chest, the urge to simply disappear for a while. And still, here I am, opening this morning just for you, as though yesterday didn't hold the final power you imagine it does.

You keep placing a period where I only place a comma. You close the door and say, "I don't deserve any more"; I open the window and say, "come, let's keep going." My mercy isn't a prize for good behavior, nor a medal for those who never slipped. It's the air I breathe for you every day, again and again, without growing tired, without charging interest on what has already passed.

Today isn't about erasing what happened or pretending it didn't hurt. It's about rising with whatever strength is left and walking with me, one step at a time. I don't look back to hold it against you. I look ahead and call you by name.