When news arrives of children buried in rubble, of entire communities upended by water, of the vulnerable targeted and hiding in fear, we are reminded that our sufferings are real and our losses genuine—and that these moments call for something other than explanations. The writer of Lamentations knew this truth: that in the presence of devastation, what sustains is not an argument but a mercy that is renewed each day, that meets us not with distant comfort but with the ancient testimony that faithfulness endures even when the ground beneath us does not. Today’s scattered stories of loss and harm invite us not to resolve them but to sit with them, and to notice how people continue to build—families documenting their ordinary love, writers telling stories of loyalty amid betrayal—as if saying that meaning and care persist even in a world where roofs collapse and waters rise.