On days when the news carries the weight of so much loss—lives taken in strikes, families displaced and desperate at borders, millions facing hunger, individuals in private crises—it is tempting to measure hope against the scale of suffering and find it wanting. Yet the ancient Book of Lamentations was written in the midst of siege and exile, when the psalmist had every reason to despair. What he discovered was not that suffering ceased, but that mercy itself is renewable: fresh each morning, not because circumstances improve overnight, but because the source of compassion is inexhaustible. This does not erase today’s pain, nor should it silence lament. Rather, it suggests that faithfulness means showing up again tomorrow—to witness, to grieve, to tend to the vulnerable—not because we expect easy answers, but because mercy, like sunrise, returns.