Monday morning has its own heaviness. Last week’s emails are still waiting, the to-do list did not shrink over the weekend, and coffee does not quite erase the fatigue.
These words do not come from a happy day. They were written amid the ruins of Jerusalem, by someone who had seen everything fall. The book is called Lamentations, and yet, at the heart of the weeping, one sentence still stands: goodness is renewed every morning.
I notice that I often count my mornings as a continuation. What was not done yesterday weighs on today, and the delays add up. This text offers me another way of reckoning: a morning is not only the continuation of yesterday; it is also a new gift.
We do not have to catch up on everything before we begin. We can receive the day as it comes, with what is new in it, and take the next step without carrying the whole weight of the week before.
This morning, too, something begins again.