I have often comforted myself by reflecting on a passage from Lamentations 3 that talks about how God's mercies are new every morning. Of course, when I think about that reassurance, it is always in the context of failure. More specifically, my failure. I have, once again, failed to live up to my calling as a follower of Jesus, but he won't hold it against me; his mercies are new every morning.

Furthermore, the context is usually one of my perpetual failure. For example, have I known for years that I need to watch my words more carefully? Yes, I have. Yet nearly every day, I fail to do so, and on the days when I am a bit more reflective and self-aware, I regret my failure.

That is, until I remember that God's mercies are new every morning. “What a relief,” I think to myself, “that God doesn't hold my failures against me.” Day after day, week after week, month after month, yea, year after year, I fail in the same exact ways, yet manage to dodge the weight of shame for it thanks to the accessibility of God's mercies, in fresh supply like dew on the lawn outside my front door each time the sun rises.

I believe that each day is a new chance for me to be the God's-image-bearer I was created to be. How exhilarating it is to rest in the promise of a fresh start. I believe completely (at least in theory, at least most of the time) that God forgives me for my perpetual failures, of which there are many. In other words, I never imagine God is watching me from inside my heart or the cosmos or wherever He is watching me from, and expecting me to fail. In fact, it's quite the opposite; I actually believe that each day, knowing my failure the day before, God is cheering me on, giving me the benefit of the doubt, and allowing that, perhaps today, I will depend on His grace enough to rise above the circumstances and temptations that cause me to stumble. I have it in my head that God wants me to do well, and that He believes I can. I can almost hear him saying to me, “Christy, I know you want to do better. The old (from yesterday) is gone – the new has come! You can do it! I want you to! I'll enable you to!”

It's lovely, isn't it, that I live in such wonderful freedom?

This week is the second week of my church's summer camp, where I am teaching theater arts and leading music, among other things. By now, I have had enough time with the seventeen third and fourth graders in my charge to know who the troublemakers are. I know by now which children I will have to threaten with punishment before we even get to lunch time. I know which children's names I will say (shout, rather) at least a dozen times before we even get through the morning worship session. There are already children whom I expect to punish. There are children whom I already expect are going to fail to thrive in this camp – perhaps not even make it to the final party, because they'll get kicked out for behavior issues before the five weeks are up.

In other words, my mercies are not new every morning.

The leaders of the camp spend one hour in prayer each morning, from 7:00-8:00. (I join them at 7:15 usually. I have a hard time getting out the door on time. But hey, it's OK. “His mercies are new every morning.”) This past Monday, while we were praying, this truth hit me: I was already braced for the worst from some of the kids.

As I began to pray for the kids in general, I began asking God to give me his love for them. Reflecting on how deeply freeing it is for me to know that his love means that his mercies are new every morning, and that he is totally for me with a fresh start each day, I began to pray that MY mercies toward these little monsters would be new like His are toward me. I prayed that I would love them so much that I would give them the gift of a fresh start each day. I would not hold yesterday's failures against them. I would not say, “So-and-so always gets in trouble.” God never says that about me. Ever.**

Of course, I failed.

But even so, something really amazing happened on Monday. I had a fresh love in my heart for some of the kids who have historically demonstrated behavioral problems. I did not do as great a job as I would have liked not holding their previous crimes against them. I'm pretty sure I said to at least one child, “I am getting sick and tired* of how you never listen.” That's the very thing I don't want to say. As long as someone is telling them they never listen, they will never – well – listen.

But this revelation (if you will) from God (if you will) has really impacted how I want to at least try to approach people - and I don't just mean the kids in my camp. The woman I know who is always a bit combative toward me? I'm going in expecting that this will be the day she is grace-filled and agreeable. The man who is consistently dismissive and condescending of me? I'm determined to give him the benefit of the doubt tomorrow, because God will be giving me the benefit of the doubt.

Love believes all things. Love hopes all things. Love endures all things.

In the end, my mercies will never be anywhere close to where God's mercies are. He is fathoms below and above me in that department.

But it's a new goal, in my ongoing desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus, or, as Eugene Peterson put it so beautifully in his take on scripture, in my continued learning of the unforced rhythms of grace.

I want to be a woman whose mercies toward others are new every morning.

Oh God, have mercy on me.

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* P.S. I vowed as a child I would never say “sick and tired” to a child in my care. But now I realize that there is no suitable substitute. It's like breathing or salivating at the thought of a lemon: instinct, not choice.

** P.P.S. God probably also never calls me a "little monster." Though He should. He really, really should.