The past two years have been some of the most exhausting and demoralizing of my life. The weight hasn’t let up. The pressure hasn’t stopped. I lost my job — not a dream job, but one I showed up to with integrity, and one very relevant to my career. I gave my best. And in return, I was belittled, berated, and broken by a boss who seemed to take pleasure in reminding me that I wasn’t doing enough, who seemed to think I was trying to spite him. He repeatedly triggered my PTSD, and wouldn’t back down despite my pleas. Eventually, I was discarded like I was nothing and my career was derailed.
Since then, I’ve scraped and clawed to keep my family afloat. I’ve drained my savings, exhausted my retirement, and lived every day knowing the margin for error was gone. All while the world we live in grows so, so much uglier — angrier, more unjust, more heartless.
The book of Lamentations was written in the aftermath of disaster — after Jerusalem had been destroyed, its people exiled, its hope seemingly erased. It’s a book of mourning. Of honest, unfiltered grief. The kind of grief that asks “Where is God in all this?” and sits in the wreckage waiting for an answer.
And yet, in the midst of all that anguish, there’s this quiet declaration:
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.”
— Lamentations 3:22–23
Many songs have drawn from these verses — or from the spirit of Lamentations as a whole. Songs that reach for light while still acknowledging the dark.
One song in particular encapsulates that essence for me. Of feeling helpless and seeking support.
Dear Father, I need you,
Your strength my heart to mend.
I want to fly higher,
Every new day again.
Every New Day begins not with answers, but with a plea. It echoes the ache of someone who once believed they could soar — but now finds themselves grounded, weary, and longing for the strength to rise again. It remembers a time when hope was effortless, when wonder came easily — and contrasts it with the present reality of struggle and loss.
It’s a cry for restoration. A reaching out — not to escape the pain, but to survive it.
“The struggles go on, the wisdom I lack, the burdens keep piling up on my back…”
— it’s not poetic metaphor to me. Lately, it’s been my life.
So hard to breathe, to take the next step.
The mountain is high, I wait in the depths.
Yearning for grace, and hoping for peace.
Dear God...increase.
That mountain is real—I’ve stood in its shadow more days than I care to count.
But then — just when it seems like the weight will collapse everything…
…the music breaks.
Healing hands of God have mercy on our unclean souls once again.
Jesus Christ, Light of the world burning bright
Within our hearts forever.
Freedom means love without condition,
Without a beginning or an end.
Here’s my heart, let it be forever Yours,
Only You can make every new day seem so new.
Every time I hear that piece, something loosens. It doesn’t fix everything. It doesn’t erase the past. But it reframes it. It reminds me that I don’t have to carry this alone. That God’s mercy doesn’t wait for me to be strong enough — it meets me because I’m not.
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves the crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18
I don’t know that I’ve ever felt more crushed and defeated than I have in this season. But Scripture tells me I’m not forgotten. Not abandoned. Just broken — and seen.
And that’s enough to face the next day.
The next prayer.
The next breath.
“Do you not know? Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary, and His understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.”
— Isaiah 40:28–31
Even after everything, God is still writing every new day.
You are not alone.
-Tony
