New Mercies

On July 4th, a friend's yearly Fourth of July iced coffee showed up on my porch. I look forward to it annually; I might get a little too excited about it. But this year, there was something else tucked alongside it: cranberry orange muffins in a simple brown paper bag. And I cried. To anyone else, they are just muffins. To me, they carry great significance of God’s peace and mercy.

The tradition began after tragedy struck our little friend group of young moms sixteen years ago. We were all grieving, and I remember lying awake wondering what on earth I could possibly do. No words felt adequate. No gesture felt big enough. So before the sun came up, as a sleepless night melted into morning, I prayerfully baked cranberry orange muffins.

I slipped each one into a brown paper bag with these words from Lamentations 3:22–23:

“Because of the Lord’s faithful love we do not perish, for His mercies never end. They are new every morning.”

Then I quietly left them on porches.

Years pass and sometimes muffins show up. Sometimes I deliver them. Sometimes someone else does. The tradition is less about the muffins themselves and more about what they quietly proclaim:

Morning came. God is still faithful. His mercies are still new. It’s been years since the muffins showed up. Today, someone brought that tradition back to me. It’s amazing how ordinary things become holy over time. A paper bag. A muffin. A porch. They become reminders that love remembers, friendship endures, and God has a way of weaving hope into every situation we face. Sixteen years later, the verse is still true.

His mercies are still new every morning.