Oh, Lord, the breathe in me is often taken aback by you. Your faithful fingerprints in all things new. You take the raw signs of winter and exhale evidence of spring little by little, bud by bud. I’ve never purposed to watch grass grow, but, Lord, this is how my childlike Wonder feels this spring. Each morning running to the window to, ah, to smile at what you have done through the night, through the rain, through the wait. Yes, Lord, every morning, your mercies are surely new!