When most people think of tears, they think of sorrow. They think of heartbreak, of loss, of devastation. But let’s not forget beautiful tears of joy. Tears of compassion. Tears that fall when your heart is so moved by the pain of another that your own eyes cannot help but weep.
Jesus said, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4). There is blessing in mourning, because the Comforter Himself comes near. “Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.” (Romans 12:15). Those words still echo after all these years. And I think that’s what every soul is after, isn’t it? Somebody who won’t just stand on the sidelines…but will step into both the joy and the pain. To celebrate another’s joy as if it were your own. To feel another’s pain until your own heart trembles.
And our tears? They matter to God. The psalmist whispered, “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in Your bottle.” (Psalm 56:8). Not one drop falls unnoticed. Not one cry unheard. Even those bitter tears sown in the dark are seeds, and the promise is sure: “Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy.” (Psalm 126:5).
Even Jesus wept. Standing before Lazarus’s tomb, knowing resurrection was moments away, He still entered into human grief. He felt it. His own tears fell (John 11:35). That is the heart of God. He is always present, tender, unafraid of sorrow.
When my father passed away, Diane and I found ourselves in that valley of tears. Our hearts shattered, our world shaken. Not because we did not rejoice where he was but the separation between us. We loved him and deeply missed him. In that place a few saints came near. They didn’t try to explain things away. They didn’t have perfect words. They just showed up. They came with wet eyes, arms open wide. No words…just presence. They held us close, carrying our sorrow as if it were their own. Their tears fell with ours. Beloved, I can’t describe how healing that felt… to know someone cared enough to feel what we were feeling.
I remember letters I received during that season, written with such tenderness that I could almost see the smudges where tears had fallen on the page. Those letters carried more than words. They carried the weight of empathy. They carried the fragrance of Christ.
Empathy is a gift. A holy one. It usually blooms in lives that have already walked through fire, already tasted loss. Such people never forget, and when they see another hurting, their hearts break open again. They remember, and out of that remembrance flows compassion.
Healing tears are different. They come when someone draws so close that you know they truly feel it with you. They do not shame you for your sorrow. They do not urge you to move on quickly. They simply come alongside, whispering, “I understand. I love you. I will stand with you. I will hold your arms up when you can’t hold them up yourself.”
That was Moses’ story. His arms grew heavy in battle, and Israel’s victory depended on his endurance. When his strength failed, Aaron and Hur stepped in. They held up his hands until the sun went down, and the people prevailed (Exodus 17:12). That’s what healing tears do…they lift arms and hearts that are weak in the fight.
Then came the day of my father’s funeral. The day I had dreaded all my life. I had prepared myself to officiate his service, to honor his memory, to speak with strength. But just before the service began, a dear couple in our church motioned for us to come near. She reached out, pulled Diane and me into her embrace, and her tears began to flow. She held us tight. She would not let us go.
And in that moment, something broke and something healed. I felt loved. I felt safe. Her tears were not her own…they were Heaven’s tears flowing through her. A balm for our wounds. Oil poured out. The Comforter Himself wrapping us in a blanket of love.
That is the power of healing tears. They do not come from man alone. They are Spirit-born, Spirit-carried, Spirit-given. They come through willing vessels who love as He loves.
So, dear one, do not despise your tears. Let them flow. And when the Spirit nudges you, don’t hold back. Step into someone’s grief. Weep with them. Hold them. Whisper hope into their ears. Because those healing tears might be the very thing that carries them through.
With Love,
Steve Porter
www.morningglorydevo.com
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Amen, Steve