Every tear wiped away

Picture the gentlest thing you have ever seen a parent do. A small child has cried himself nearly out, and his father crouches down to his level, and with the pad of one thumb he wipes the wet from under the child's eyes, slowly, one cheek and then the other, until the last tear is gone. Not a command from across the room for the crying to stop. A face brought close to a face. That, and nothing more distant than that, is what John sees at the end of all things. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death will be no more, nor mourning, nor crying, nor pain. Notice who does the wiping. Not an angel, not a decree, not time finally dulling the ache. God Himself, near enough to touch the wet face, bending to each one. This is the promise the grieving have reached for through every loss they have ever carried. And it does not arrive by telling them to stop weeping now. It comes as a hand, His own, that will one day wipe the last of the tears away.

This may be the promise you have ached for more than any other, so let it come to you exactly as it is. Not grief ended by announcement from a safe distance, but God Himself crouching down to wipe the tears from your face, one at a time, the way you would tend a weeping child. A day is coming with no more death, no more mourning, no more pain, and not one tear left unattended. Hear what that day does not require of you now. It does not ask you to stop grieving. It does not hurry you, or shame the weeping, or pretend the loss was smaller than it was. The tears you weep in this life are real, and they are seen, every one. The God who made you keeps an account of your sorrow, and one day He will close it with His own hand. The promise is not that you were wrong to cry. It is that the very last of your tears will be wiped away by Him, and there will never be another after that.