The Ministry of Tears

A Calling, Not Weakness

Some of us were never meant to walk lightly through this world.

We carry the ache. We feel the shift in the room before anyone says a word. We see the sadness tucked behind a smile. We sense the grief sitting in someone’s silence. We weep, not because we are weak, but because the weight of what we carry is heavy and real.

There’s something about being the one who feels too much. It can feel like a burden. It can feel lonely. Like everyone else is moving forward while you’re stuck in what still hurts, what never healed, what’s breaking right now.

And the tears come. Uninvited. Inconvenient. In the middle of conversations. In quiet bathrooms. While folding laundry. While praying. While pretending to be okay.

For a long time, I thought I needed to toughen up. To stop crying over everything. I thought tears made me spiritually fragile. I told myself to hold it together. To be strong. To move on. To stop feeling so deeply about things that didn’t even belong to me.

But that never lasted long. Because the pain of others finds me. It sits in my chest. It settles in my bones. It becomes prayer, even when I don’t know what to say.

And slowly, God has been showing me something I never expected to believe.

This is not a weakness. It’s a calling.

There is a ministry in tears.

Not everyone will understand it. They’ll tell you you’re too sensitive. Too soft. Too emotional. They’ll try to fix you with logic or scripture. They’ll tell you to be grateful or to keep perspective. But they don’t know what it’s like to carry the weight of unspoken grief, to feel like you’re bleeding compassion that has nowhere to go.

Some people preach from platforms. Some lead with bold voices. And some of us, some of us minister through tears.

We sit in the dark with people. We hold space without filling the silence. We cry when they cry. We don’t look away. And we don’t try to move on too quickly.

That is ministry. Holy, quiet, costly ministry.

Jesus knew it too. He wept. He didn’t hide it. He didn’t rush past it. He let the tears fall. He cried over loss. He cried over pain. He cried over people. He was never ashamed of sorrow. He carried it like sacred weight.

So if your heart breaks easily, if the pain of others feels personal, if you find yourself sobbing at worship songs or crumbling over stories that don’t even belong to you, don’t push it away.

The world may not understand you. But Heaven sees you.

God collects every tear. He doesn’t waste them. He doesn’t rush you through them. He holds them close, and He holds you closer.

This ministry doesn’t come with titles. It doesn’t fit neatly into church programs or social bios. But it matters. Your tears are doing something. They soften the ground. They hold space for healing. They whisper comfort when words cannot.

You are not too much. You are not broken. You are not weak.

You are called to this. To weep. To feel. To carry. To minister in the quiet where no one sees, but God always does.

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in Your bottle. You have recorded each one in Your book.” -Psalm 56:8 (NLT)

So cry if you need to. Don’t hold it back. Don’t apologize for it. Don’t shrink to make others more comfortable.

There is power in your tears. There is purpose in your softness. There is ministry in the ache you carry every day.

And friend, God is using every drop of it.

Love, Sarah xx.

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