He is near

If you had never grieved—if your heart had not been shattered beneath the weight of sorrow—how would you come to know the nearness of the One who binds up the brokenhearted?

If you never tasted the salt of your own tears, how could you recognize the sweetness of His presence?

If your soul never trembled beneath the ache of absence, how would you ever learn the comfort of a God who never leaves, who never forsakes, who sits with you in the silence and speaks life back into your emptiness?

There is a holy mystery woven into suffering—

a hidden mercy tucked beneath the ache—

a sacred invitation to meet the Comforter not just by name, but by experience.

The world teaches us to avoid pain at all costs.

But Heaven speaks a better word:

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Not avoided. Not bypassed. Not numbed.

Comforted.

The God of all comfort does not shout from a distance. He steps into the grief, wraps Himself in our humanity, and weeps beside us.

He does not despise your tears. He bottles them. He does not rush your healing. He inhabits it.

Grief, though brutal, is not your enemy.

It is the ground in which deeper trust takes root,

the soil where hope blooms.

For when all else is stripped away—when the noise dies down and your hands are empty—

you find that He is still there.

And sometimes, it’s only in the ache that we finally discover

He is not just enough—

He is everything.

So take heart, weary one.

Your mourning is not meaningless.

Your sorrow is seen, your wounds are known.

And in the breaking, the Comforter comes—not with platitudes, but with His presence.

Not with answers, but with Himself.

He is the answer.

And what a gift that is.

For it is better to walk through the valley with Him than to dance on the mountaintop without Him. It is better to have a heart that knows longing, if that longing leads you to the arms of your Savior.

Blessed are you who mourn.

Not because the pain is pleasant,

but because the Comforter is faithful.

And He will not leave you as you are.

He will turn your mourning into dancing,

your ashes into beauty,

your heaviness into praise.

So hold fast. Grieve with hope.

Let your tears fall freely—

For in every one, He is near.