The Promise That Makes the Tears Worth It

Sometimes, the weight of the world—the weight of loss, the weight of misunderstanding, the weight of simply *being* here—feels like it’s pressing down right on your chest. You look around at the struggles of the people you love, or perhaps you are carrying a burden of your own that feels endless. We know what it feels like to cry—the tears of grief for a friend who has passed, the tears of frustration when the Spirit feels distant, or the tears of quiet longing for the day when everything will finally be perfect.

If you’ve spent time in the field, you know that the ache of separation—the ache of knowing that the best moments are fleeting—is a universal human experience. We are taught to be resilient, to keep our eyes on the covenant path, but even the most stalwart disciples feel the sting of tears.

It was a powerful message recently that brought this truth into sharp focus: Revelation 21:4. "And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things have passed away."

The Former Things Have Passed Away

When we read that passage, it’s almost too big to process. It’s a promise so grand, so utterly perfect, that our mortal minds struggle to hold it. But the core message is beautifully simple: everything that causes us tears—the sorrow, the pain, the struggle—it all passes away. It doesn't just get better; it ceases to exist.

Think about the kinds of tears we shed. We cry tears of bereaved love, like Mary and Martha over Lazarus. We cry tears of sympathy, like Jeremiah and Jesus wept over Jerusalem, even when judgment was deserved. We cry tears of contrition for our own failings. These tears are real. They are valid. And the gospel reminds us that God doesn't just *see* our tears; He collects them. As David prayed, "Put my tears into your bottle; are they not in your book?"

This isn't just poetic comfort; it’s a profound promise of divine remembrance. Our struggles, our moments of weakness, our tears shed in righteous sorrow—they are accounted for. They are treasures being gathered for eternity.

Being Christlike in the Waiting

This understanding should change how we approach the waiting period—the gap between the cry of the newborn and the weak, feeble groan at the end of life. In that gap, we are called to be disciples. We are called to be *internet missionaries*, to live so that our actions testify of the Savior, even when the tears are flowing.

If you are feeling weary right now, if the weight of the world seems too much, anchor yourself to this promise. Remember that the glory of heaven is distinguished, at least in part, by what it *lacks*: no tears, no sorrow, no pain. That is the ultimate destination, and it’s waiting for us.

As we continue to build Zion here on earth—through our efforts in the Church, through our service, and through our discipleship—let us keep this promise before us. Let it be the fuel for our efforts in the mission field, the quiet strength during our study in HolyPlaces, and the hope that guides our conversations when we are preparing for missionary discussions.

If you need to wrestle with the hard questions that pop up when you’re trying to understand the Atonement, I highly recommend running through a scenario with Davee. He’s excellent at walking you through the tough questions an investigator might ask, helping you feel prepared and confident in your answers. For those who love deep dives into scripture, don't forget to check out the Book Club options in LivingBook!

What are your tears today? Are they tears of sorrow, of hope, or of gratitude? Share your thoughts below, and let’s encourage one another as we press forward toward that day when all tears are wiped away.