Every Single Tear

There are days when the weight of this world presses so heavily on our shoulders that even breathing feels like effort. The kind of days when you look around and wonder if anyone really sees you—like you’ve become a whisper in the wind, carried away by everything that’s out of your control.

We’ve both had those days.

Sometimes, it feels like we’re walking through life quietly, almost invisibly. People pass by with smiles, with plans, with laughter, while we’re just trying to find our footing again. There are moments when we think, Does anyone really know what’s happening behind these walls? Does anyone see the pain that lives quietly behind the smiles, the exhaustion that doesn’t go away with sleep, the prayers whispered through tears no one else sees?

It’s so easy to feel small in a world that moves fast. So easy to feel insignificant—like one tiny voice doesn’t matter.

But even in that silence, there’s Someone who does see. Someone who never misses a single heartbeat, who knows every thought before it’s spoken, every fear before it’s named. He’s been watching over us the entire time—not in judgment, but with compassion so deep it’s beyond human understanding. He knows everything we’re going through, every fear, every ache, every question we haven’t had the words to ask.

We’ve seen it in our lives again and again—especially through Tim’s journey with PNES, and through all the pain, uncertainty, and heartbreak that’s come with it. There have been days when hope felt impossible to find. Days when the ground beneath us felt like it was crumbling, when the “what ifs” got so loud we couldn’t hear anything else.

We know what it’s like to be overwhelmed by circumstances completely out of our control. To watch life shift in ways you never expected and have no way of stopping it. To feel like a heart without a home—displaced, longing for normalcy, aching for peace that seems just out of reach.

But here’s what we’ve come to learn, slowly and tenderly, through the breaking and rebuilding: You don’t have to face this hurt alone.

There’s a God who sees.

And not just sees—feels.

He’s not distant, sitting somewhere beyond the clouds watching life unfold like a movie. He’s here—in the details, in the ordinary, in the quiet moments when it feels like no one is listening. He’s in the hospital rooms, the sleepless nights, the heavy silences after bad news. He’s in the tears we cry behind closed doors and the prayers that sound more like sighs.

He sees every single tear.

He feels everything we’re feeling.

And He doesn’t turn away.

We’ve both had moments of breaking—where the tears came without warning, where fear took hold and faith felt fragile. But we’ve also felt what it’s like to be held by something unseen. To feel peace come into the room when it shouldn’t have been there. To feel the warmth of His presence when everything else felt cold. That’s how we know He’s real—because there are no words for how a shattered heart can still beat with hope, except grace.

He wants to hold us close.

He wants to hold you close, too.

He’s not waiting for you to get it all together before He comes near. He’s not looking for perfect prayers or unshakable strength. He just wants your heart—raw, messy, trembling, honest. Because your heart is what He hears, even when your words fail.

There have been nights when all we could do was whisper, “Please, God… just help us get through this one.” And somehow, we always did. Not because we figured it out, not because we were strong, but because He was.

The same God who adorns the lilies of the field and clothes them in beauty without effort, the same God who feeds every sparrow that wakes up hungry, is the same God who looks at you—and says, You matter more than all of this.

If He takes such care with the flowers that fade and the birds that vanish with the seasons, how much more does He care about you? About us? About the pain that has no easy answer? About the moments when life feels too big and we feel too small?

We’ve seen His care in the smallest things—the timing of a kind word from a friend, a song that plays when we need it most, a moment of laughter in a week filled with tears. Tiny reminders that even when the world feels heavy, we are not forgotten.

Sometimes His love shows up quietly.

Not always in the way we expect—but always in the way we need.

When Tim has a hard day—when seizures steal the rhythm from his body and fear tries to move into the spaces grace already occupies—I watch God hold him through it. Not always by taking the pain away, but by sending peace into it. By giving him the strength to get back up. By filling our home with moments of light when the darkness feels too close.

And when I feel helpless—when I want to fix it and can’t, when my prayers turn into tears on the floor—I feel Him hold me too. I feel Him remind me that love is stronger than fear, that grace is bigger than this season, and that the story isn’t over yet.

That’s the part we want to share with anyone who’s walking through something they can’t explain: You are not invisible. You are not forgotten. You are not alone in this pain.

You are seen.

You are loved.

And you are being held by the same God who made the stars—and He’s never once dropped a single one.

When the world only hears your crying, He hears your heart. When people can’t understand the depth of your sorrow, He already does. When you’re too tired to keep pretending you’re okay, He whispers, You don’t have to be.

He cares about every single tear.

Every single one.

Not a drop of your pain is wasted. Every tear that falls is caught in His hands, every ache is known, every sleepless night is remembered. He doesn’t look at your suffering from a distance; He steps into it with you. That’s who He is—Emmanuel. God with us.

There have been so many moments in this journey where we’ve wanted to give up. When we’ve asked why—why this, why us, why now. And yet, even in the absence of answers, we’ve found presence. A holy, steady presence that has never once failed us.

And that’s what faith really is, isn’t it? Not certainty, but trust. Not understanding, but holding on. It’s waking up every day and saying, “Even if I don’t see the way, I’ll still walk with You.”

So if you feel insignificant today—like you’re fading into the background, like nobody really knows your name or your pain—we just want you to know: God does. He always has.

He knows the sound of your laughter, the rhythm of your heartbeat, and the shape of every prayer you’ve ever prayed. He knows your fears and your failures, your hidden battles, and your quiet victories.

And He loves you anyway.

He doesn’t love you for what you can do, or for how strong you’ve been, or for how much you’ve endured. He loves you because you’re His.

We’ve learned that love like that changes everything.

It doesn’t erase the pain, but it gives it purpose. It doesn’t always stop the storm, but it steadies you inside of it. It doesn’t answer every question, but it gives you the courage to live in the mystery.

So even when the tears fall—and they will—remember this: He sees them. He feels them. And He is nearer than the pain that caused them.

He has never once turned away from a broken heart.

And if He cares enough to paint every flower and feed every bird, He cares infinitely more about you—about your story, your healing, your tomorrow.

We hold on to that truth every day. Sometimes by faith, sometimes by the faintest thread of hope. But it’s enough. Because the same God who walks with us through this valley is the same one who will one day lead us into joy again.

Until then, we rest in the promise that He’s still here—watching, loving, listening, and holding every single tear.

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Grace for the Journey

If your heart feels heavy today, let this be the reminder you didn’t know you needed: You are not alone. God sees the tears you cry when no one else does. He knows the ache you can’t put into words. He’s holding you closer than you realize.

So breathe. Let go of the need to have it all figured out. Lift your eyes, even if it’s just for a moment, and whisper this truth over yourself:

“I am seen. I am loved. I am held.”

Even in the waiting, even in the breaking—He’s still writing your story with mercy and grace.
And He’s not finished yet.