Remain Tender
He is altogether lovely.
And He chose you.
Not when you were strong. Not when you had your theology cleaned up or your behavior in check. Not when you could pray eloquently or stand with confidence. He chose you when you were broken. When you were bleeding. When you were nothing. He found you face down in the dust and said, This one is Mine.
And something in you broke open at that moment. The tears came easy. The love burned hot. The altar was your home. Just to be near Him was enough.
But over time, the war got louder.
And somewhere in the battle, you stopped crying.
Not all at once.
But gradually. Quietly.
The weight of life crept in like a fog.
Disappointment. Fatigue. Ministry. Betrayal.
People pulling on you. The crushing pressure to be strong for everyone else. And so you did what you had to do. You hardened. You moved forward. You kept the right words in your mouth, but your heart slowly hid behind a wall.
You still loved Him, but you stopped breaking for Him.
You still served Him, but the tears dried up.
You still carried the call, but somewhere along the way, the tenderness faded.
And now, when His presence comes, it does not undo you like it used to.
You hear His name and your mind says holy, but your spirit no longer trembles.
You lift your hands, but the fire feels distant.
You pray, but it is mechanical. You worship, but you are watching the clock.
You have gotten used to the ache.
You have learned to live numb.
But He did not save you to make you numb.
He saved you to make you new.
He saved you to make you His.
And if your tears have stopped, it does not mean you are mature. It means you are in danger.
Because the goal was never ministry.
The goal was never power.
The goal was never platforms or strategy or even impact.
The goal has always been Him.
And your tears were never weakness, they were the evidence that you were still in love.
What made David different? What made him a man after God’s own heart? He was not flawless. He was not perfect. But his heart stayed tender.
He repented with tears. He danced with wildness. He poured his soul out like water in the secret place. And when he failed, he did not hide behind excuses. He wept.
God never turned from a weeping man.
There is something in the eyes of the broken that draws the attention of Heaven.
Not the broken who refuse to heal, but the broken who refuse to harden.
Jesus wept. The Word, the Lion, the Resurrection Himself, wept.
He wept over a city that rejected Him.
He wept at the grave of a friend He was about to raise.
He wept in a garden, under the weight of a cup no one else could drink.
You cannot follow a weeping Savior with dry eyes forever.
Your strength is not your power, it is your proximity.
And you cannot stay close to Him and stay hardened. You cannot walk with Him and not bleed for what breaks His heart. You cannot know Him and not feel Him.
This world is hard. It will lie to you. It will tell you to be strong, to be thick skinned, to get over it, to move on. It will try to convince you that feeling deeply is a liability. That weeping is weakness. That vulnerability makes you a target. But the Kingdom says the opposite.
The Kingdom says the pure in heart shall see God.
The Kingdom says a bruised reed He will not break.
The Kingdom says blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
When was the last time you mourned for the distance in your heart?
When was the last time you laid on the floor and told Him, I miss You. I do not want this numbness anymore.
When was the last time you felt the weight of His nearness and broke again?
Somewhere along the way we began to believe that maturity meant stoicism. That growth meant silence. That depth meant composure. But the ones who carry the greatest authority are the ones who cry the most in the secret place. The ones who still fall down. The ones who still shake when He speaks. The ones who still whisper, do not pass me by, when He walks in the room.
I know you are tired. I know life has pressed you. I know you have had to hold things together for so long that you forgot what it felt like to fall apart before Him. But He is not asking you to be strong for Him. He is asking you to be real with Him.
You do not have to fake it.
You do not have to keep pretending that fire is burning when the coals have grown cold.
You do not have to act like the oil is flowing when your heart feels dry.
You do not have to wear the mask of the anointed when the child in you just wants to cry.
He knows.
He sees.
And He wants to touch the tender place again.
The place you shut down.
The place you buried after that heartbreak.
The place you closed off after that betrayal.
The place where you told yourself, Never again. I will never let anyone see me like that again.
But what if your healing was hidden inside your weeping?
What if you could lay it all down and He would not be disappointed, but delighted? What if He still sees that little kid in you who used to run to Him without shame?
What if He is not waiting for your best version, but your honest one?
Do not be afraid to be tender again.
It is the tender ones who carry His heart.
It is the tender ones who carry the weight of glory.
It is the tender ones who birth nations in secret groans and carry revival in their tears.
If the tears have stopped, it is time to return.
If the fire has gone dim, it is time to fall again.
If your heart has hardened, let Him touch it.
You do not need another strategy. You need a moment of surrender.
Let the tears come.
Let the trembling come.
Let the vulnerability return.
Let the ache rise in your chest again.
He is worth it.
He is still beautiful.
And He is still moved by your love.
You have nothing to prove.
Just everything to pour out.
So fall again.
Weep again.
Break again.
And stay there.
Because once you have tasted the nearness of His heart, nothing else will ever satisfy you.
Let it cost you your dignity.
Let it cost you your composure.
Let it cost you your pride.
Let it cost you your platform if it must.
Just do not lose the tears.
Do not lose the wonder.
Do not lose the ache.
Do not lose the tenderness.
Because He still comes where the heart is soft.
He still walks into rooms where the floor is wet with weeping.
He still calls your name in the stillness and waits to see if you will tremble again.
Let the world be hard.
Let the church grow cold.
But as for me, I will remain tender.
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