You are tired of the tears, and maybe a little afraid to stop crying, because the tears are proof that something mattered. The promise says the first things have passed away, but they have not passed away yet. Today they are still pressing against your chest.

Picture the scene: a hand, large enough to hold the whole world, coming toward your face. It does not hurry. It does not flinch at the mess. The pad of a thumb, the curve of a palm, moving across the wet cheek. The verse does not say the tears were not real; it says they will be wiped. Every tear. Not the ones you could explain, not the ones you cried in private, not the ones you are crying right now. The wiping is coming; the tears are still real.

The promise says the first things have passed away, but it does not say they pass away before you feel them. The Father calls you the one who is still weeping, and still held. The same hand that will wipe your eyes is the hand that was pierced for you; the resurrection does not erase your history, it redeems it. You do not have to perform hope. You only have to let the promise sit beside your grief.