The Praise That Comes After the Tears

When sorrow plants the seeds of tomorrow’s joy

I don’t know if you’ve ever had one of those days where you wake up hopeful and end it feeling like the wind was knocked out of you — but I’ve had plenty. Life doesn’t always hit gently. Sometimes it comes in waves that soak you to the bone before you even realize what’s happening. And if you’re anything like me, you try to hold it together as long as you can… until you can’t.

The tears come.

And in the middle of them, you start to wonder, “Is God really with me right now? Because it doesn’t feel like it.”

That’s the tension this post leans into — I’ve discovered something I wish someone had told me earlier in life: tears don’t mean God has stepped away. They often mean He’s closer than we realize.

When I look back on the hardest moments of this last year — the days when I sat on the edge of my bed trying to breathe through disappointment, or when loneliness pressed a little too hard — I can see now that those moments weren’t empty. They were the soil God was working with. The feelings didn’t lie, but they didn’t have the whole truth either.

And when the tears finally slowed… that’s when praise started to rise in places I never expected.

When Tears Don’t Signify Weak Faith

Some of us were raised to wipe our faces quickly and “be strong.” But here’s the thing: tears aren’t the opposite of strength; they’re part of it.

Strong faith doesn’t mean you never cry. Strong faith means you still turn toward God while you cry.

The Bible says God collects our tears — not ignores them, not dismisses them, not rolls His eyes at them. He keeps them. He sees every one. That alone changes how I look at the moments when I’ve felt undone. If He holds them, He must value them.

And if He values them, then maybe I should stop seeing tears as failure and more as a sign that my heart is still soft enough to feel.

What God Builds from What Breaks Us

There’s a verse in Psalm 126 that says, “Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy.”

For the longest time, I didn’t understand that. What does it mean to sow with tears? What exactly am I planting when I’m crying?

But as I look back on this past year — my first year truly walking with God again — I understand it more now. Tears water the ground where God plans to grow something. Pain isn’t the harvest; it’s the planting.

When something in your life shatters, God doesn’t sweep it into a corner and forget it happened. He picks up the pieces with tenderness and whispers, “I can use this. Watch what I’ll make from it.”

That shift — from seeing tears as loss to seeing them as planting — changed me.

Because yes, the tears hurt. But the joy that grows afterward? That’s the part that took me by surprise.

Praise Often Begins Long Before the Pain Ends

Most people think praise comes after everything works out. After the problem is solved, after the healing is complete, after the relationship is restored.

But praise rarely waits for perfect timing. Praise usually starts somewhere uncomfortable.

It starts in the whisper of, “God, I don’t know how this will end, but I trust You.”
It starts when you wash your face, take a deep breath, and decide to keep moving forward.
It starts in the smallest yes — the “God, stay close,” even when you don’t feel Him.

And something quiet happens in that space. You begin to notice small mercies:

• A moment of peace you didn’t expect
  

• Strength for a day you thought would break you
  

• A comforting word from someone who had no idea you were struggling
  

• A calm that feels like it fell over you instead of coming from you
  

Those small mercies are early signs that praise is on its way.

There Truly Is Beauty After Ashes

Some heartbreaks don’t heal overnight. Some disappointments don’t resolve quickly. Some endings create long shadows.

But Isaiah 61:3 says God gives beauty for ashes. Not beauty next to the ashes. Not beauty after we’ve cleaned up the ashes. Beauty for them, or as I read it, in place of them.

Which tells me God has no problem going into the messiest parts of my life and creating something beautiful right inside the ruins.

When I think of the moments I’ve cried this past year — moments I didn’t think I’d ever recover from — I can now see the beauty that grew quietly underneath it all:

• Depth in my faith
  

• A softer heart
  

• A clearer perspective
  

• A gentler spirit
  

• A deeper trust
  

None of that came from the easy days. It came from the broken ones.

The Light That Never Fully Goes Out

I want to be honest — my faith is not a roaring wildfire most days. It’s more like the flame on a candle. Small. Sometimes flickering. Sometimes fragile.

But even a flicker gives light. Even a tiny flame can push back a whole room of darkness.

Faith doesn’t always feel strong. It just needs to stay present.

Sometimes lighting a candle, opening your Bible to a single verse, whispering a three-word prayer… that’s all you can do. And that’s enough.

A flicker can survive storms.
A flicker can become a flame again.
A flicker is still faith.

Looking Back Helps You Look Forward

One of the most healing things I’ve done this year is reflect on what God has already done for me — the moments He carried me, comforted me, steadied me, held me, or simply made me aware that I wasn’t alone.

When you look back with intention, gratitude rises up without you forcing it. It’s in that remembering, that praise becomes natural.

Because when you see God’s fingerprints in the story behind you, it becomes easier to trust His hand in the story ahead.

And that’s really what this whole post is about — the way God gently turns tears into reminders of His faithfulness, and how praise blooms from places we thought were barren.

With gratitude and faith,
Patti