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  • Writer's pictureLeeAnn Witzigman

Tears of Jesus


I saw the cup of suffering nearly full and untouched for some time. No one lined up around it or even ventured near it. A single ray of light cascading over it, so none could say they did not know it was there. 


On the rim of this cup was a print of lips raptured in a first love. A seal of a kiss that speaks a Great Name. A mouth unafraid to lose the whole world. A testimony of redeemed pain that drips with the liquid of this cup. A voice that stains every heart with a drop from His cup. And a tongue that has tasted the bittersweet offering along a narrow pathway. The lingering taste of the ashes of burned dreams mixed with milk and honey of eternal promise. 


Those who held this cup of suffering and drank from it never suffered again. They found a Love so worth it all that every moment was declared holy ahead of time - making sense of a broken and fallen world, one drink of Love at a time. 


For His love has never feared the suffering and His cup of tears awaits us all. 

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