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I am but a single drop, spilled in the dawn of creation. My story began in peace, as my bearer walked with God in the quiet communion of the earth. But it ended in violence, when my owner was struck down by his own brother. I was shed in a field, a place where innocence once thrived. The hand of my brother, consumed by envy and hate, took Abel’s life. When he fell, I seeped into the soil, staining the earth—the first death of its kind (Genesis 4:8).

I am the blood of Abel. I have long since disappeared, but I still speak.

God spoke of me, calling out to Cain, “The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground” (Genesis 4:10). Later, Jesus acknowledged this long and painful history, saying, “The blood of righteous Abel” is but the beginning of a lineage of those who suffered because they chose to follow God (Matthew 23:35). Though I am but a drop, my cry reached the ears of the Almighty, proclaiming the injustice done. I am not merely a stain in the dust—I am a witness.

Through me, the pain of sin was made more visible. I tell the story of how evil grows when left unchecked, how jealousy takes root in the heart and leads to death (James 1:14-15). But I also speak of something greater: the justice and mercy of God. He did not ignore me. He saw, He knew, and He acted.

In the centuries that followed, countless drops like me have fallen—each one a testament to the lives of the righteous who stood firm in their faith. From the prophets who were stoned for proclaiming God’s truth (2 Chronicles 24:20-21) to the apostles who suffered martyrdom for bearing witness to the Gospel (Acts 7:58-60), to the nameless martyrs through the years, every drop of blood tells a story of unwavering devotion to truth.

My cry is not for vengeance, but for justice. Like the blood poured out at the base of the altar in the sanctuary (Exodus 29:12), I declare the cost of sin and the need for atonement. And while I speak of sorrow, I also speak of hope.

In Revelation 6:9, when the Lamb broke the fifth seal, a vision appeared—souls beneath the altar, those who had been martyred for their faithfulness to God and their testimony. Though these souls are not alive in any sense (Ecclesiastes 9:5, 6; Psalm 76:5; John 11:13), we, their drops of blood, still speak, crying out before God. Their cry echoes mine—a call for justice, a reminder that the price of faithfulness is high, yet our voices are not silent. We rest in peace, yet our testimony continues, speaking volumes to the Creator, declaring the cost of sin and the longing for His return to set all things right.

Even though the loss of the lives of millions upon millions of faithful witnesses has left billions and billions of drops of blood at the foot of the altar, I witnessed a greater sacrifice—the blood of The Lamb. When Jesus gave His life, His blood covered the sins of all who believe. It flowed from His hands, His feet, and His side, a sacrifice that resounded far louder than our combined cry. While we cry out for justice, His blood proclaims mercy. While we bear witness to death, His blood speaks life (Hebrews 12:24; 1 John 1:7).

Now I rest beneath the altar, part of a chorus of voices that cry out to God. “How long, O Lord, holy and true, until You judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?” (Revelation 6:10). The war between good and evil still rages, but I know how it will end. The Lamb who was slain will return as the conquering King (Revelation 19:11-16). Every wrong will be made right, every tear will be wiped away, and death itself will be no more (Revelation 21:4).

Until then, I wait. I am not forgotten. My story, though small, is part of the greater story of God’s justice, mercy, and love.

I am Abel’s blood, and I am a witness.

As Abel’s blood still speaks, what does your life say? Will your testimony be one of faithfulness, standing firm for truth even in the face of trials?