#betrayed

Excellent line-up ✨ (no.)

There is a particular kind of grief that rarely gets spoken about in church pews or prayer circles. It is not always the grief of losing a person. Sometimes it is the grief of losing the life you thought you would live.

It’s mourning the marriage you prayed would heal, but didn’t. The child you hoped to hold. The ministry you believed God called you to. The career that collapsed. The friendships that slowly disappeared. The healthy body you once took for granted. The financial stability you worked tirelessly to build. The future you pictured in your mind so many nights before falling asleep.

Sometimes the deepest heartbreak comes from watching your life become unrecognizable from the one you once imagined. And that grief is real. Many hurting Christians silently carry shame over this kind of sorrow. They think they should simply “have more faith.” They believe grieving broken dreams somehow dishonors God. But Scripture never teaches us to pretend we’re not hurting. Throughout the Bible, we see people pouring out disappointment, confusion, fear, and heartbreak before the Lord.

David cried, “Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me?” (Psalm 42:5 KJV). Job mourned the destruction of nearly every part of his life. Hannah wept bitterly over unanswered prayers. Naomi openly said, “Call me not Naomi, call me Mara: for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me” (Ruth 1:20 KJV). God did not strike them down for their honesty. He met them in it.

There’s something uniquely painful about watching life move forward while your own heart feels stuck in the ruins of what could have been. Social media becomes a gallery of everyone else’s answered prayers while yours seem suspended in silence. You watch others celebrate engagements while your relationship ended. Others announce pregnancies while you sit with empty arms. Others buy homes while you struggle to pay bills. Others testify about miraculous healing while your body still aches every morning. And quietly, secretly, you begin grieving not only your circumstances, but the person you thought you would become by now.

C.S. Lewis once wrote, “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” That’s true not only after death, but after disappointment. Because broken dreams leave us fearful too. Fearful that life will never improve. Fearful that God has forgotten us. Fearful that we somehow failed Him. But disappointment is not proof of God’s abandonment.

One of the hardest truths Christians wrestle with is that faithfulness to God does not guarantee an easy earthly story. Sometimes the Lord leads His children through wilderness seasons they never would have chosen. Proverbs does say, “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5 KJV), but trusting Him often hurts because we do not understand.

We wanted clarity. God gave silence. We wanted healing. God gave endurance. We wanted rescue. God gave daily bread. We wanted the whole road map. God gave enough light for the next step.

And still, somehow, He remains good.

That can be difficult to say out loud during seasons of suffering. Some days you may not feel triumphant faith. Some days your prayers may barely rise above exhaustion. You may sit in your car fighting tears before work. You may smile in public while privately wondering why your life turned out this way. You may feel guilty because somewhere inside you still mourn the future you lost.

But grieving what you hoped for is not weakness. Even Jesus grieved. In the Garden of Gethsemane, before the cross, He said, “My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death” (Matthew 26:38 KJV). The Son of God Himself experienced crushing anguish. Christianity has never been a denial of pain. It is the promise that pain is not the end of the story.

Sometimes we imagine God weaving our lives like beautiful tapestries with bright colors and obvious patterns. But while we live here on earth, most days feel less like finished artwork and more like loose, tangled threads scattered across the floor.

And maybe that is why Our Threads of Faith matters so deeply.

Faith is often not a completed picture. It is holding onto one fragile thread at a time. One prayer. One breath. One Scripture. One more morning getting out of bed when your heart feels heavy. We may not yet see what God is weaving, but we continue placing the broken strands into His hands.

The poet Corrie ten Boom once wrote:

“My life is but a weaving Between my God and me. I cannot choose the colors, He worketh steadily.”

From underneath, the threads may look chaotic. Knotted. Unfinished. But God sees the other side of the tapestry. That does not erase grief. It does not magically remove loneliness or financial stress or chronic illness or shattered relationships. Some wounds stay tender for years. Certain prayers may never be answered the way we hoped. This side of Heaven, some stories remain unfinished.

Yet even here, God remains near to brokenhearted people.

“The LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit” (Psalm 34:18 KJV).

Notice the verse does not say God only draws near to the joyful, strong, or victorious. He draws near to the brokenhearted. To those grieving the marriage that failed. The dreams that collapsed. The years they cannot get back. The body that no longer functions the same. The loneliness they cannot explain to anyone else.

He comes near to grieving people. Maybe today you’re carrying sorrow for a version of life you once believed would exist by now. Maybe you feel embarrassed by how deeply it still hurts. Maybe you keep wondering why God allowed your story to unfold this way.

You may not receive all those answers right now. But your grief is not invisible to Him. The Lord who counted David’s tears still sees yours. The Savior who wept at Lazarus’ tomb still understands sorrow. And the God who weaves beauty from ashes is still holding every broken thread of your life, even the ones you do not understand.

So if all you can do today is grieve, then grieve honestly before God.

And if all you have left is one trembling thread of faith, hold onto it.

What if, due to fighting villains so much, Hero contracts a serious illness that threatens to completely debilitate them.

Hero is nothing without their crime fighting work, so they seek out one of the best doctors in the city.

The doctor gives Hero a drug that keeps the illness in remission. But Hero needs to come in for injections twice a week.

Hero complies with this schedule religiously. After a few months, not only is the illness almost gone, but Hero feels better than they have in years.

And the doctor is so kind, so understanding. They never ask Hero where they get their bruises or broken bones, just patch them up good as new. As if they know exactly where Hero was injured.

For once in Hero's life, they are the ones being taken care of. They forgot how incredible that feeling was.

One day, the doctor steps out with a flustered nurse while Hero is getting injected.

"I'll be back soon," they promise on the way out. "Just sit tight and wait for me." Then with a swish of their doctor's coat, they disappear behind the door.

Hero obliges, letting the drug soothe the aches in their bones. But then the machine cuts off abruptly. Hero looks but the IV bag is still half full.

Confused, they ease off the operating chair. The plug is attached to the outlet. All the wiring seems fine.

Then Hero notices that the doctor left their clipboard behind. Hero's never read the clipboard. They can't even remember the last time the doctor let the clipboard out of their sight.

Hero knows they shouldn't but the notes are about them, after all. Besides, they want to know what the doctor thinks of all their strange injuries so poorly explained.

The first page is normal medical jargon. Hero flips through the second, third, fourth.

It's not until they reach the last page that they find handwritten notes.

"Strongest at .5 meters"

"Test 3mg more of Haepoxulin."

"Monitor activities during witching hour more closely."

"Do NOT taser right leg. Femur still healing."

Hero tested their step on their right leg. The leg felt healthy, better than healthy. What did the doctor--

A sharp pain shot up Hero's leg. Their knee buckles. Hero clutches the arms of the operating chair, agony locking them in place.

"You've been wanting to read that, haven't you?"

Hero's eyes whip towards the door. Supervillain stands in the doorway, holding the doctor's coat over their arm.

Hero tries to lunge, but the pain keeps them in place.

"What did you do to the doctor?" Hero yells, hatred burning from their gaze. "If you touched a hair on their heads, I'll--"

Supervillain shakes their head. "Ever the savior. To busy asking what I did to them," shaking out the coat, Supervillain pulls it over their shoulders, "to wonder what I did to you."

Hero's blood freezes. There's that roguish grin the doctor always wears, that stubborn cowlick the doctor can never comb down.

"You--you're--how?" Hero's heart twists with rage, confusion, hurt. "Was it all a lie?"

"Of course not. I couldn't have my favorite Hero dying. Who would thwart my plans? Life's so boring when everything goes your way," They press a small button on the device in their hand, "Don't you think, Hero?"

A thousand shock waves jolt through Hero's body. They crumple to the floor, writhing from the neurons coursing through their blood.

Supervillain clicks the button again. The agony stops at once. In its place, healing strength flows into Hero's muscles.

Hero's eyes roll back in their head. Consciousness weakens and the world swims into darkness.

Before Hero can fully pass out, they turn their head to ask Supervillain one more question: "Why...?"

Supervillain's, no, the doctor's roguish grin is the last thing Hero sees before the world goes dark.