Clara gripped the edges of the wooden pew as tightly as she gripped her anger. Her heart pounded so loudly that she was sure the pastor could hear it all the way from the pulpit. Kevin had betrayed her—the one person she had trusted most—and the bitterness bloomed and tangled inside her like thorns.
The church bell tolled, and the congregation bowed their heads. Clara bowed hers too, but her mind refused to pray. Instead, she replayed the betrayal again and again, sharpening it like a blade. If only she could make Kevin suffer the way she had. If only revenge could close the gaping wound he had torn through her.
As the final hymn floated through the air like incense, Clara remained seated, unable to move. An old woman with soft, wrinkled hands slid onto the pew beside her without a word. Clara stiffened.
After a moment, the woman spoke, her voice worn but kind. “You’re holding something heavy, dear. Too heavy for you to carry alone.”
Clara felt her throat tighten. She blinked hard, trying to dam the tears.
The woman patted Clara’s white-knuckled hands. “You know, our Jesus doesn’t just take our sins—He takes our sorrows, too.”
A sob escaped Clara, sharp and raw. She hadn’t realized how deeply lonely she was in her bitterness. She whispered, “But it’s not fair. He hurt me. Shouldn’t he pay?”
The woman smiled gently, her eyes sparkling with a peace Clara couldn’t comprehend. “Justice belongs to God alone, sweetheart. It’s not your burden to bear.”
Clara shook her head, wiped her tears roughly with the sleeve of her sweater. She wanted to believe that—needed to—but she didn't know how to let go.
The woman reached into her handbag and pulled out a tiny, worn slip of paper. She pressed it into Clara’s hand. It was a verse, handwritten and faded from folding and unfolding: “Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.” (Romans 12:19)
For a long, fragile moment, Clara stared at the worn scripture.
It felt impossible, like standing at the edge of a canyon and being told to step out and trust the air to hold her. Yet somehow, in the quiet weight of that sanctuary and the warmth of that stranger’s presence, she saw a glimmer of something she hadn’t felt in months—hope.
The choir began to sing again, this time an impromptu chorus as people lingered. Their voices stitched the cool morning air together like threads of gold: Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…
Clara closed her eyes. She imagined placing her betrayal, her hurt, her rage, into God’s hands—as if it were an offering too heavy for her arms. She didn't have to figure it all out. She didn’t have to hold vengeance anymore.
When she finally rose from the pew, her legs trembled like a newborn foal’s. But she stood. She inhaled deeply, letting the scent of wax candles and old wood fill her lungs. And for the first time in a long time, she felt lighter.
Clara turned to thank the woman—but the pew beside her was empty.
She smiled through the salt of her tears, not feeling alone at all.
—
Bible Verses:
Clara gripped the edges of the wooden pew as tightly as she gripped her anger. Her heart pounded so loudly that she was sure the pastor could hear it all the way from the pulpit. Kevin had betrayed her—the one person she had trusted most—and the bitterness bloomed and tangled inside her like thorns.
The church bell tolled, and the congregation bowed their heads. Clara bowed hers too, but her mind refused to pray. Instead, she replayed the betrayal again and again, sharpening it like a blade. If only she could make Kevin suffer the way she had. If only revenge could close the gaping wound he had torn through her.
As the final hymn floated through the air like incense, Clara remained seated, unable to move. An old woman with soft, wrinkled hands slid onto the pew beside her without a word. Clara stiffened.
After a moment, the woman spoke, her voice worn but kind. “You’re holding something heavy, dear. Too heavy for you to carry alone.”
Clara felt her throat tighten. She blinked hard, trying to dam the tears.
The woman patted Clara’s white-knuckled hands. “You know, our Jesus doesn’t just take our sins—He takes our sorrows, too.”
A sob escaped Clara, sharp and raw. She hadn’t realized how deeply lonely she was in her bitterness. She whispered, “But it’s not fair. He hurt me. Shouldn’t he pay?”
The woman smiled gently, her eyes sparkling with a peace Clara couldn’t comprehend. “Justice belongs to God alone, sweetheart. It’s not your burden to bear.”
Clara shook her head, wiped her tears roughly with the sleeve of her sweater. She wanted to believe that—needed to—but she didn't know how to let go.
The woman reached into her handbag and pulled out a tiny, worn slip of paper. She pressed it into Clara’s hand. It was a verse, handwritten and faded from folding and unfolding: “Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.” (Romans 12:19)
For a long, fragile moment, Clara stared at the worn scripture.
It felt impossible, like standing at the edge of a canyon and being told to step out and trust the air to hold her. Yet somehow, in the quiet weight of that sanctuary and the warmth of that stranger’s presence, she saw a glimmer of something she hadn’t felt in months—hope.
The choir began to sing again, this time an impromptu chorus as people lingered. Their voices stitched the cool morning air together like threads of gold: Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…
Clara closed her eyes. She imagined placing her betrayal, her hurt, her rage, into God’s hands—as if it were an offering too heavy for her arms. She didn't have to figure it all out. She didn’t have to hold vengeance anymore.
When she finally rose from the pew, her legs trembled like a newborn foal’s. But she stood. She inhaled deeply, letting the scent of wax candles and old wood fill her lungs. And for the first time in a long time, she felt lighter.
Clara turned to thank the woman—but the pew beside her was empty.
She smiled through the salt of her tears, not feeling alone at all.
—
Bible Verses:
