Nobody talks about the pain of the long game.
People tell you to trust God. They tell you to be patient. They tell you that God’s timing is perfect. And while all of that may be true, they rarely talk about what it feels like to sit alone with a heart that wants something it cannot have.
The long game is knowing God has not forgotten you while still wondering why the waiting hurts so much.
It’s watching years pass by and trying not to let disappointment turn into bitterness. It’s praying for someone you’ve never met, or praying for someone you have met but cannot have. It’s carrying hope in one hand and heartbreak in the other, trying to convince yourself that both can exist at the same time.
And then sometimes, the pain gets worse.
Sometimes you meet someone who feels different. Someone who makes all the waiting seem like it finally made sense. You begin to see pieces of the future. You start imagining what life could look like. For the first time in a long time, your heart feels alive again.
Then the door closes.
Not because they’re a bad person.
Not because you don’t care.
Not because the feelings weren’t real.
But because they’re not ready.
And that kind of pain is difficult to explain.
Because how do you grieve something that never officially existed?
How do you mourn a future that only lived in your imagination?
How do you let go of someone when every part of you believes they could have been the answer to prayers you’ve carried for years?
You tell yourself it’s God’s timing.
You tell yourself that if God wants it to happen, it will.
You tell yourself that His plans are greater than your own.
But some nights, those truths don’t stop the tears.
Some nights, you lie awake wondering why God allowed you to see the possibility if it was never meant for you right now. You replay conversations. You replay moments. You replay the hope you felt before everything changed.
And the hardest part is that nobody did anything wrong.
There’s no villain.
No betrayal.
No dramatic ending.
Just two people standing on different timelines.
One ready.
One not.
And all you can do is surrender what you wanted most back to God.
The long game is not just waiting for love.
It’s surviving the silence after hope has been awakened.
It’s waking up every day and choosing to trust God with a heart that feels disappointed.
It’s believing that God’s “not yet” is not the same as God’s “no,” even when they feel identical.
And maybe that’s what faith really is.
Not praising God when the promise arrives.
But trusting Him when all you have is the ache.
Jayywrite.blog 