When Trust Breaks

Read

Genesis 37:23–24 “So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped him of his robe—the ornate robe he was wearing—and they took him and threw him into the cistern. The cistern was empty; there was no water in it.”

Think

Trust is one of those things you don’t notice until it’s gone. Like glass, it’s strong enough to hold weight but fragile enough to shatter under pressure. One sharp edge and everything that felt stable now feels splintered. That’s the shape betrayal often takes—an unexpected fracture from someone close. A broken promise. A passive-aggressive dig. A decision made without you that impacted everything.

Joseph didn’t expect betrayal either. He wasn’t attacked by enemies. He was thrown into a pit by his own brothers. This wasn’t an outside threat. It was an inside job. That robe his father had given him was more than a fashion statement. It was a marker of love, legacy, and identity. When his brothers tore it off, they weren’t just removing fabric. They were ripping away everything Joseph thought was secure. Then they tossed him into a cistern. Dry. Empty. Abandoned.

That line in the passage—“the cistern was empty; there was no water in it”—feels haunting. The absence of water is more than a detail. It’s a picture. No comfort. No cushioning. No softness. Just hard, cracked earth. And maybe your betrayal felt like that too. Maybe it didn’t come with screaming or spectacle. Maybe it came quietly. A conversation you weren’t invited to. A relationship that drifted until you realized you were no longer needed. Betrayal doesn’t have to be loud to leave a scar.

In ancient culture, family betrayal wasn’t just painful. It was scandalous. Lineage meant everything. Inheritance. Name. Survival. To sell off a brother was unthinkable. But envy distorts what’s sacred. Joseph’s brothers didn’t just dislike him. They resented the favor he carried. And that resentment grew into action. That’s still how betrayal often works. It doesn’t begin with dramatic betrayal. It starts with unchecked jealousy, quiet comparisons, unresolved bitterness.

This isn’t just Joseph’s story. You see betrayal all through Scripture. David was betrayed by Saul, the king he once served. Jesus was betrayed by Judas with a kiss. Paul was abandoned by friends when prison became inconvenient. The Bible doesn’t hide betrayal. It highlights it. Not to glorify it, but to show that God’s people are not immune to deep wounds.

But betrayal doesn’t have to define the rest of your story.

There’s an old Japanese art form called kintsugi. When a bowl or teacup breaks, it’s not thrown away. Instead, it’s repaired using gold to seal the cracks. The break becomes part of the story. The restoration makes it more valuable, not less. And that’s what God does with people too. He doesn’t pretend betrayal never happened. He steps into it. He restores what was broken. He seals the cracks with grace.

The enemy would love for betrayal to lead you into bitterness. To convince you no one is worth trusting. That you need to build walls and expect less. That’s what pits try to do. They limit your vision. They make you look down instead of ahead. But God sees more than your pit. He sees your potential.

Joseph’s story didn’t end in the cistern. It was only the beginning. That’s the part you can’t see when you’re sitting at the bottom. You don’t know how God is going to use the pain. You can’t predict how he will redeem the loss. But if you follow his pattern in Scripture, you can trust that nothing is wasted.

The robe was gone, but Joseph’s purpose remained. You might have lost something too. Maybe your reputation, your confidence, your sense of security. But the thing that matters most hasn’t changed. God is still with you in the pit. And he still knows how to write resurrection stories in impossible places.

Did you notice that Joseph didn’t climb out of the pit by himself? He was pulled out. Not by a rescue squad. But by people who had no idea they were setting the stage for God’s plan. That’s the mystery of redemption. Sometimes even those who hurt you become the unknowing bridge to where God is taking you. Not because betrayal is good. But because God is better.

You don’t have to rush to forgiveness today. But you can begin the process of healing. You can choose not to let this betrayal own your narrative. The God who saw Joseph stripped and bruised in a cistern is the same God who sees you now. He’s not pacing or panicking. He’s patient. Present. Working.

This isn’t the end of your story. Even if all you see is dust and silence. Even if you’re staring up from a dry place. The same God who walked Joseph from pit to palace is walking with you. The robe may be gone. But your purpose is still wrapped in grace.

Apply

Be intentional about where you go with your pain. Instead of venting to anyone who will listen, choose one trusted, spiritually grounded friend to open up to. Ask them to pray with you or simply listen. If you’ve been pulling away from people because of what happened, take one small step toward community this week—grab coffee with someone who cares, attend a church service in person, or accept an invitation you’ve been avoiding. Healing happens through connection, not isolation.

Pray

God, betrayal hurts deeply. It has shaken places in me I didn’t know could break. But I believe you’re still with me in the pain. Help me not to give in to bitterness. Heal what was broken and remind me that my story is not over. I trust you to restore what others tried to steal. In Jesus’ name. Amen.