When the Story You Planned Gets Deleted

Have you ever felt like the future you envisioned just vanished? Like someone hit the delete button on your dreams, your plans, your carefully constructed life?

In 1998, Pixar Studios experienced this nightmare in real time. As animators worked on Toy Story 2, someone accidentally triggered a command that began erasing everything. First Woody's hat disappeared. Then his boots. Then Woody himself. One by one, Buzz, Mr. Potato Head, and the entire cast vanished from the system. Two years of work—90 percent of the film—gone in seconds. The backup system had failed too.

The panic must have been overwhelming. The cold sweats. The realization that everything they'd worked for was disappearing before their eyes.

They got lucky. One animator who'd been working from home had an automatic backup on her personal computer. The files were recovered, and Toy Story 2 was saved.

But what happens when there's no backup? What do you do when you can't restore what's been lost?

The Moments That Hit Delete

We all have those moments—the ones that fundamentally altered our trajectory. The diagnosis that changed everything. The divorce papers. The miscarriage. The phone call in the middle of the night. The job that fell through. The relationship that never materialized.

These aren't just difficult experiences. They're delete codes—moments that wipe out the future we'd imagined. Pixel by pixel, the images of what could have been start to disappear or distort.

Maybe it wasn't a single catastrophic event for you. Maybe it was a slow erosion—years of hard work chipped away by circumstances beyond your control. A child who progressively made choices that led them away from everything you'd hoped for them. Dreams that faded rather than exploded.

Whatever it was, it proved to be a turning point. Your expectations shifted. Your emotions were impacted. The narrative in your head about what the future might hold became fundamentally altered.

When God's Timing Doesn't Make Sense

This tension between what we believe about God and what we experience in life isn't new. In John 11, we find one of the most profound examples of this disconnect.

Jesus received word that his close friend Lazarus was deathly ill. Lazarus's sisters, Mary and Martha, sent an urgent message: "Lord, the one you love is sick." These weren't casual acquaintances—this was family. Jesus spent more time with this household than with any other besides his own.

Jesus's response seemed encouraging: "This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God's glory so that God's Son may be glorified through it."

Everyone listening must have felt relief wash over them. Of course Jesus would go immediately and heal his friend. After all, this was the man who'd opened blind eyes and strengthened crippled legs.

But then something incomprehensible happened. The text says, "Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days."

Read that again. Jesus LOVED them. Yet he STAYED.

Can you imagine the conversation when the messenger returned without Jesus? "Where is he?" "What do you mean he just stayed there?" "You made it clear that Lazarus is dying, didn't you?"

By the time Jesus arrived, Lazarus had been dead for four days.

The "If Only" That Haunts Us

When Martha and Mary finally saw Jesus, they both said the exact same thing: "Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died."

If only.

Those two words carry the weight of a thousand deleted futures. If only you'd been there, my parents wouldn't have divorced. If only you'd been there, I wouldn't have experienced that trauma. If only you'd shown up when I needed you.

When God's timing doesn't align with our plan, we start hitting delete on the story ourselves. We may not give up on believing God exists, but we begin to question whether he truly cares.

Martha knew the right religious answers. When Jesus told her that Lazarus would rise again, she responded with theological correctness: "I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day." Translation: I know everything will be fixed in heaven. I know life on earth is temporary. But what about RIGHT NOW?

The God Who Resurrects What We Think Is Dead

Jesus's response cuts through our pain and confusion with a declaration that changes everything: "I AM the resurrection and the life."

Not "I will be." I AM.

Present tense. Active. Here. Now.

Jesus was telling Martha—and telling us—don't assume it's over just because you can't see a solution. Don't let what you've been through blind you to what God can do.

When Jesus arrived at the tomb, he ordered the stone rolled away. Martha protested: "But Lord, by now there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days." In other words, it's too late. It's too far gone. Just leave it buried.

Jesus looked at her and asked, "Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?"

Then he called Lazarus out of the tomb. And the dead man walked out, still wrapped in grave clothes.

The Holy Intersection of Opposites

This story challenges our black-and-white thinking. We want life to make sense in neat categories: good or bad, beneficial or detrimental, God's presence or God's absence.

But what if two seemingly opposite things can be true simultaneously?

Jesus loved Lazarus, yet Jesus delayed. This brought glory to God, yet it involved devastating death. God was present, yet everything felt like abandonment.

Which one is it? Could it be both?

God loves you, yet painful things have happened to you. God works all things for good, yet circumstances look impossibly bad. Things are falling apart, yet God's plan is coming together.

These contradictions seem incompatible. But what if they're not?

Martha knew Jesus as a teacher, a healer, a friend. But it wasn't until she went through more than she thought she could bear that Jesus revealed his resurrection power to her.

Could the situation causing you to question God's presence actually be an opportunity to understand who he is in a deeper way?

Jesus Weeps With You

Here's what moves me most about this story: Jesus's response to Mary and Martha's pain.

When he saw them weeping, "a deep anger welled up within him, and he was deeply troubled." Then we read the shortest and perhaps most profound verse in Scripture: "Jesus wept."

Think about that. Jesus was about to raise Lazarus from the dead. He knew the ending. There was no logical reason for tears.

Yet he wept anyway.

Even though Jesus knew a miracle was moments away, he took time to feel their pain. The injustice that angers you brings the same response from Jesus. He doesn't just sympathize—he empathizes. He feels what you feel.

You might be on the edge of a breakthrough you don't even realize is coming. That devastating moment might be something God uses for your benefit. But even knowing that, Jesus doesn't minimize your pain. He enters into it with you.

Rolling Back the Stone

The question remains: Are you willing to roll back the stone?

Martha wanted to leave it alone. It's too late. It stinks. Just let it stay buried.

Sometimes we miss out on resurrection because we don't know what to do with death, so we try to keep it buried. We protect ourselves from further disappointment by refusing to hope again.

But God specializes in bringing new life out of death experiences. The story you thought was deleted isn't finished. Pain can either destroy you or help you discover depths of God's character you never knew existed.

God is present in your pain. His plan isn't shaken even when yours falls apart. And the story that unfolds might be even more powerful than the one you originally planned.

The delete button doesn't have the final word. Resurrection does.