Reflection

Closure is a luxury not everyone gets.

You loved, and it ended — but the ending wasn’t clear. They stopped communicating. The apology never came. The explanation stayed locked behind silence, or blame, or absence. And now, you find yourself caught in a loop — replaying conversations, trying to understand what shifted, what you missed, what you could’ve done differently if only you had known.

The truth is, unresolved endings can feel more painful than the loss itself. They leave you with questions that echo long after the door has closed. But God does not leave you suspended in someone else’s silence. He steps into the ache they left behind and begins to speak a better word over you — one not rooted in their version of the story, but in his.

You don’t need their clarity to heal.

You don’t need their permission to move forward.

Closure isn’t always something someone else can provide. Sometimes, it’s something God grows within you. It happens slowly, in the sacred process of releasing the narrative you’ll never fully understand and choosing, instead, to believe that peace is still possible without it.

The lack of closure doesn’t mean the pain was your fault. It doesn’t mean you were unspecial, or unworthy of honesty, or undeserving of kindness. It means someone couldn’t meet you in the space where you needed truth — and God, in his mercy, stepped in to meet you there instead.

Let the door stay closed. 

Not because it doesn’t matter, but because you matter more.

Prayer

God, I’ve been searching for resolution in places that have gone quiet. I’ve wanted answers I may never receive, and it’s left me feeling stuck — like I can’t move forward until someone else makes it make sense. But I know you’re not limited by what they won’t say. You are still speaking peace into what feels unfinished. Help me to surrender the need for perfect closure and trust that you are the author of my healing. Thank you for seeing what they couldn’t. Thank you for staying when they left. Thank you for loving me, even in the middle of my uncertainty. 

Amen.