Reflection

It’s difficult to let go of something you believed was right. The door looked promising — maybe even divinely timed. You prayed over it, prepared for it, stepped towards it in faith. You held it with open hands, you trusted. But then, without warning, it closed. There was no clear reason, no soft landing. You were met with silence, and now you’re standing in the quiet aftermath, trying to make sense of what feels like a contradiction, wondering if you misheard God, or misread the season, or mistook your hope for confirmation.

These are the moments where doubt begins to speak in half-truths. Where the enemy tries to reframe surrender as failure. He’ll whisper that you missed your moment, that you’re behind, that you’re being punished or overlooked. But sometimes, the no you didn’t understand is the mercy you didn’t know to ask for. Sometimes, the unanswered prayer is the hidden protection. Sometimes, what feels like rejection is actually redirection — away from something that would have slowly broken you.

God doesn’t owe us explanations, but he always offers presence.

He sees what we can’t. Not just what’s in front of us, but what’s waiting beyond the timeline we had planned. He sees the foundations we can’t yet define, the heartbreak we’re being spared, the timing that still needs to mature. When God closes a door, it is never to punish you — it is to protect you, to prepare you. 

Trust doesn’t mean you won’t feel disappointed. It doesn’t mean you won’t grieve the loss of what almost was. But it does mean you don’t let your peace rise and fall with circumstances you cannot control. It does mean you release the need for clarity and choose, instead, to anchor yourself in the character of a God who sees the full story. 

Prayer

God, I don’t understand why the door closed. I don’t know why the thing I deeply hoped for fell apart. But I’m choosing to believe that you are still good. Teach me to trust you when the answer is silence. Help me to release my need for clarity and lean into the comfort of your presence. You see what I can’t. You know what I don’t. And even when I feel blind to the path ahead — you are guiding me. 

Amen.