Final Reflections: The Table is Still Set — And So Are You

Final Reflections: The Table is Still Set — And So Are You

If you’ve made it all the way here, to the closing words of this book, I want you to know something simple but true: I don’t take this lightly. You being here matters. Your reading this matters. You made it through the pages — the bold ones, the raw ones, the parts that hopefully made you smile, the ones that probably made you uncomfortable, and the ones where, if you’re like me, you stopped and thought, “Maybe God’s been speaking to me all along.”

And He has.

The Spirit has a way of weaving words into the cracks of our souls in ways we don’t always expect. You picked this book up for a reason. Or maybe it picked you up. Either way — here we are.

And before I say goodbye to these pages, I need to tell you one last thing, as only I know how — honest, a little unpolished, but from a place drenched in the love and kindness of Jesus Christ.

The table is still set. And so are you.

You Are Not Here by Accident

I don’t care how this book landed in your hands. A friend gave it to you. You found it buried in a bookstore. You saw it online and thought, “Why not?” Maybe you’ve been following my writing for years. Or maybe this is your first time bumping into my rambling thoughts.

Doesn’t matter.

You’re here because God wanted you here.

One of the most dangerous lies I’ve believed in life is that some moments are random. That the quiet nudge to read something, to call someone, to show up somewhere — that those nudges are just coincidence.

But I’ve been walking with Jesus long enough to know… He doesn’t waste moments.

And He definitely doesn’t waste words.

So if you’ve felt Him whispering to you through these pages, lean in. That’s not coincidence. That’s Christ. That’s the Spirit. That’s love finding you in the middle of your everyday.

Life Is Messy — Jesus Isn’t

One of the biggest reasons I write the way I do — raw, real, sometimes awkwardly honest — is because life is messy. Faith is messy. Relationships are messy. Grief, growth, regret, redemption — they’re all tangled up together like Christmas lights in a forgotten storage bin.

But here’s what I’ve learned: Jesus isn’t messy.

Oh, He’s not polished. He’s not neat. He didn’t come with tidy sermons and pressed shirts and perfect church pew etiquette.

But He’s consistent.

Steady.

Faithful.

And in a world that will give you chaos at every turn, He is still the anchor that holds.

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” — Hebrews 13:8

Let that sink in.

Your circumstances might change. Your relationships might change. Your emotions — oh, they’ll change like Alberta weather.

But Jesus? Still the same.

Still loving you.

Still pursuing you.

Still preparing the table for you.

The Holy Spirit Doesn’t Forget You

I’ve written a lot in this book about nudges from the Holy Spirit. About those gentle, sometimes inconvenient moments when God speaks — and you know He’s asking you to listen.

And maybe as you’ve been reading, you’ve felt those nudges too.

Maybe the Holy Spirit’s been reminding you that it’s time to come home.

Maybe He’s been stirring something in you that you’ve tried to bury for years.

Maybe you’ve heard Him whisper forgiveness over your past, purpose into your future, and presence into your present.

And maybe you’ve been too afraid to believe it’s real.

Let me tell you — it’s real.

The Holy Spirit doesn’t forget His people.

He hasn’t forgotten you.

And no matter how far you’ve run, how long you’ve waited, or how much you’ve convinced yourself you don’t deserve Him — He’s still speaking.

The question isn’t whether He’s speaking.

The question is, are you ready to listen?

You Don’t Have to Have It All Together

Read that again.

Because if you’ve read this far into the book waiting for me to give you some neat, tidy Christian checklist to fix your life — sorry, friend, you’re out of luck.

There’s no checklist.

There’s no formula.

There’s no fast track to sainthood.

There’s just grace.

And grace isn’t earned.

It’s not performance-based.

It’s not only for the polished.

It’s for the broken. The doubters. The late bloomers. The ones who still mess up. The ones who know better but fall anyway. The ones who love Jesus but still have questions.

It’s for you.

Jesus didn’t come for the perfect. He came for the messy.

“It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.” — Matthew 9:12

And spoiler alert — we’re all the sick.

So stop disqualifying yourself from the table God set for you.

You belong.

You’re invited.

And there’s a seat with your name on it.

Love Isn’t Measured By Your Performance

One of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn — and I’m still learning — is that God’s love isn’t measured by my spiritual performance.

I’m wired to earn things. To prove my worth. To hustle for approval.

But God’s love?

Unconditional.

Unmeasurable.

Unshakeable.

And you can’t mess it up.

Let me say that again for the ones in the back — you can’t mess it up.

God isn’t holding a scorecard over your head.

He’s holding His hands out, nailed-scarred, inviting you to rest in His love.

Your Bible reading streak? Great, but not the measure of His love.

Your church attendance? Important, but not the measure of His love.

Your spiritual highs and lows? Expected, but not the measure of His love.

The cross is the measure.

And it’s finished.

You’re loved.

You’re seen.

You’re forgiven.

You’re His.

The Church is Full of Imperfect People — and That’s Beautiful

If you’ve been hurt by church people — welcome to the club.

We’ve all got church wounds. Some small. Some deep. Some we laugh off. Some that still bleed.

But here’s the thing — the church isn’t a showcase of perfect people.

It’s a hospital for the broken.

It’s a table for the hungry.

It’s a family for the lost.

And yes, families fight. Churches stumble. Leaders fall. People fail.

But Jesus doesn’t.

The church isn’t Jesus.

It’s His body — messy, beautiful, flawed, redeemed.

So if you’ve been carrying bitterness toward the church — I get it.

But don’t let human failure rob you of divine community.

We were made to walk this life together.

And yes, it’ll be awkward.

And yes, people will disappoint you.

And yes, you’ll want to quit sometimes.

But stay.

Because when it’s real — when you find a Spirit-led, grace-filled, truth-speaking community — it’ll change your life.

You Are More Than Your Mistakes

Let me be blunt.

You’re not defined by your worst day.

You’re not reduced to your biggest failure.

You’re not written off because of your past.

If that were true, I wouldn’t be writing this.

But grace rewrites stories.

Redemption redefines worth.

And Jesus — He restores what feels too far gone.

I’ve carried shame. I’ve wrestled regret. I’ve whispered prayers I was too embarrassed to say out loud.

And every time, the Holy Spirit met me there.

Not with condemnation.

But with kindness.

With love.

With a reminder that I am His.

And you are too.

Three Final Reminders to Carry With You

Before we close this book — and this chapter of your life — I want to leave you with three simple, powerful reminders:

1. You Are Seen

In a world that scrolls past, that forgets, that overlooks — God sees you.

“The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in His love He will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.” — Zephaniah 3:17

Let that sink in.

God sings over you.

Not because you earned it.

Because you’re His.

2. You Are Called

Don’t believe the lie that your past disqualifies you.

Don’t believe the voice that says you’ve missed your moment.

As long as you’re breathing, you’re called.

To love.

To lead.

To serve.

To follow Jesus — not perfectly, but faithfully.

The world needs your voice.

The church needs your story.

The Kingdom needs your obedience.

3. You Are Not Alone

The enemy loves isolation.

He’ll convince you that you’re the only one struggling.

The only one doubting.

The only one falling short.

But you’re not.

We’re all stumbling toward grace.

And Jesus — He walks beside us.

Every step.

Every stumble.

Every victory.

“And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” — Matthew 28:20

The Final Invitation

As we close these pages, I leave you with this:

The table is still set.

The invitation still stands.

Jesus is still knocking.

And the Spirit is still whispering:

“Come home. Sit with Me. Let Me feed your soul. Let Me fill your heart. Let Me remind you… you are loved.”

So what’s stopping you?

The mistakes? Already covered.

The doubts? Already known.

The fear? Already defeated.

You belong here.

With Jesus.

With His people.

At His table.

And when life gets loud, when your heart gets heavy, when the lies start creeping in — come back to these words.

Come back to the truth.

Come back to the One who never left.

Because the table is still set.

And so are you.

Have You Ever Felt the Discomfort of No Closure?

Have You Ever Felt the Discomfort of No Closure?

If you’re anything like me—and if you’ve read my ramblings long enough, you probably are in one way or another—then you’ve likely experienced this uneasy, lingering feeling at some point in your life. That unsettling, uncomfortable energy that just doesn’t sit right in your chest, no matter how much time passes. It doesn’t matter what the nature of the relationship was—a friendship, a romantic relationship, even a working relationship—sometimes there’s just a missing piece, an absence of true closure, and for some of us, that sits heavy.

It’s not that we want to reopen doors, reignite old feelings, or stir the pot, but there are moments when the Holy Spirit nudges us. If you’ve walked with God long enough, you know that feeling. It’s that quiet but persistent whisper that tugs at your spirit. It’s the undeniable urge to reach out, to clarify, to clean up the remnants of the past so they stop lingering like a cloud over your heart.

My Story of Unanswered Closure

For me, this particular story started over five years ago. A relationship that, by all worldly standards, had ended. Time moved on, seasons changed, people grew, but every so often—out of the blue—the Holy Spirit would gently press on my heart to reach out.

Now, let me be clear. These nudges weren’t rooted in desperation or unresolved longing. They weren’t driven by some weak attempt to rekindle romance or to force my way back into someone’s life. No, it was much deeper than that. It was the Holy Spirit saying, “There are words left unsaid. There is unfinished business—not for them to heal, but for you to honour the process.”

So, a couple of times over those years, I crafted brief, kind emails. Not manipulative, not demanding. Simply offering words of encouragement, expressing care for her and her children—who, I’ll be honest, I had grown to love deeply during our time together—and gently asking if we could have a short conversation. Not to change the past. Not to force anything. Just to tie up the loose ends that still whispered to my spirit.

The Silence

But what greeted those emails? Silence. The heavy, resounding, undeniable silence that follows a heartfelt message when no reply comes. You know that feeling—the one that leaves you overthinking every word, every sentence, wondering if you somehow stumbled, if you unintentionally caused offence.

But the truth is, silence speaks. Sometimes it screams. And after a few of those unanswered messages over the years, I started to let it be. I prayed. I processed. I handed it over to God, because, well, that’s what we’re supposed to do, right? Cast your cares upon the Lord, for He cares for you (1 Peter 5:7).

But the nudges didn’t always stop. Every so often, when I least expected it, the Holy Spirit would whisper again: “Reach out.” And if you’ve walked long enough with God, you know… disobeying those nudges isn’t something you can sit comfortably with for very long.

The Final Response

And then, finally, today… a response.

But not the one I had hoped for.

No gentle conversation. No opportunity to tie the loose ends. No shared humanity or closure. Instead, hostility. A sharp, firm message of “don’t talk to me again.” Words that cut deep, not because of their harshness alone, but because they distorted the intent of every message I had ever sent.

If you know me at all, you know that for me, conversations are sacred. Words aren’t wasted. Every interaction holds weight, purpose, and potential to heal, to uplift, to understand. So, to have my words misread, my intentions mistaken, and my heart misunderstood—it stung.

The Battle with Guilt

For a moment, I sat there feeling guilt creep in. That sneaky, unwelcome emotion that loves to masquerade as responsibility. The “what if I crossed a line?” The “should I have stayed silent?” The “was I wrong to reach out?”

But as I sat with that, breathing through the discomfort, praying through the emotion, the Holy Spirit reminded me of something vital:

No remorse is needed when obedience leads the way.

Let me say that again, because someone needs to hear it: No remorse is needed when obedience leads the way.

I didn’t reach out from pride. I didn’t act from selfish motives. I didn’t force my way into anyone’s life. I followed the prompting of the Spirit. I extended kindness. I honoured the love I had for her children, for her humanity. And the response to that? That isn’t mine to carry.

We live in a world that teaches us to measure everything by the outcome. If the result is rejection or hostility, we convince ourselves we failed. But in God’s Kingdom? Obedience is the victory, not the outcome.

Biblical References to Anchor This Truth

Let me root this in Scripture, because without that, it’s just my rambling. God’s Word is clear about obedience and rejection:

1. John 15:18-19
   “If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own.”
   Jesus Himself reminds us that sometimes doing what’s right—what’s Spirit-led—won’t be welcomed with open arms.
2. Luke 10:16
   “Whoever listens to you listens to me; whoever rejects you rejects me; but whoever rejects me rejects him who sent me.”
   Rejection, when you’re walking in obedience, isn’t personal. It’s spiritual. It’s between them and God.
3. Romans 12:18
   “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”
   The key here? “As far as it depends on you.” I reached out. I tried. I left the door open for peace. But peace requires two willing hearts. Mine was ready. Theirs was not. And that’s okay.
4. Proverbs 16:9
   “In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.”
   I may have planned the emails, chosen the words, but the Spirit directed the steps. I can rest in that.

3 Ways to Have the Strength to Speak When the Holy Spirit Moves

Now, this isn’t easy. I won’t sit here and pretend obedience to the Spirit is always well-received or comfortable. But here’s what I’ve learned—the hard way—about finding the strength to speak when God asks you to, even when rejection might follow:

---

1. Root Your Identity in Christ, Not in the Response

People will misunderstand you. That’s a given. They’ll project their hurt, their past, their fears onto your actions. But your worth, your identity, your validation? That doesn’t come from their response. It comes from Christ.

Galatians 1:10
“Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.”

Before you speak, settle your heart in Him. If the only approval you receive is from God, that is enough. Walk into every conversation with the quiet confidence that your identity is unshaken, regardless of how they respond.

---

2. Pray for Discernment and Clarity

The Holy Spirit is gentle but persistent. Sometimes, in our human emotions, we can confuse our own desires with His nudges. That’s why discernment is critical.

James 1:5
“If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.”

Before you send that message, make that call, or have that conversation, pause. Pray. Ask for wisdom. Ask for clarity. God isn’t in the business of confusing His children. If the prompting persists, if peace accompanies the discomfort, you can trust it’s from Him.

---

3. Release the Outcome to God

This is the hardest part for me. I’m wired to want resolution. Closure. A neat little bow tied on every relational chapter. But life isn’t always that tidy.

Isaiah 55:8-9
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord.
As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

We can obey. We can speak. We can act in love. But the outcome? That belongs to God. Sometimes the door stays closed. Sometimes hostility follows obedience. But that doesn’t mean you failed. It means you’re human, navigating this messy, beautiful, Spirit-led life the best you can.

---

Final Thoughts

If you’ve read this far, chances are you know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been there. You’ve felt that uncomfortable, unfinished feeling gnawing at your heart. You’ve battled the urge to reach out, wondered if it’s wise, feared the rejection, and questioned the motive.

Let me encourage you—if the Holy Spirit is nudging you, listen. But anchor yourself first. Root your identity in Christ. Pray for discernment. Release the outcome.

And remember… obedience is the victory, not the response.

If the person meets your kindness with hostility, that isn’t your burden. You can walk away knowing you honoured God, honoured your heart, and honoured the process.

Closure doesn’t always come packaged the way we want. But peace? Peace comes when we walk in step with the Spirit, regardless of how the story ends.

---

Let me leave you with one final verse that has carried me through:

Philippians 4:7
“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

You may not understand the rejection. You may not get the closure. But you will get peace.

And at the end of the day, peace from God is worth more than approval from man.

---

Stay obedient, stay soft-hearted, stay strong. The Holy Spirit doesn’t lead you to stir trouble, but to stir growth in you, in them, and in His Kingdom.

The Weight We Carry and the Peace We Choose

The more I sit with this, the more I realize that most of the heavy feelings we carry through life aren’t from the things that happen to us, but from the things left unsaid. The open loops. The unanswered questions. The moments where we offered ourselves up—raw, vulnerable, honest—and were met with silence or, worse, rejection.

It’s taken me years—and honestly, I’m still learning—to accept that not everyone has the capacity, the courage, or the willingness to sit in a space of real conversation. It doesn’t mean they’re bad people. It doesn’t mean they’re villains in your story. Sometimes, they’re just people doing the best they can with the tools they’ve got… and unfortunately, avoidance, silence, or hostility are the only tools they know how to reach for.

I used to take that personally. I used to stew on it, replaying conversations in my head, dissecting every word of every email, wondering where I could have done better, spoken softer, explained more clearly. But the truth is, at some point, we have to stop editing ourselves to make other people comfortable.

At some point, we have to stand in the quiet confidence of knowing our heart was in the right place… and that’s enough.

The Holy Spirit Doesn’t Make Mistakes

One of the things I wrestled with—especially today after receiving that final, sharp response—was this lingering thought: “God, did I miss it? Did I act outside of your will? Was this just me, grasping at closure?”

But as I prayed, as I walked through the feelings, the Holy Spirit whispered something so clear I almost had to laugh at myself for doubting:

"The Holy Spirit doesn’t make mistakes. You didn’t act from emotion; you acted from obedience."

And let me be real with you—that distinction matters. Acting from emotion often leaves us with regret. Acting from obedience leaves us with peace, even when the outcome doesn’t look like we hoped.

And I know, I know… it’s human nature to crave a neat ending. To crave understanding. To want everyone to sit at the same table of maturity and process things together. But that’s not reality. Some people aren’t ready for those conversations, no matter how gently or kindly you extend the invitation.

But here's the thing—the invitation itself is obedience.

The response? That’s between them and God.

We Are Not Responsible for Other People's Healing

This might be the hardest lesson I’ve had to accept in all of this: I am not responsible for her healing. I am not responsible for her understanding, her interpretation of my words, or her readiness to face uncomfortable truths. I can love, I can pray, I can show up with kindness… but I cannot force growth where the soil isn’t ready.

And if you’ve ever been wired like me—deeply empathetic, long-term-minded, loyal to a fault—you probably understand how hard it is to let that go. We see the good in people, often before they can see it in themselves. We want the best for them. And sometimes, that makes it nearly impossible to walk away, even when we know it’s what’s required.

But here’s the truth: You can’t water soil that refuses to receive rain. You can’t plant seeds in ground that’s been hardened by fear, pride, or past hurt. And you certainly can’t force open a door God has allowed to close.

Letting Go Isn't Giving Up—It's Trusting God More

I used to think that walking away meant I was giving up. That by not fighting for that final conversation, for understanding, for closure, I was somehow failing as a man of integrity, as a Christian, as someone who cares.

But now I know better.

Letting go isn’t giving up. It’s acknowledging that God is God and I am not.

It’s saying, “Lord, I’ve done my part. I’ve followed your prompting. I’ve extended grace. I’ve offered peace. The rest? That’s yours.”

And I’ll be honest… it still stings. The ache of unanswered closure is real. The ache of being misunderstood, especially when your intentions were pure, is real. But the peace that follows surrender? That’s real too. And that peace? It surpasses understanding.

Choosing Obedience, Even When It Costs You

The more I walk this faith journey, the more I realize that obedience often costs something. Sometimes it costs your pride. Sometimes your comfort. Sometimes your reputation. Sometimes it costs the illusion of control you thought you had over how things would unfold.

But it’s always worth it.

Because obedience to the Holy Spirit is never wasted, it’s never fruitless, even when you don’t get to see the fruit yourself.

I don’t know what that final email stirred in her. Maybe anger. Maybe defensiveness. Maybe, deep down under the hostility, it stirred reflection or healing that she isn’t ready to face yet. Maybe it’ll take years. Maybe I’ll never know.

But that’s okay.

Because my responsibility ends where obedience ends.

And I can sleep tonight knowing I listened, I spoke, I loved, I respected the prompting of the Spirit… and the rest? That’s on God.

What If We All Chose That Kind of Courage?

Imagine, just for a second, what would happen if we all chose that kind of courage more often. The courage to speak when the Spirit moves. The courage to risk misunderstanding. The courage to offer kindness, knowing it might be rejected. The courage to pursue peace, even when it isn’t reciprocated.

Wouldn’t the world feel a little softer? Wouldn’t relationships, even the hard ones, feel a little more authentic? Wouldn’t the weight of unfinished business feel a little lighter?

I think so.

But I also know it starts with me. It starts with you. It starts with small, obedient acts that don’t always get celebrated, that don’t always get noticed, that sometimes get rejected entirely… but that matter to God.

And at the end of the day, that’s enough.

Closure Isn’t a Conversation—It’s a Decision

Maybe the greatest lesson in all of this is that closure doesn’t always come through a final conversation. Sometimes it comes through a quiet, tear-stained prayer whispered alone in your living room. Sometimes it comes through an email sent into silence, with no reply. Sometimes it comes through a sharp, hurtful rejection that finally, finally pushes you to lay it down at the foot of the cross and walk away for good.

Closure isn’t what the world tells you it is. It isn’t someone else giving you the words you need. It’s you choosing to stop carrying the weight of unanswered questions and start trusting the One who holds the answers.

It’s saying, “God, this doesn’t make sense. I don’t feel resolved. But I trust you’re working, even in the silence.”

The Final Word

So here I am, still learning, still stumbling, still figuring this out. But a little lighter today. A little more at peace. A little more resolved that obedience is never wasted, even when it leaves you standing alone.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the kind of closure I’ve been looking for all along.

---

If this stirred something in you, you’re not alone. We’ve all got those unfinished stories, those conversations that never happened, those doors that closed with a slam instead of a gentle goodbye. But take heart… the Author of your story isn’t finished yet. And His endings? They’re always better than ours.