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:
- 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. - 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. - 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. - 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.
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