If The Universe Closed The Door, It’s Because It Saw What You Couldn’t

You didn’t imagine it. The connection was real. The way your heart softened, the way something settled inside you — it wasn’t just chemistry or fleeting desire. It was something sacred, something gentle. It felt like God had opened a door, like this could be the resting place your heart could finally exhale, could finally experience something real and rooted, could finally experience something good. 

Naturally, you let yourself believe. You let yourself hope, not because you were naive, but because you were ready, because something about it felt honest, felt anchored, felt true. And that willingness to trust, to see a future before you stepped into it, to have faith in something you had yet to hold safely in your heart — that wasn’t weakness. It was faith. It was courage. It was proof that your heart still believed in what it was created for, it was proof that your heart still hoped.

So, when that chapter ended suddenly, in the middle of the page, without warning, and without reason — the loss wasn’t just about a human being you felt something special with. It was about everything that person symbolized in your life. It was about safety. It was about stability. It was about a softer version of your heart, a softer version of your future, of your hope. The grief that followed didn’t always look like heartbreak — sometimes it looked like quiet, like self-doubt, like the ache of wondering why something that felt so close to becoming real had to end before it even began, had to slip through your fingers.

The truth is — not every ending you experience along your journey is something you were meant to prevent, is something you could have willed into working out. Some doors close without you doing anything wrong. Some things fall apart simply because they were never built to go the distance. And even if those things felt aligned, that doesn’t mean that they were meant to last, or to beat the odds. That doesn’t mean that they were meant to carry you where you were destined to go next.

You only saw the moment. God saw the pattern. You only saw the version of them you wanted to believe in. God saw the version they would eventually become. You were left holding on to the potential — God was protecting you from the price it would have cost you if you had continued to hope in that direction, if you had continued to resist letting go. 

Even though the loss didn’t feel like a kindness when everything broke down and you were left in the aftermath of the hurt — it was. Because sometimes the most loving thing God can do in your life is to remove what you would have settled for, just to show you what you never have to settle for again.

This part of healing is where trust stops being gentle and it starts to become real. This is where you loosen your grip on the version of the story you wanted, and begin to believe that an unanswered prayer can still hold mercy within it. This is where you stop searching for closure in places that already made you feel small — and start recognizing that peace was never meant to come from someone else’s capacity to apologize or explain themselves. Peace was always going to come from within you, closure was always something you were going to have to give yourself.

Let the door stay closed. Even if it was, for a moment, everything you had ever wanted, everything you had prayed for when you were growing up. Let the door stay closed, even if part of you still aches for what it could have been. Let the door stay closed — not because it wasn’t meaningful, but because it wasn’t meant to last. Let the door stay closed because God saw the cost, because God knew what it would have taken from you in the long run, because God loves you too much to let you settle into a place you were only ever meant to pass through.

One day, the ending will make sense. One day, the peace will outweigh the ache. One day, you will see that what left wasn’t meant to be compared to or fawned over — it was meant to be replaced. With something fuller. With something deeper. With something holier.

When that day arrives, you will be grateful — not just that the door closed, but that you had the courage and the strength to stop reopening it.