She was sexually abused by her dad as a kid, and my husband says to her,

‘You need to accept that possibly – probably? – you’ll never get justice, in this life, for what’s been done to you.’

She’s been spilling cold stories over hot coffee at our kitchen table all evening. I’ve said all the lukewarm things I know to say but really, what Murray says, that’s the white-hot truth she’s come to hear.

She needs an honest, brave someone to say what she already knows and fears: that there may not now or ever be revenge or restitution. And it brings her closure – knowing there will never be closure.

Something like relief sputters to life. Her expression –

Opens –

Like she’s opening her hands to let go, so she can leave her case in the hands of God, who always judges fairly. (1 Peter 2:23)

A dam wall cracks somewhere in our littlest boy and he begins to leak then gush stories of fear and inadequacy and not matching up and measuring up. The not-enough lies are cracking the concrete: not fast enough, not tall enough, not strong enough.

I tell him Jesus makes our bodies all kinds of different, and He has different plans for each of us.

I tell him, nothing about his physical make-up – his passions, his personality – has thrown off God’s gladness in orchestrating Scott-shaped gaps in this world that only Scott can fill – not because God needs us to accomplish His purposes, but because it delights Him to include us.

Even though I tell him this truth, the boy still may never know the satisfaction – the happy-ending closure – of being the fastest or the tallest or the strongest. But I’m praying that he would open his heart to celebrate God’s perfect plans for him, and God’s perfect plans for others.

Some part of his soul stands up straighter again –

Opens.

Maybe it’s the beginning of him learning to open his hands – let go of his case – so he can leave it in the hands of God, who always judges fairly.

A friend tells me about the hurt of a difficult relationship, and how what hurts most is that the person who did the hurting doesn’t even know it. She tells me there’s no point bringing it up; it would only be misconstrued as her petty insecurity. But she wants closure. Vindication. She wants the hurter to hurt.

We talk about paying kindness forward to someone who has or hasn’t earned it, and opening our hands to let go of people – to leave our friendships, our personal and political agendas, our in-laws and out-laws – in the hands of God, who always judges fairly.

So I’m trying to stop looking for closure and start looking for openness.

Because if any of us stands a chance we’ve got to keep our hearts and lives, our front doors and fridges, open to people who deserve our generosity and people who will almost certainly take advantage of it.

We’ve got to believe that the God of justice is the God of perfect closure. When the time’s right and when He sees fit, He’ll bring the closure we seek. We just need to be ok with the possibility that closure may only come when this life ends and He opens up for us the great wide open of eternity.

. . .

I’d love to hear how you’re living openhearted, even though you’re hoping for some closure?

Thanks for reading today; have a marvellous week.

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