I’ve said it out loud a few times already this week, and today especially, by whispering it in my head more times than I can count, but waiting on God can be hard.
It’s not just hard — it’s exhausting, confusing, and sometimes even painful. I think today it hit me more than usual because I’ve been trying to keep it all together, to not let the heaviness of waiting seep into everything else I’m doing. But it’s there. Quiet, lingering, heavy.
I read Galatians 5:5 again this morning, and something about it gripped my heart in a fresh way:
“For through the Spirit we eagerly await by faith the righteousness for which we hope.”
Through the Spirit. By faith. That’s it. That’s the key that I keep forgetting in all of this.
It’s not up to me to muster up the strength to wait with grace. It’s not about how “strong” I am or how long I can grit my teeth through stubborn family issues or unanswered prayers. The Holy Spirit enables me to wait. HE gives me the power to endure, to trust, and to stay grounded when everything in me just wants to fix things or run away from the tension.
Waiting is hard. But it’s also holy.
Today I thought a lot about my family — the situations that have been going on for years. The ones that never seem to budge. The same arguments. The same silence. The same hurt passed back and forth like it's inherited. These are the places in my life where waiting feels the most unbearable. Not because I don’t believe God can move — I do — but because the wait has been so long, and I can’t see how it ends.
And yet…
Romans 8:25 says, “But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.”
I’m trying, Lord. Truly. I want to wait patiently. But sometimes I feel like I’m barely hanging on.
It’s strange how waiting has become its own form of spiritual training. Like God has invited me to sit in this invisible classroom where the Holy Spirit is the quiet Teacher, whispering truth to me when I want to scream, “Is it time yet?”
I keep being reminded that waiting isn’t wasted. Waiting is an invitation to stillness — to lean into His presence rather than constantly asking for His provision. It’s like He’s saying, “Be still, daughter. I’m working, even when you can’t see it.”
Stillness.
That word has taken on new meaning lately.
Stillness isn’t passive. It’s not “doing nothing.” It’s active surrender. It’s choosing not to run ahead of God, not to manipulate outcomes, not to pick up what I’ve already laid down at the altar a hundred times.
I want to be a woman who waits well — not because I have the strength on my own, but because the Spirit of God in me is doing the deep, refining work of shaping my character in the waiting. That’s where the transformation happens. Not after the miracle, but before, in the soil of patience, trust, and surrender.
Lord,
I don’t want to waste this wait.
Help me not just to survive it, but to let it sanctify me.
Help me to see You in the silence.
Help me to remember that Your timeline is good, even when mine is screaming, “Now!”
Psalm 27:14 says, “Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”
I feel the Lord reminding me that “taking heart” is not ignoring how I feel — it’s choosing to trust Him throughthose feelings.
So tonight, here’s my honest prayer:
A Prayer While I Wait
Holy Spirit,
Thank You for dwelling within me — for being my Helper when I feel helpless. You see my heart, my struggles, my questions, and my tears. You know how deeply I long for restoration in my family, for peace that doesn’t feel forced, for healing that lasts. I lay all that before You again tonight. Not with clenched fists, but open hands. Because I’m learning that surrender doesn’t mean giving up — it means giving to You.
Jesus, be my strength in the wait. Teach me to lean on You, to grow in grace, and to draw near to You when everything around me feels stuck or silent. I don’t want to wait in bitterness. I want to wait in faith. Let this waiting not just shape my circumstances, but shape me into the woman You’ve called me to be — humble, patient, and full of Your Spirit.
Amen.
There’s something so comforting about the fact that Jesus waited too. He waited 30 years before He began His public ministry. He waited for God’s perfect timing. He didn’t rush ahead or try to impress people into believing who He was. He trusted.
And the more I reflect on that, the more I realize that waiting is deeply tied to trust.
If I say I trust God, then I also have to trust His timing — even when it feels unbearable. Even when it looks like nothing is changing. Even when people I love are stuck in cycles of dysfunction that I can’t rescue them from.
And the wild thing is… while I wait, He’s working.
Always.
Even in the silence.
Isaiah 64:4 says, “Since ancient times no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who acts on behalf of those who wait for him.”
That’s who He is. He acts on behalf of His children. He doesn’t forget us in the waiting room. He sits with us there.
Tonight, as I stare out my window and look up at the night sky, I’m reminded that the stars don’t scream for attention. They just shine. Quietly. Faithfully. Like they know the One who placed them is still watching over them.
Maybe that’s what waiting looks like too — shining quietly in the dark, holding onto faith, trusting that morning will come.
So, if this season is long — and it has been — I want to believe that it’s also full. Full of His grace. Full of His Spirit. Full of His nearness, even if I can’t always feel it.
I’m going to keep waiting. Not with frustration (though I may have days where I wrestle), but with hope.
Because through the Spirit, I eagerly await by faith the righteousness for which I hope.
Not by my strength.
Not by my emotions.
But by Him.
And that… that is enough.
Still waiting,
Still trusting,
Still His!
Reflect on the victories and losses
Act of Contrition
Practice gratitude
Renew your commitment to Christ
