Walking in the Waiting

I felt it in February. A quiet stirring in my mind. Holy Spirit trying to get my attention with His still, small voice.

In March, as we spent time gathered around the table with our Australian family, I felt the nudge again, this time a little more insistent.

I heard it, almost audibly, in April, rewriting my résumé and sending it off—it came together in the span of a couple of weeks, but in reality, it had been brewing since 2017. Eight years of waiting, praying, asking God often why He was taking so long.

In May, I spoke it out loud for the first time to my husband, Lars. Around the same time, I sat in a Walmart parking lot after work and had a phone interview for the job I applied for in April. The car was hot and stuffy, and when the interviewer prayed for me at the end of our call, I could feel tears streaming down my face, but didn’t know why.

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For many of us, waiting is a theme deeply embedded in the tapestry of our lives. And often, we become aware of this theme in our childhoods—or at least, I did. Maybe you, too?

We see the older people around us living lives we could only imagine—driving cars, having jobs, spending money—and we feel this desire to be there and do that, too. That once we get to that point, we’ll be happy and satisfied.

We try desperately to “age up” as quickly as possible. To hang out with the older kids. To get our licenses. To find a job. To wear makeup. Anything to get us to the next level.

Then, years later, we realize that there’s still more that we want and we haven’t really arrived as we thought we would.

Over and over again, I’ve gone through this process. And the result is always the same: standing in a space I used to beg God for and feeling that I’ve somehow missed something big. How can it feel so empty?

Over the years, I’ve shared about my waiting rooms on my blog. And although I only started publicly writing about them in 2022, the truth is, I’ve been waiting for much longer in varying states of patience. I’m sure you know the feeling.

In 2022, I felt stuck and completely clueless about what was next. God had planted a dream for a local youth group in my heart, and that spring, I’d started one with my friends. However, I was finishing my degree with an internship at Camp Little Red over the summer season and after that—well, I was trying not to think about that.

I knew that I wanted to work with youth, and I felt that by starting a youth group and stepping out in faith, I would be showing God that I was ready to be faithful in the big and the small things. Little did I know of the waiting that was in store. And maybe that’s a mercy, too—if we knew what was ahead of us, would we follow God as readily?

I’d decided to reread the book of Psalms during the camp season, and so, at staff training, I found myself sitting on a stump in a cluster of trees. The sun blushed my skin red with its warmth as I turned my tired eyes upon Jesus, opening my Bible to Psalms.

The bark dug into my legs and the scent of the woodland filled my nose as I read,

“I would have lost heart, unless I had believed
That I would see the goodness of the Lord
In the land of the living.

 Wait on the Lord;
Be of good courage,
And He shall strengthen your heart;
Wait, I say, on the Lord!”

—Psalm 27:13-14

Tears spilled from my eyes. I already felt like I’d lost heart. I wanted to believe that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living, but it felt too impossible. That day, on a little sticky note, I wrote a prayer: Lord, help me believe that I will see your goodness in the land of the living.

One thing I’m notoriously bad at: believing when the way is darkened and I can’t see the path forward. One thing God is notoriously good at: patiently strengthening my heart and resolve despite my unbelief.

Knowing what I know about waiting and our insatiable appetites (always hungry, never satisfied), I can see where David’s coming from when he says he would have lost heart. If we think only of our circumstances, our shortcomings, our frailties, we will despair of hope.

Unless.

Unless we believe that we will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

Not goodness as we define it, but a goodness that’s purer, holier, and heavier than any good thing we can possibly conjure in our minds. A goodness that transcends the unsatisfactory places we find ourselves, that’s good even if where we are isn’t.

That kind of goodness can satisfy. It can fill our scrawny souls with renewed vigor. It can redeem even the most broken of situations. But even if it doesn’t, we can still taste and see that the Lord is good.

And that word wait there? It’s from a Hebrew word meaning “to bind together.” It’s the idea of twisting cords together to strengthen them so they can endure. When it says to wait on the Lord, it means binding yourself to Him. Getting closer. Letting His strength overlap yours when things get too heavy.

Not only are we seeing that the Lord is good, but we are experiencing it in the very deepest parts of our souls, in the tips of our fingers, in the core of our being. Because we are bound to Him with a cord that cannot be broken. His goodness and mercy will follow us all the days of our lives, wherever we may be.

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Fast forward three years from my confusion in 2022, and you’ll find me back in that hot, stuffy car, crying tears I didn’t fully understand. For the last four months, I’ve heard the same message from God and it doesn’t make any sense because I’ve been waiting this whole time, feeling stuck in a state of limbo.

What is that message, you may ask? It’s only two words: Slow down.

When I first felt the nudge to slow down, I was surprised. I could tell that God was leading me into this new job, so why was He still telling me to slow down?

Isn’t eight years slow enough already? I ask, sassily.  

But God knew that as soon as things started moving, I would want to race to the “finish line.” That when the snow began to sprinkle down in chunky flakes, I would start rolling a giant snowball that was more sticks and leaves than snow, and it would all fall apart into a disappointing mess.

God knows my tendency to take on as much as possible. To read new books, to learn a new concept, to find a new hobby. Always hungry, never satisfied. And He also knows that what I need is not more—it’s depth in what I already have. I am already good at hungering for things that are new and exciting—what I need is to slow down and dig deeper into the areas I’ve only scratched the surface of.

One of my 2025 goals was to declutter our home—to relinquish dishes, clothing, items that we no longer need. And what I’ve discovered as I’ve embarked on this process is that the more I get rid of, the more I want to discard, and the less I want. And the things I used to want have been replaced with a desire for a profound relationship with God because He is the most worthwhile pursuit of all.

In August, this video popped up on my feed. I watched it in shock. It’s about walking with God and slowing down.

How we were created to walk with God, even as far back as Adam and Eve, who walked with God in the garden. And that as we’re walking with God, He gives us little glimpses of what He’s doing—ideas and ways that we can serve—and as He shows us these things, we naturally start to get excited and move a little faster. We start to skip, jog, and then sprint as we imagine doing all these wonderful things for God and His kingdom.

And then, before we know it, we’ve gotten so focused on doing these things for God that we haven’t even realized that God’s still walking, far behind us. We forget that we are supposed to abide in His presence, and instead move to get started on the next big, exciting opportunity He has for us.

So we turn around and shout, “Hurry up, God! Let’s go! This is gonna be so good!”

And God says “Slow down. Walk with Me. What you’re going to do when you get there, you’re gonna need Me to do.”  

Phew!

In the quiet moments of journaling, reading my Bible, and praying during the last few months, God is bringing me to a place of quiet peace—to green pastures by still waters. To an understanding that wherever I am is the right place to be.

That I’m not running behind, that God’s not late, that things aren’t moving too slowly.

That as much as I’m tempted to run ahead, I’m going to need God for where we’re going so I must walk with Him, at His pace.

That I will see the goodness of God in the land of the living because He is only good.

That I still need to walk slowly. To dig deeply. To seek God even when I don’t feel like it.

And although that is slightly terrifying, it’s also wonderfully exciting. Don’t you think so?