I remember waiting for my mom to finish her chemotherapy years ago. We’d count down the weeks until she’d be done. My dad planted a tree so we could wait for it to blossom, the same way we were waiting and praying for my mom to get better. We waited for her to finish radiation, then surgery, then at last, she finished with her treatments. Now it’s been seven years, and I hardly remember how hard those days were. 

I remember waiting to plant a church. We had meetings where we dreamed and envisioned and hoped and prayed. It took a long time to see that church go from a dream and a few conversations to a group of people who faithfully dedicate themselves to becoming passionate followers of Jesus. But now we’ve been a church family for over four years, and I hardly remember how hard those first days were. 

I remember when I told my friend for the first time about my experience with sexual assault. I had been waiting to be heard for so long. The waiting felt like my soul was dying, like I was walking around with third-degree burns, just waiting for someone to notice. I told my friend, and on a summer evening, she offered space for me to begin to heal. It felt like I’d waited for so long. That was three years ago, and I’m still slowly healing. 

Most days, I still feel like I’m waiting — waiting for lockdown to be over, waiting for this pandemic to end, waiting to hug my friends again, waiting for a vaccine, waiting to see if God answers the prayer for a marriage that I’ve been praying for for years now, waiting for clarity over decisions to make, waiting for one of my dreams to come true. 

I’ve never been good at waiting. When I was a kid at the amusement park, I’d opt out of the most popular rides because they had the longest line and I never wanted to wait. I never liked to wait for the best option if it took too long. I’d settle instead for an okay option because it came faster. 

But what if God’s best for us sometimes comes with a long line of waiting? What if while I was waiting — for my mom to get better, for our church to be planted, for my healing — the waiting was part of what made me strong? 

Isaiah 40:31 says, “They who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” (My emphasis) 

What if, when I’m waiting for Jesus, He is actually making me stronger? 

What if, in the waiting rooms, God is renewing my strength? Giving me abiding peace and deep trust in my Savior? 

What if — as I pray over and over and over and over again, day after day, month after month, year after year, decade after decade — the Spirit is empowering me to move into deeper trust, to mount up like an eagle, to run and not grow weary, to walk and not get tired?

Not on my own, but through Jesus. With Jesus. Because of Jesus. 

There are so many questions I don’t have the answers to. I don’t know whom I’ll marry or if I’ll marry at all. I don’t know when the pandemic will be over or what life will look like after it ends. 

But I do know that when we trust in Jesus, when we wait on Him, when we follow His lead to surrender everything — our dreams, our finances, our jobs, our relationships — He gives us His strength.

Just like an eagle, I’m empowered — to walk, to run, to soar. 

That’s what happens when we wait.  

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