The Best Thing to Do While You’re Waiting

She stands with face tipped skyward, green eyes gazing through the mist. She’s neither peaceful or anxious, neither content or naturally patient. And yet she waits–for something on that distant horizon.

An all-clear.

An apology.

An exhale.

An offer.

An opportunity.

Shared understanding.

Resolution.

Redemption.

Permission to dream.

She is you. And she is me.

Waiting, wondering, watching–because when we don’t know the timing, we practice trusting.

Trusting that God’s goodness never runs out.

Trusting that His eye rests constantly on us.

Trusting that His Word stands as infallible promise.

Trusting that He’s at work even when we can’t see it.

The unseen, underneath work is easy to forget about, isn’t it? We prefer what’s visible. We want to watch leaves unfold and branches lengthen and buds swell and flowers blossom. That’s why our eyes keep searching the horizon and why we keep praying for miracles and why our hearts are discouraged when nothing appears to be happening.

We want there to be good reason for the delay.

Want to know the waiting will one day make sense.

Want assurance that God’s best will be worth all the angst and surrender.

Hope & Growth

What I’d give to sit with you for a few moments and unravel our stories of stretched-long waiting seasons–the hope and the growth. There’s both there, yes? 

It’s hope that pulls our eyes to the far-beyond, where nothing stirs. To the stand-stills that have no timers and the in-progress that imperceptibly unfolds. Hope helps us walk towards what we cannot yet see.

But it’s also hope that kneels right there in the dirt and drips water from cupped hands onto hidden seeds. Hope helps us tend what we can’t see yet. What doesn’t appear to be growing. What still looks like patted-flat dirt.

Tell me of the seeds you’ve tossed to the welcome wind and the ones you’ve slipped into soil beneath your feet. Tell me what’s growing in your heart as you watch and wait. 

Because long before tender green emerges, much is happening beneath the earth’s surface–and within us. And the best thing to do while waiting is to embrace that growth.

Knowing & Trusting

I’m one to fight the wait. To question whether I heard God right. Assume it’s my fault a door hasn’t opened or a prayer hasn’t been answered the way I expected.

But looking back, I see how the less I understand, the more I open up to God. The more painful the wait, the more deeply I learn to know and trust God. 

At the beginning, I would have gladly chosen the easy way out. The quick yes. The instant healing. 

I wouldn’t have chosen to wrestle through decisions or pray hours on my knees. But it’s there, in lengthy conversations with God that are a byproduct of waiting seasons, that I learned to treasure God Himself far above what He could provide.

As I waited for root systems to develop on the dreams and hopes and prayers I’d planted, my own roots were growing, anchoring me to an unchanging God who couldn’t stop thinking about me.

I learned that He’s patient with my questions and tender with my tears. That I always have a place right next to Him, and I don’t have to earn it. That God never for one split second takes His eyes off of me (Psalm 121:3). That I am always welcome, no matter the rawness of my prayers or tone of my doubt.

Rooting Deep & Lifting Up

The deeper I dug into God’s Word and rested in His unconditional love, the more reason I had to trust that His heart towards me is good and His timing is perfect. And out of the trust grew gratitude. It’s like the picture painted in Psalm 96:12: “Let all the trees of the forest dig in and reach high with songs of joy before the Eternal” (The Voice). The more deeply I learned to trust God the more reason I found to praise Him. 

In the middle of silence and uncertainty, I began to name how God is faithful and still good. First in a whisper, then in my journal, out loud, and online, I thanked Him for His companionship, His steadying peace, His ready attention.

I’d never connected the downward motion of “digging in”—rooting deep—with the lifting up of praise until Psalm 96:12 jumped off the page. But it’s the vibrant root system that gives voice to our gratitude. It’s through our growing understanding of and experience with God that we find words to thank Him.

Active Waiting & Ripple Effect

Like the trees the Psalmist addresses, we are neither all roots or no roots. The same rings true of every distant hope and whispered prayer, slowly growing as we wait and grow ourselves.

The growth cycle will show that roots begin to form before tender green pushes through the surface of the soil. But roots don’t stop growing once the shoot emerges. A plant continues to grow both down and up.

Similarly, those seeds we’re not-so-patiently waiting to see germinate first form roots. Rather than rush the process, let’s lean into the trust that deepens during the wait.

As the roots push downward, so too can we ground ourselves in the never-changing nature of God.

As the roots absorb water and nourishment from the soil, so too can we strengthen ourselves with Living Water (John 7:37) and the Bread of Life (John 6:35)–Jesus Himself.

And as the roots give reason to praise, so too can we praise God now for the tender ways He waits with us while we continue to grow.

This is active waiting. Pressing-into-God-as-it-all-unfolds waiting. A feed-the-hope-and-practice-trusting kind of waiting. A praise-Him-outloud-while-we-grow sort of waiting that creates a ripple effect for all who overhear. That’s what I want for both you and I during our seasons of stretched-long waiting.

Let’s pray.

God, where we want to see fast growth above ground, give us a glimpse of the root system spreading below the surface: roots pushing past rocks, reaching for sustenance and moisture, canopying into a stable foundation. 

As we wait for roots, then shoots, to grow on the seeds we’ve planted in faith, may our own roots grow towards the bottomless depth of Your great love.

May we seek nourishment in Your Word and embrace so we reach our arms and lift our voice high in effortless praise.

Just a friend over here in your corner,

P.S. Prefer the audio? Subscribe to The Uncommon Normal podcast for the same weekly content!