What Are You Waiting For?

Read

Lamentations 3:25–26 “The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.”

Think

Waiting doesn’t come naturally. We live in a world of two-day shipping, instant streaming, and real-time updates. We avoid slow internet, long lines, and unanswered texts. In most areas of life, waiting feels like wasting.

But in Scripture, waiting is where God often does his deepest work.

Lamentations 3 was written in a time of national and spiritual collapse. Jerusalem had fallen. The temple was destroyed. Grief hung heavy in the air. And yet, buried in this book of sorrow is a startling truth: “The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him.” Not just when things are restored. Not once the pain subsides. Right in the midst of the ache—God is still good. That’s not naïve optimism. That’s holy defiance.

The Hebrew word for “wait” in this passage is qavah, meaning to entwine, to twist together like strands in a cord. In other words, waiting on God isn’t passive. It’s a process of binding our hearts to his in the middle of uncertainty. It’s the decision to stay close even when clarity hasn’t come. This kind of waiting produces more than patience. It produces hope.

Most of us associate hope with resolution. We hope for an answer, for relief, for change. We tie hope to outcomes. But biblical hope doesn’t begin with the result—it begins with the character of God. That means hope is possible even before the breakthrough comes. It lives in the tension, not just the celebration. So what are you waiting for right now?

Maybe it’s direction about a decision. Maybe you’re praying for healing, or longing for a relationship to be restored. Maybe you’re just trying to make it through a tough season and wondering when the pressure will lift. Whatever you’re waiting for, the wait is rarely easy. It stretches us. It exposes our fears. It can tempt us to believe that God has forgotten. But history tells a different story.

Abraham waited for a son.
Joseph waited in prison.
David waited to wear the crown he had already been anointed for.
Hannah waited for a child with a heart full of prayer and pain.
Israel waited centuries for the Messiah.

Waiting has always been part of the story. And every time, God was at work.

The season of Advent is rooted in this tension. We live between two arrivals—Christ has come, and Christ will come again. The light has entered the world, and yet shadows remain. This in-between space is where faith is refined. It’s where we learn to trust in what we can’t see yet.

Lamentations calls this kind of waiting good. Not easy. Not quick. But good. Because it leads us to seek God more than just solutions. It pulls us away from surface-level hope and down into something sturdier. It changes us.

Isaiah 40:31 says, “Those who wait on the Lord will renew their strength.” That word “renew” isn’t just a refill—it means to exchange. As we wait, God trades our weakness for his strength. He gives peace in place of pressure. He replaces striving with stillness.

And while the waiting may not change your situation immediately, it will shape your soul. You learn to hear his voice more clearly. You stop grasping for control and start practicing trust. You develop the kind of faith that doesn’t fold under pressure.

Still, let’s be honest—some days feel longer than others. You may wonder if anything is happening. It may seem like your prayers are echoing into silence. But even in the quiet, God is moving. Roots are growing underground. The shaping happens in places you can’t yet see.

Hope isn’t always loud. It often looks like returning to God day after day with open hands and an honest heart. It’s not about feeling strong; it’s about choosing to stay close.

This is what Advent teaches us. That hope isn’t just for the end of the story—it’s for the middle. It whispers to us in the waiting: “God has not left.” He is still writing. He has not forgotten. His timing is perfect, even when it feels hidden.

And when your hope is in him—not just in what he can do, but in who he is—you don’t have to live in fear of delays. The wait becomes sacred. Because every moment spent trusting God becomes a moment of transformation. So what are you waiting for?

Don’t rush past that question. Bring your answer into the light. Let God meet you there. You may be in a chapter you didn’t ask for, but you are not alone in it. You are being held by the same God who fulfilled every promise in Christ, right on time.

Your waiting is not wasted. And neither is your hope.

Apply

Write down your honest answer to this question: “What am I waiting for right now?” Be as specific as you can. Then, underneath it, write this declaration: “God, I trust your timing. Teach me to wait with hope.” Read it again whenever your heart starts to doubt.

Pray

God, you see the spaces in my life where I’m waiting. You know the prayers I’ve repeated, the questions I carry, and the hope that sometimes feels thin. Strengthen me in the middle of it. Help me not just to wait, but to wait well. Fill me with quiet confidence in your timing and steady hope in your character. I trust that you are working, even when I can’t see it. In Jesus’ name. Amen.