The Long Pause
Waiting has a sound.
For me, it sounded like hospital monitors and airport boarding calls.
It felt anxious and numb at the same time, suspended between cities, seasons, and prayers.
Pentecost was coming, but so was another flight, another hallway, another stretch of unknown.
Waiting Between Two Worlds
I was waiting while my mom was battling cancer in a hospital more than a thousand miles away.
I was waiting in airport terminals, counting the days until I could fly back to her.
Then I’d wait to come home again.
Back to my husband. Back to my sons.
Every goodbye felt unfinished.
Every return felt rushed.
In the hospital, I waited for treatments to work.
I waited for good numbers. For strength to return. For hope to feel steady again.
Some days I felt overwhelmed, like my chest was too small for the fear I was carrying.
Other days I felt numb, just doing the next thing because stopping felt worse.
I questioned everything.
Waiting exposed every crack in my faith.
Doubt whispered constantly. Discouragement sat heavy.
So I had to do something small but intentional.
I started telling fear who my Lord is.
Out loud.
Again and again.
Creating Joy in the Middle of the Battle
The turning point wasn’t a miracle report or a sudden breakthrough.
It was joy—on purpose.
We decorated my mom’s hospital room like the Caribbean.
Bright colors. Island vibes. Music playing quietly in the background.
We made shakes together.
Laughed like we weren’t surrounded by IV pumps and charts.
We named her IV pole “Bobby Flay.”
Because if we couldn’t control the outcome, we could still control the atmosphere.
Joy didn’t deny the battle.
It stood in the middle of it and said, God is still here.
That’s when waiting shifted from passive to powerful.
I stopped just counting days and started building moments.
Like the father in Luke 15, waiting for his prodigal son.
Watching. Hoping. Believing.
Are you waiting for someone you love to come home to Jesus?
Just as you’re praying and watching, so is the Father.
God Is Working While You’re Waiting
Scripture slowly reminded me that waiting has always been part of the story.
Daniel waited in the lion’s den while angels fought on his behalf (Daniel 10:2–6).
Joseph waited 13 years between promise and position.
Abraham waited 25 years for the son he was promised (Genesis 12:4).
The Israelites waited and counted the days to the Feast of Weeks (Leviticus 23:15–22).
Four hundred years passed between Malachi and Matthew.
Silence didn’t mean absence.
Delay didn’t mean denial.
The disciples waited 50 days for the promise of the Spirit.
And Pentecost came right on time.
Waiting may feel like nothing is happening.
But heaven may be very busy on your behalf.
If you’re waiting for:
Help is on the way.
God never wastes the waiting.
If you need space to process this season, consider scheduling a session to talk it through with someone who understands.
Holding On Without Wavering
Hebrews 10:23–24 became my anchoring reminder:
Hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful.
Waiting tries to steal what God has already promised.
Fear wants you to forget. Doubt wants you to quit.
So I started building a memorial of remembrance.
I wrote down what God had already done.
Answered prayers. Unexpected strength. Peace that made no sense.
And when discouragement showed up, I spoke back.
Not perfectly.
But honestly.
“I know who my God is.”
“I know He is working, even now.”
Waiting doesn’t mean sitting still in defeat.
It means staying positioned for promise.
If you’re feeling stuck or overwhelmed, schedule a session—you don’t have to carry this alone.
Pentecost Is Coming
Waiting is not punishment.
It’s preparation.
Just like it was in the upper room.
Just like it was in the hospital room.
The Spirit comes to waiting hearts.
To honest prayers. To tired faith that still shows up.
If this season feels heavy, you’re not behind.
You’re becoming.
Pentecost always comes after the waiting.
And the wind of God still knows exactly where to find you.
