Renowned theologian and Bible commentator Matthew Henry refers to Psalm 40 as a “prayer of confidence.”
In the Psalm, David writes about how the Lord heard his cry and drew him out of the mud pit. He retells how he patiently waited on the Lord and used that time of uncertainty to pray and press further into the presence of God.
How quaint, David. How very quaint.
I think about all the times in my life when I have not been nearly as graceful or hopeful during the waiting period.
To be honest with you, I used to be horrible with the waiting.
I was way more likely to freak out than to wait patiently.
I was far more likely to try and take matters into my own hands.
I would rather worry and ruminate, spiraling into thoughts of doom, than spend that time being sure of the Lord.
And I was sometimes tempted to say, “God’s not working things out fast enough, so I have to work instead.”
We all wait differently, but I know one thing is certain: people watch us in our waiting. And while the way other people view us is not the end goal, I think we have a chance to be true reflections of Jesus through our waiting. It’s possible that how we wait is a reflection to others of what we think about God and how we think He will come through for us.
We can always learn to wait better. It’s an ongoing process. Whether you love the season you’re in or you feel like you’re trapped in a perpetual waiting room, there is always, always, a chance to wait better. Let’s dig into some practical and encouraging ways we can learn to wait well:
1. Life is not on pause.
This is the big one. The one truth I still have to remind myself of all the time:
My life is not on pause just because I’m in a season of waiting.
Life is still moving forward. People still need me. Opportunities are still on their way. God still has plans for me.
And waiting, itself, is not a passive action. It requires patience. It requires diligence. It requires hope. It’s not sitting on your hands, waiting for the tides to shift. It’s continuing to show up even when the waiting feels endless because there’s a life right in front of you that needs you to be in it.
If we think our lives are set on pause every time a new season of waiting arrives, we’ll never live.
Life still happens—even in the mud pit.
2. Small things on repeat.
I’ve found that small disciplines and habits can be game-changers when it comes to being in a season that feels hard, uncomfortable, or uncertain. They allow you to focus on something other than the circumstances, and they also help keep you strong during the waiting period.
When I was eight months pregnant, and the country was shutting down because of COVID-19, I had so much fear and anxiety. I didn’t know what my birth plan would look like. I didn’t know how we’d bring a child into this crazy world. I didn’t have the strength to sit in the Bible for hours at a time because, plain and simple, I was scattered and scared.
In our hardest times, I don’t think God is sitting there with his arms crossed, saying, “Can you just get it together? Seriously? Get in my Word for six hours a day!”
It’s not that. I think God is in the business of small things on repeat. He’s the God who went out of His way to explain that even if your faith is as small as the smallest seed, He’s got you. He’s the mountain mover. It’s not on you, and it’s not me to make sure all the pieces fall into place.
So what did I do during that time when I couldn’t really open my Bible as much as I was used to? I walked.
I walked a lot.
Three miles a day.
Rain or shine.
I committed to the thing I knew I could do.
And it became the most life-saving rhythm for me. From that space, other rhythms came. I learned just how much small disciplines can help us continue to show up and steward our lives well, even when life feels messy or dark.
I hinged my life on small disciplines: a chapter of the Word each day, a breath prayer by the kitchen counter, a tall glass of water, and a bedtime routine. I discovered God within those disciplines. They helped me keep moving forward, getting out of bed and facing the day when the next step felt unknown to me.
3. Keep going back.
In another season of waiting, I transformed my office closet into a prayer closet. I cleared the space. I set the intention. And then I went into that closet nearly every day to pray and plead with God.
I hung my prayers on the walls. I thanked God for all the little miracles in my midst. I remembered the small graces on the days when I thought the bigger issues would crush me. I kept going back to God—rain or shine—when I felt like it and when I wanted to run in the other direction. And you know what happened? I changed. The waiting changed me. The time with God transformed me.
I think it’s easy in a waiting period to want to run from God or be distant, but the best lesson I’ve learned in my own waiting rooms is that the mud is an invitation to press in close and keep going back.
Sometimes it’s the hardest suggestion to make, but I’ve seen miracles happen in this space.
When you’re mad about the outcome—keep going back to Him.
When the truth hurts—keep going back to Him.
When you think you have a better plan—keep going back to Him.
There have literally been times when I’ve sat in the stillness and said out loud, “I really don’t want to be here right now, but I’m here.” And it’s in the space, through that honesty, that I’ve often felt the presence of God be the most palpable.
4. Make the prayer constant.
Prayer can either be our first reaction or our last resort. We get that choice.
Author Anne Lamott writes, “My belief is that when you’re telling the truth, you’re close to God.”
That’s what I would tell you if you and I were sitting on my big couch and you told me you were struggling to pray in the waiting, struggling to get any good words out to God.
“Just tell God the truth. He can handle it,” I would say to you before pouring you another cup of tea.
It’s not about good sentences.
It’s not about eloquence or $2 words.
It’s about being the most honest version of yourself and trusting that God knew exactly the state you’d come to Him in before you even thought to say His name.
I cannot count the number of times I’ve grabbed my headphones, plugged them in my ears, and taken a few laps around my block, just talking out loud to God as if we were chatting on the phone.
Sometimes I get silent. Other times I journal. Sometimes I just sit in the stillness and listen. But no matter the posture or the medium, this is dialogue. We are in conversation. This is prayer.
Friend, in times of waiting, do not give up on prayer. Your prayers may be shorter. They may feel lackluster. You might be merely going through the motions of it all.
But any word you utter is heard by God. Even when you feel like you’re leaving voicemails, rather than dialoguing with your Creator—leave the voicemails. Say the words. Speak your pleas. I’ve never known Him not to call back.
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