Discovering God’s Joy in the Waiting

“Patience, he thought. So much of this was patience – waiting, and thinking and doing things right. So much of all this, so much of all living was patience and thinking.”

Gary Paulsen, The Hatchet

We read The Hatchet to our son this summer, and we waited with Brian, the main character stranded in the Canadian wilderness, for his rescue. We watched and worried as this city boy scratched an existence out of nothing with only his hatchet, making a bow and arrow, getting sprayed by a skunk, devouring berries until he vomited, engineering a lean-to, getting nearly trampled and drowned by a moose. We waited with him for months as Winter’s chill crept closer and we wondered how he would survive the snow. 

The entire essence of The Hatchet is waiting. And now that I realize that, I find that I like the book a bit less. Why? Because it cuts too close to my life right now.

Most days, like Brian, I forget about looking skyward for my salvation and just keep my nose to the ground, building each moment out of whatever I can get my hands on. I guess there’s something simple and sweet about that, about enjoying each day for whatever opportunities God hands me in it.

But today, I find myself fully awake to the waiting, leaning back against it. Or am I pushing forward into it? I can’t quite tell.

I’m waiting for a friend’s healing. 

Waiting for our social worker to review our file and call us about our adoption.

Waiting for another family to bring home their newly adopted son.

Waiting for the right timing and avenue to publish my book.

Waiting for my daughter’s wiggly tooth to fall out.

Waiting with a friend in her grief.

Waiting for reconciliation between loved ones.

Waiting to hear a word from the Lord so I can just start moving again.

Because sometimes the waiting can feel like being stuck, just stumbling around in the dark. 

The temptation is to grumble about it and let ourselves get mired down in the “what if’s” and “if only’s” of waiting, but if we walk the pages of the Bible with Abraham, Joseph, Daniel, and the women at the tomb, we remember that waiting is simply part of the plan. Waiting is the impetus for faith and hope.

The Seed

On my walk this morning, I found a seed. Wrapped around this seed is layer upon layer of entwined fingers, encasing and protecting the magic inside that holds all the genetic code to become a tree. 

As I studied its curious intricacy, I remembered the verse of encouragement that my husband shared with me last week:

“Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin, to see the plumb line in Zerubbabel’s hand.”

Zechariah 4:10

Is there any smaller beginning than a mere seed? And yet Jesus chose the mustard seed to represent the kingdom of heaven.

God does not despise the small beginnings, nor does He grow impatient waiting on the seed. Rather, He rejoices to see the work begin.

Sometimes the beginning doesn’t look like much. It looks delicate, easily crushed underfoot, and impossibly small for the task ahead. But notice what else the Lord says to Zerubbabel in Zechariah’s vision:

“It is not by force nor by strength, but by my Spirit, says the Lord of Heaven’s Armies.”

Zechariah 4:6

No one can force a seed to grow. No amount of strength will make the traffic move more quickly or the sun to finally rise. But the Spirit is steadfast and faithful, and He will accomplish all He sets out to do. He is neither early nor late, and He never chooses the wrong vessel.

The seed, the plumb line, the young virgin, the sweaty fisherman, the splintering cross … each a humble venue to showcase the glory of God. 

So what are you waiting for? What’s your impossibly small beginning? I dare you to name it and to proclaim that God rejoices over it.

Because while the great I AM stands outside of time, He sees what is growing in your waiting, and He knows that if You’ll trust Him to do the work by His Spirit, you, too, will see the strength of a well-rooted tree established in your heart. 

Today I will lean back — yes, lean back, not push forward by force — into the waiting, and I’ll find Jesus there with me. He’s patient. He’s excited. He’s giddy at the prospect of what is to come, yet thrilled simply to see me in this place of faithful beginnings.

Brian created a life in his waiting place. He found a rhythm with the wilderness and a strength to survive that never would have developed outside of the waiting. But he didn’t have to stay there forever. Neither will you nor I have to wait forever. 

But while we’re in it, we can reframe our view of waiting and call that seed a miracle in and of itself. We can savor the hope that is right on our lips, realizing that the taste of something rich is yet to come. We can stand firm and watch the Lord of Heaven’s Armies go to battle on our behalf. We can steward what we’ve been given and be faithful with the little things, knowing that He will entrust us with more (Matt. 25:21).

Your waiting place is a womb where the Creator is weaving your heart into His, not missing a single thread. Let’s not despise it.

Try sitting in silence for five minutes today. In your silence, simply wait on the Lord. See what He stirs in you as you sit in that sacred moment of waiting with Him.