What Waiting on God Is Doing to You

You may be asking God to change your circumstances while He is doing something deeper in you.

I was still pretty young when I became convinced that I wanted to spend my life serving as a pastor.

I didn’t know exactly what that would look like. I didn’t know which church I would serve, what position I would have, or how God would get me there. But the calling itself wasn’t something I spent much time questioning.

The part I couldn’t figure out was when.

When you’re young and convinced you know what God has called you to do, waiting can feel unnecessary. I wanted to preach. I wanted to lead. I wanted to help people grow in their relationship with Jesus. I was willing to work hard, learn, serve, and do whatever I needed to do.

So in my mind, the only thing missing was the opportunity.

Looking back, I can see how incomplete that perspective was.

There were things I understood about ministry when I was young, but there were also things I couldn’t possibly understand yet. I could study Scripture, learn leadership principles, watch pastors I respected, and gain ministry experience, but some things simply take time.

Maturity is one of them.

There is a kind of maturity you can learn from a book, but there is another kind that only seems to grow through years of making decisions, getting some of them wrong, apologizing, being disappointed, working with difficult people, discovering your own weaknesses, and learning that loving people is usually much messier than leading them from a distance.

I needed that.

The people I would eventually serve needed me to have it too.

That’s something I didn’t understand when I was younger. I thought waiting was mostly about me and what I wanted God to let me do. Now I realize God also cared deeply about the people who would eventually be affected by my leadership.

God wasn’t only preparing an opportunity for me. He was preparing me for the people who would be on the other side of that opportunity.

If God had handed me everything I wanted when I was twenty, I’m sure I would have been excited. I would have worked hard. I would have genuinely loved Jesus and wanted to serve people well.

I also would have carried every weakness into that responsibility. Many of them, I couldn’t see yet.

That’s the frustrating thing about immaturity. You usually don’t know you’re immature in the places where you’re immature. I certainly didn’t walk around thinking, I’m not ready for this. I thought I was ready. That’s why I was frustrated that it wasn’t happening.

Only years later could I look backward and recognize what those years had produced.

I had learned more about people. I had experienced disappointment. I had watched leaders make good decisions and terrible ones. I had made plenty of my own. I had served in different churches, under different leaders, with different kinds of people. I had discovered that ministry involved much more than preaching a sermon or having a title.

Somewhere in all of that, God was growing me.

Not perfectly. I’m still growing.

But that’s one of the uncomfortable things I’ve discovered about waiting. Sometimes God isn’t withholding something good from us. Sometimes there are things that simply cannot be rushed.

You can hurry an opportunity, but you can’t hurry maturity.

Maybe that’s part of what makes waiting so difficult.

We can see the thing we’re waiting for, but we can’t always see the person we’ll need to become to carry it well.

Maybe you’re waiting for something right now and you’re relatively confident about what you believe God has put in your heart. The question isn’t necessarily what. It’s when.

• When will the door open?

• When will someone finally give you the opportunity?

• When will the relationship happen?

• When will things change?

• When will you finally get to do the thing you’ve spent years preparing to do?

I understand that question because I spent a lot of years asking it.

But looking backward has given me another question that I didn’t know to ask when I was younger.

What if the waiting isn’t only about when God will give you what you’re asking for? What if it’s also about who you’ll be when you receive it?

That question changes the way I read the story of Moses.

Because Moses knew something needed to happen too.

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Moses Was Right About the Problem

There is a moment early in Moses’ story that I think I’ve misunderstood for years.

Before the burning bush, Pharaoh, the plagues, and the Red Sea, Moses was a man who saw something terribly wrong and decided to do something about it.

Moses had grown up in Pharaoh’s household, but the Hebrews were his people. One day he went out and saw an Egyptian beating one of them. The injustice was real, and in that moment, the suffering wasn’t imagined.

So Moses looked around, saw no one, killed the Egyptian, and hid his body in the sand. The next day, Moses discovered that people knew what he had done. Eventually Pharaoh knew too, and Moses ran for his life.

What fascinates me about this story is that Moses wasn’t wrong about Israel needing deliverance. They did. God had heard their cries. God was going to rescue them, and Moses really was going to play an enormous role in that rescue.

Moses was right about the problem. He was even right that something needed to be done. He just wasn’t ready to decide how it should happen. I understand that more than I would like to admit.

I’ve looked at situations in my life and ministry and known that something needed to change. Sometimes I was right. The problem was real. A conversation needed to happen, a decision needed to be made, or something that wasn’t healthy needed to be addressed.

But being right about what needs to happen doesn’t automatically make me right about how or when it should happen.

Moses tried to accomplish through his own strength something God would eventually accomplish through His. Then Moses disappeared into the wilderness.

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Forty Years Is a Long Time to Watch Sheep

Exodus doesn’t spend much time describing what happened next.

Moses fled Egypt and went to Midian. He met a family there, married Zipporah, had a son, and became a shepherd. Then Scripture moves on.

Stephen gives us an important detail in Acts 7. Moses was about forty when he left Egypt, and he was about eighty when God appeared to him in the burning bush.

Forty years.

We can read across those forty years in a few minutes, but Moses had to live every day between those verses.

There were forty summers and forty winters. There were thousands of mornings when Moses woke up and Egypt was still somewhere behind him. He tended sheep, raised a family, and lived a life that probably looked nothing like the one anyone would have predicted for someone raised in Pharaoh’s household.

Scripture doesn’t tell us everything Moses thought about during those years, so I don’t want to pretend we know. I do wonder, though, whether there were moments when he thought about Egypt. I wonder if he replayed what had happened or wondered what became of the people he left behind.

Maybe he thought that part of his life was over. What we know is much simpler. Moses tended sheep.

There is something about ordinary faithfulness that doesn’t photograph very well. Nobody applauds you for another day of getting up, doing your job, taking care of your family, keeping your word, loving difficult people, and following Jesus when nothing dramatic happens.

But those years still count.

Waiting has a way of separating who we are from the things we thought proved who we were.

Take away the title or the opportunity. Take away the relationship you thought would happen by now. Take away the recognition, the plan, or the thing you believed would finally make everything fall into place.

Eventually, we’re forced to confront a much harder question.

Who am I when the thing I thought would validate me doesn’t happen?

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Waiting Has a Way of Bringing Things to the Surface

I’d prefer waiting to produce patience in the same way my coffee maker produces coffee. Put something in, press a button, wait a few minutes, and receive the finished product.

Spiritual formation seems considerably less efficient. Before waiting produces some of the things we want, it often exposes some things we don’t.

I’ve discovered how much I like control. I’ve seen how easily I compare my life with someone else’s. I’ve realized that sometimes my peace wasn’t coming from trusting God nearly as much as it was coming from believing everything was going according to my plan.

I’ve watched this happen in people I’ve pastored too.

Extended waiting changes the questions people ask. At first, we want to know when something will happen. After enough time passes, we start wondering why it hasn’t happened. Eventually, the question can become much more personal.

• What’s wrong with me?

• Did I miss God?

• Has He forgotten about me?

• Can I still trust Him?

Those aren’t questions I think we need to be ashamed of. I’d rather someone bring those questions honestly to Jesus than pretend they don’t exist.

But we should pay attention to them because waiting has a strange way of bringing things to the surface.

The unanswered prayer may not have created the fear, but it can reveal how much fear was already running our lives.

The closed door may not have created our need for approval. It may simply expose it. The delay may not have made us controlling. It may reveal how much peace we’ve been getting from control.

Sometimes that revelation is painful.

But once something has been exposed, we can finally bring it to Jesus.

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The Moses Who Came Back Was Different

Eventually, Moses was tending sheep near Horeb when something caught his attention.

A bush was burning, except it wasn’t being consumed.

Moses walked closer, and God called his name.

“Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.” (Exodus 3:4)

God told Moses that He had seen the suffering of Israel. He had heard their cries and knew their suffering.

Then God said:

“Come, I will send you to Pharaoh that you may bring my people, the children of Israel, out of Egypt.” (Exodus 3:10)

This is the part of the story that gets me. The thing Moses had once tried to do himself was actually something God intended to do. Israel really was going to be delivered. Moses really was going back to Egypt.

But listen to the response of the eighty-year-old Moses:

“Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?” (Exodus 3:11)

There is certainly a point where Moses’ hesitation goes too far. By Exodus 4, God becomes angry with him. Insecurity isn’t the same thing as humility, and fear isn’t automatically evidence of spiritual maturity.

Still, I can’t get past God’s response. Moses asks: Who am I?

God doesn’t respond by listing Moses’ qualifications. He doesn’t remind Moses that he grew up in Pharaoh’s household or give him a motivational speech about believing in himself.

He says:

“But I will be with you.” (Exodus 3:12)

Moses asks who he is. God tells Moses who will be with him. That is a very different kind of confidence.

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Maybe Confidence Isn’t the Goal

For a long time, I thought spiritual maturity would make me increasingly confident.

In some ways it has. There are things I understand now that I didn’t understand twenty years ago, and there are situations I can walk into today that would have terrified a younger version of me.

Following Jesus has also made me much more aware of what I don’t know.

I’ve made enough mistakes to know my first instinct isn’t always right. I’ve watched plans I was certain would work fall apart. I’ve watched God use circumstances I would never have chosen, and I’ve discovered that experience doesn’t eliminate my need for Jesus.

If anything, experience has made me more aware of it. Maybe the goal isn’t to come out of waiting believing, I’ve got this. Maybe the goal is to know more deeply, God has me.

That’s a different kind of confidence because it doesn’t require knowing what happens next. It doesn’t need every door to open, and it doesn’t fall apart the moment something goes wrong.

It knows where to look when it doesn’t know what to do.

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Waiting Can Produce Endurance

James writes:

“For you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.” (James 1:3)

I don’t think steadfastness means learning to enjoy difficult things.

Some waiting hurts. Some prayers carry names. Some unanswered questions affect people we love deeply, and there are things I would never tell someone to stop wanting.

Biblical endurance isn’t pretending the pain doesn’t matter.

It’s learning to keep following Jesus while it does.

You continue praying even when you’ve prayed the same thing hundreds of times. You keep opening Scripture when you don’t understand what God is doing. You keep bringing your disappointment to Him instead of slowly allowing disappointment to push you away from Him.

At first, our faith can become deeply connected to outcomes. God opened the door, so God is good. The report came back clear, so God is faithful. The relationship was restored, so prayer works.

Those are wonderful moments, and we should thank God for them. But what happens when the door stays closed? What happens when the report isn’t what you prayed for or the relationship isn’t restored?

Some faith can only survive when prayers are answered. Waiting can teach us a faith that survives when they aren’t.

That doesn’t mean we stop asking.

It means our trust in God becomes deeper than our ability to understand what He’s doing.

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Waiting Can Make Us Softer

There’s something else I’ve noticed after years of sitting with hurting people.

People who have suffered well tend to listen differently.

That isn’t true of everyone. Pain can make us bitter. It can make us suspicious and cause us to build walls so high that nobody gets close enough to hurt us again.

But I’ve also met people whose pain seems to have made more room inside them for somebody else’s.

They don’t rush people through grief. They don’t reach for a Bible verse five seconds after someone starts crying. They aren’t uncomfortable with questions that don’t have immediate answers because they know what it feels like to live in the middle of a story.

Someone who has waited beside a hospital bed hears fear differently. Someone who has struggled financially notices the family quietly worrying about money. Someone who has experienced church hurt notices the person sitting near the back who disappears the moment the service ends.

Someone who has carried an unanswered prayer usually knows better than to promise another person that everything will work out exactly the way they hope.

They’ve learned how to sit beside someone without needing to fix them.

Pain doesn’t automatically make us compassionate. But surrendered pain can teach us how to sit beside someone else’s pain without being afraid of it.

Maybe that’s something God can produce in waiting too.

Not just stronger faith.

A softer heart.

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Waiting Doesn’t Automatically Make Us Better

This is where I think we need to be careful. It would be easy to turn all of this into a formula. Wait long enough, and eventually you’ll become spiritually mature. Scripture doesn’t tell that story.

Israel spent years in the wilderness and frequently became bitter. Saul waited for Samuel, became impatient, and took matters into his own hands. Abraham and Sarah waited for God’s promise and eventually tried to create their own solution through Hagar.

Waiting can produce some ugly things too.

I’ve watched people come through painful seasons with a deeper compassion for others. I’ve also watched people come through pain determined never to trust anyone again.

The difference isn’t simply time.

Time alone doesn’t produce maturity. What we allow God to do with that time does.

James doesn’t simply tell us that suffering automatically makes us mature. He tells us to let steadfastness “have its full effect.”

There is an invitation there.

We may not get to decide when the waiting ends. We may have very little control over whether the door opens or the circumstances change.

But we can pay attention to what is happening inside us while the door remains closed.

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What Is Waiting Producing in You?

Maybe you’ve spent so much time asking God to change your circumstances that you haven’t stopped to notice what your circumstances are doing to you.

Instead of beginning with what you think you’re supposed to be learning, start with what is actually happening.

What comes out of you when someone else receives the good news you’ve been praying for? Where does your mind go when another month passes without an answer? What are you afraid this delay says about you or about God?

Then ask yourself whether waiting has caused you to start forcing things.

There is a difference between taking the next faithful step and trying to write the ending yourself. Sometimes faith means sending the application, making the phone call, having the conversation, or knocking on another door. Other times, those same actions can come from our desperate need to make something happen.

I’ve done both. The difficult part is learning the difference.

I also think it’s worth asking what waiting is doing to the way you see other people. Are you becoming softer or harder? More compassionate or more withdrawn? Can you celebrate someone’s joy without interpreting their blessing as evidence that God has forgotten you?

Finally, ask what surrender looks like today. Not for the next ten years. Today.

Maybe surrender means taking another faithful step. Maybe it means putting your phone down and stopping the constant checking. Maybe it means celebrating with someone who received what you’re still asking God for. Maybe it means talking with someone because you’ve been carrying this alone for too long.

Or maybe it means sitting with God and praying something painfully simple:

God, I still want this. I’m still asking You for it. But I don’t want wanting this to turn me into someone I don’t want to become. Show me what this waiting is producing in me, and help me give You the parts of me that need Your attention.

I think that’s a prayer worth praying.

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The Road Back to Egypt

I wonder what Moses thought as he started walking back toward Egypt. Forty years earlier, he had left as a fugitive. Now he was returning because God had sent him. The problem in Egypt hadn’t disappeared while Moses was in Midian. The suffering continued, and there was still an incredibly difficult road ahead.

But Moses wasn’t returning alone.

God had said: “I will be with you.” Moses probably wouldn’t have chosen forty years in Midian. I wouldn’t either.

Most of us would choose the shortest possible road between where we are and where we want to be. We would rather God open the door, answer the prayer, fix the problem, and let us keep moving. But Scripture keeps introducing us to people whose stories contain long stretches they probably would have skipped if given the choice.

Abraham had his years without Isaac. Joseph had his prison. David had his caves. Moses had Midian. That doesn’t mean God will eventually give us whatever we’re waiting for if we endure long enough. God made specific promises to those people, and their stories aren’t blank checks for ours.

Some prayers will be answered differently than we hope. Some things we’re waiting for may never happen the way we’ve imagined them. Some questions may follow us for a very long time.

That’s why I’ve started wondering whether when is the only question worth asking.

• I still want to know when.

• I still pray for doors to open.

• I still ask God to change things.

But somewhere alongside those prayers, I’m learning to ask another one.

God, who are You helping me become while I wait?

Because waiting is doing something.

When fear comes to the surface, bring it to Jesus. When jealousy appears, bring that too. Bring Him the anger, the disappointment, the need for control, and the part of you that’s tired of praying the same prayer.

You may not be able to see what God is doing with the thing you’re waiting for yet. But you can begin paying attention to what He’s doing in you.

Moses walked into Midian after trying to accomplish something through his own strength. Forty years later, he walked back toward Egypt carrying something far more important than confidence in himself. He carried the promise of God’s presence.

Maybe that’s one of the gifts hidden inside waiting.

You may not know when the waiting will end, but you don’t have to leave it empty-handed.

Help Me Keep a Seat at the Table

If you’re somewhere in the middle of waiting right now, I hope this article reminds you that these years aren’t wasted. God is still present, still working, and still forming something in you even when you can’t see what comes next.

That’s why I keep writing.

I want Faith Unplugged to be a place for people who love Jesus but are tired of easy answers. A place where we can talk honestly about unanswered prayers, disappointment, church hurt, doubt, and the complicated parts of following God without pretending everything is fine.

Everything I write is made possible by readers who choose to support this work. If these articles have helped you trust Jesus, find hope, or simply feel a little less alone, would you consider becoming a paid subscriber?

Your support helps me keep a seat at the table for people who need to know that God hasn’t forgotten them.

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