How I Found Joy in the Waiting Season

Waiting has never been my strong suit. For most of my life, I approached waiting with impatience and restlessness, treating it as an unwelcome pause between where I was and where I wanted to be. Whether I was waiting for an opportunity, an answer, or clarity, I always felt like I was stuck in a holding pattern, unable to move forward. But then, life gave me a waiting season so long and so deep that I couldn’t escape it—and in that space, I learned to see waiting differently.

At first, I resisted it. I filled every moment with distractions, trying to make the time pass faster. I threw myself into work, busied my hands with tasks, and drowned out the silence with noise. But nothing worked. The more I fought it, the more the waiting demanded my attention. It was like a stubborn teacher refusing to let me leave the lesson until I understood.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, I began to surrender. Not willingly at first—more out of exhaustion than anything else. But as I sat in the stillness, I started to notice things I had overlooked before. I saw the quiet beauty of the present moment, things that had always been there but never fully appreciated: the way the sun warmed my face on a chilly morning, the comfort of a good book, the sound of laughter from a nearby window. These small joys, ones I had always taken for granted, began to fill the spaces where impatience used to live.

The waiting also gave me a chance to reflect. Without the constant rush of “what’s next,” I started asking myself deeper questions: What do I really want? What kind of life am I building? Who am I becoming? These weren’t easy questions to answer, and honestly, some days, I wasn’t ready to face them. But the more I leaned into the silence, the more clarity I found. It was as though the waiting wasn’t just a pause—it was a mirror, showing me things I hadn’t been willing to see.

Faith played a huge role in reshaping how I experienced this season. In moments when the uncertainty felt overwhelming, I turned to prayer and scripture for comfort. One verse that became a lifeline for me was Ecclesiastes 3:1: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” It reminded me that waiting isn’t a mistake; it’s a part of the plan. I didn’t have to understand everything—sometimes, all I needed to do was trust that the season had a purpose.

What surprised me most was how the waiting season changed my relationship with time. I used to see time as something to conquer, a resource to be optimized. But during this season, time became a gift. I slowed down. I let myself rest. I gave myself permission to simply be, without always striving for the next thing. And in that stillness, I discovered a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in years.

The joy I found during this season wasn’t loud or flashy—it was quiet and steady. It came from moments of gratitude, reflection, and presence. It wasn’t about waiting for something big to happen to make me happy; it was about finding happiness right where I was.

Looking back, I realize that the waiting season wasn’t a detour—it was a part of the journey. It taught me patience, trust, and the beauty of slowing down. Most importantly, it taught me that life doesn’t begin when the waiting ends. Life is happening now, even in the quiet, uncertain moments.

If you’re in a waiting season, I want you to know it’s okay to feel frustrated or uncertain. But I also want you to know that this time isn’t wasted. There’s a joy to be found here if you’re willing to look for it—joy in the small things, in the stillness, and in the possibility of what’s to come.

Waiting, as it turns out, can be one of life’s greatest teachers. And while it may not always feel like it, it can also be a gift.