Writers 
"But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles." — Isaiah 40:31
Nobody warns you that the waiting is its own kind of road,
a long and winding corridor with no clock upon the wall,
where prayers go up like candles and the silence is the load,
and you wonder if the Heavens even hear you when you call.
You check your phone for answers, you check your heart for peace,
you rehearse the hopeful speeches you may never need to say,
you ask when the long season of the questions will cease,
and the answer, soft and patient, is "not yet. But on its way."
"Though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come." — Habakkuk 2:3
But waiting is not wasted, though it often feels that way,
it is the hidden workshop where your roots grow deep and wide,
where character is shaped in the quiet of the day,
where faith is made of something stronger than the sight you've left aside.
The seed beneath the soil is not forgotten, not denied,
it is gathering its strength in the dark where no one sees,
and you, too, are becoming something you cannot yet decide,
something rooted, something steady, something braced against the breeze.
"Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him." — Psalm 37:7
So breathe, dear one, breathe, and loosen up your grip,
the One who holds the timeline never once has been late,
He is writing every chapter, He is steering every ship,
and He is never hurried by the hour that we hate.
One day you will look backward at the season you endured,
and see that every delay was a mercy in disguise,
that the answer you were given, though it came, was well assured,
and worth the quiet waiting that once clouded up your eyes.