The closing of a year and the welcoming in of another always brings reflection. There is a stillness that settles between what has been and what is yet to come—
a kind of sacred pause where time itself seems to hold its breath. For many of us, it is not just a season of gratitude but also a season of questions. Between unfinished to-do lists and prayers still waiting for answers, I often feel caught between gratitude for what God has done and questions about what He has not—at least, not yet or not in a way I recognize or expected. Some prayers still wait for answers. Some dreams remain suspended in uncertainty. And in that quiet space of “not yet,” we often wonder if God is still moving.

I have wrestled with that space more times than I can count. Waiting has never come easily to me. I have struggled deeply when situations seemed pressing and disheartening, when the need was urgent, the door stayed shut, and heaven seemed silent. As someone involved in missions, I have often longed to see progress, fruit and breakthrough. Yet, there were times when everything stood still, and I could only watch and pray. In those moments, I discovered that the hardest part of waiting is not the passing of time, but the surrender of control.
Waiting rarely feels like a gift. It tests our patience, exposes our fears and reveals how much we depend on visible progress. But throughout Scripture, waiting is one of God’s most powerful instruments of grace. Abraham waited decades for a son. Israel waited centuries for deliverance. The disciples waited in an upper room, uncertain of what would come next. Every delay, every pause, was not wasted—it was preparation. God was shaping hearts, aligning circumstances and writing stories that could not be rushed.

In our world of instant updates and constant motion, we forget that the kingdom of God often moves at the pace of trust. What seems like divine silence may be the sound of unseen work beneath the surface. What feels like a delay may be by divine design.

Waiting is not idleness; it is participation in God’s slower rhythm. It teaches us to stop striving and start listening. It invites us to shift from urgency to intimacy, from seeking answers to seeking the Answer Himself. I have learned that waiting exposes the idols of my heart: my need to be in control, to have certainty, to measure success by visible results. But as I have sat in those long pauses, I have come to see that waiting is not about inactivity. It is about alignment.

When we cannot change the situation, God changes us in it. Our prayers may start with “Lord, please move this mountain,” but often they end with “Lord, move me closer to You.” That quiet surrender—the moment when rest replaces resistance—is where waiting begins to transform into worship.

The psalmist advises, “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him” (Psalm 37:7). Those who serve in mission often know the discipline of waiting all too well. Projects delay, funding falters, doors close, and hearts remain unmoved. Yet through these experiences, God reminds us that He is not only the Lord of the harvest, He is also the Lord of the season.

There are times when the soil must lie undisturbed before seeds can sprout. There are times when apparent inactivity is the very condition that allows life to take root. And perhaps the most important field God cultivates during these times is not the one around us, but the one within us.

Waiting becomes God’s training ground for endurance, humility and faith. Waiting is where we learn to serve without recognition, to pray without proof and to trust without seeing. Every missionary, every believer, faces this inner mission—to let waiting refine rather than discourage.
When the waiting becomes worship, something shifts deep inside. We stop asking, “When will this end?” and begin asking, “What are You doing in me through this?”

It is in this posture that peace finds us, not because everything is fixed, but because we are finally aligned with the heart of God. Worship in waiting is not about pretending everything is fine. It is about declaring that God is still good, even when life feels unfinished.

Isaiah wrote, “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength” (Isaiah 40:31). Renewal does not come from answers; it comes from relationship. As we linger in His presence, strength rises quietly, like dawn after a long night.

As we embark upon a new year, perhaps the most faithful thing we can do is to thank God not only for what He has done, but also for what He has yet to do. The unfinished, the unresolved and the uncertain are not evidence of God’s neglect; they are invitations to deeper faith.

God’s silence is not His absence. His timing is not our delay.

So if you find yourself in a season of waiting—for healing, provision, direction or fruit—lift your eyes. Trust that the One who began the good work is still writing the unseen chapters.

When we surrender our timelines, our striving turns to stillness, and our waiting becomes worship, because in the quiet, God is near.

And when the waiting becomes worship, time itself becomes a temple.

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