The Gift of Waiting

I have always been a person who acts on impulse. A thought comes to my mind, and I focus on it instantly. I guess you could say I’ve always had a restless spirit. That spirit has shown itself in many of the decisions I’ve made.

I was reflecting on all the things I have done in my restlessness. I always thought it was the conqueror in me—something that brought excitement and adventure.

I would be sitting in my kitchen, looking out the window while drinking coffee, and suddenly feel smothered, bored, and overwhelmed by that strong feeling that I needed to make a change. Then, just like that, I would think, I need to move. I need something new to distract me, to excite me, to infuse me.

So, I would start looking for a new place. I’d get completely caught up in the excitement and journey of finding a new home. I would drive down different streets, exploring new neighborhoods. I’d set up appointments, tour homes, and become familiar with every little crack and crevice in the corners of whatever state or town I was in.

Depending on the vibe I was feeling, I’d choose the area. It always had to be large, bright, filled with open spaces and opportunities to put my design touch on it. Then came the decorating. Often I would give away what I had from the previous home just so I could start fresh. My homes were always inviting, comfortable, filled with angels in every corner, pictures of Black art, and always at least one or two new pieces of furniture. And then I’d pack up my family, and off we would go—off to a new adventure, a new home. At least until the next time my soul became restless.

The honest truth is that I must have shifted, moved, or reset at least 100 times in my 62 years. It became a logo stamped on my life, one that even spread to my sisters. It was our own special trademark: when things get tough, when the worries get heavy, when darkness seeks to overtake us—we move. We run. We create a new story.

I never really processed what that anxiousness was about. My best friend used to call me fearless. She said she wished she could just pick up and go like I did. She believed fear held her in place. But in reality, I wasn’t fearless at all.

My inability to stand and wait was the residue of my broken spirit. It was the biggest sign of my fear. Maybe I feared I couldn’t hold on to what I had built. Maybe I feared I didn’t deserve peace or stability. Maybe it was because I learned it from my mother.

I remember my mom moving us so many times. As a child, it felt like adventure and excitement. I can name every house we lived in. I remember traveling all over New Jersey. New homes, new people, new places—it was our culture. We jokingly called ourselves nomads. Learned behavior cannot be discounted; it has a way of showing up in our adult lives without permission.

As I reflected this morning on my choices, my restlessness, and my learned behaviors, God brought Psalm 27 to my spirit.

Psalm 27:1 says, “The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? "It ends with Psalm 27:14: “Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”

It is astonishing—but never too late—that I am now truly understanding the blessing and gift of waiting.

I was talking to my sister recently about the power of obedience to God. She said, “No matter what is happening, I have a made-up mind to wait on God.” In that moment, I saw the power of God moving in her life. My sister has always been a runner, much like me—never waiting for the paint to dry before she was off to the races. Hearing her commitment to obedience and trust made me look at my own shift in how I wait on God.

I realized that I, too, have finally learned the lesson of waiting. I have learned to be still in all things. What truly brought this revelation was aging. My body could no longer shift, move, or take off the way it used to. The years of bending, packing, rushing, and being unsettled accelerated my aging. So, my only recourse became to sit and wait patiently for God’s movement.

It’s kind of funny—God will let you think you are in control until the day something snaps you into the reality that you never had control at all.

This lesson has been critical in my life and has spread into every decision—personal, professional, and public. It is a process, but every day I learn more about the value of waiting on God. His plans have always been better than mine. Even when God allowed my plans to manifest, He still protected me so they didn’t destroy me. He allowed me to reflect on the lessons of my choices and see how differently things could have ended had I followed His path. Yet He did it all with gentle love—not wrath.

So today, I want to share this truth with you: waiting may be frustrating, but there is always a higher plan when we follow God’s path. We may want what we want, when we want it—and God may allow us to have it. But there can be danger in getting something outside His timing. Not following God’s plan can derail or postpone the true blessings He has prepared for us.

I am always reminded that it took the Children of Israel forty years to reach the Promised Land, when the distance from Egypt to Canaan could have been an eleven-day journey.

When I think about how many extra miles I added to my own life’s journey, I remind

myself—and you—today:

Wait, I say, on the Lord.

Don’t wander for forty years when your blessing may be waiting just behind the next door.