Tag: Waiting on God

  • The Long Way Around

    The Long Way Around

    Day 32

    Exodus 13–14 | Mark 14:66–15:15

    “By a strong hand the Lord brought us out of Egypt.” (Exodus 13:16)

    God didn’t take Israel on the shortest route to the Promised Land. The direct path through Philistine territory would have gotten them there quickly—but God knew their hearts. He knew that when faced with fear, they’d turn back to the slavery they had just been freed from. So instead, He led them the long way. A harder way. A way through the wilderness.

    But He never left them. The pillar of cloud went before them by day, the fire by night—constant reminders of His presence.

    Then, when Pharaoh’s army closed in, the people panicked. And Moses told them:

    “Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which He will work for you today.” (Exodus 14:13)

    Stand firm. Watch God work.

    That hits home.

    I didn’t get the easy way out either. When I woke up in a hospital bed in San Francisco, my hand wrapped in bandages and warming blankets, my future uncertain, I would have given anything for a shortcut to healing. A way around the pain. A quick resolution to the suffering. But instead, He led me the long way—the harder way. The way through the wilderness.

    And yet, like Israel, I was never alone.

    He was there in every detail. In my cousin, the paramedic supervisor who connected me to the best possible care. In my best friend, J, who just happened to be with me when it happened—his years of training as a first responder keeping me calm, talking me through shock and blood loss. In M, who was in the right place at the right time to get my wife to me. In my friend and pastor, Andrei, who walked past hospital staff when they said visitors were impossible, just to pray over me before I was airlifted away. In my mom and sister who dropped everything and drove 600 miles through the night to take care of my daughter. In my Aunt Carol, already in San Francisco for a business trip, waiting at my side when I woke up from surgery—because my wife and daughter were still in Fresno, three hours away.

    No visible pillar of cloud. No fire in the sky. But God was just as present. Just as faithful.

    And still, He says: “Stand firm. Watch Me work.”

    Late last night, my phone rang. It was a brother whose marriage is unraveling under the weight of his pornography addiction and the broken trust his sin caused. He’s desperate for a way forward, but there’s no shortcut through this kind of healing. No quick fix for reconciliation. Just the long way. The hard way.

    But I reminded him that we believe in the God who reconciles. The One who parts seas and makes a way where there is none.

    If you’re in the wilderness today—if the way ahead feels slow, painful, uncertain—know this: The long way is still God’s way. And He never leads us where His presence won’t sustain us.

    Lord, help me trust You in the long way around. When fear and doubt creep in, remind me that You are always near, always working, always faithful. Let me stand firm and watch You move. Amen.

  • When the Answer is ‘Wait’

    When the Answer is ‘Wait’

    Day 8

    Genesis 15–16 | Mark 2

    “And he believed the Lord, and He counted it to him as righteousness.” (Genesis 15:6)

    God’s promise to Abram in Genesis 15 is breathtaking—offspring as numerous as the stars. Abram believed, and God counted it to him as righteousness. But by Genesis 16, we see a different picture. Doubt creeps in. Abram and Sarai grow impatient. They take matters into their own hands, trying to force the fulfillment of God’s promise through Hagar. The result? Heartache, division, and consequences that outlasted their lifetime.

    Waiting has never been easy—not for Abram, not for me.

    Five months after Talacey and I got married, we packed up our newlywed lives and moved 200 miles away for my new job. We were excited. Young, ambitious, ready for the life we had envisioned. But we had no idea what was coming. My salary barely covered our apartment rent, car payment, and gas—forget about food or anything extra. Then the recession hit, and every year like clockwork, my employer cut salaries by another 2%. With Talacey working part time as a preschool teacher while pursuing her masters degree, we had nothing to fall back on.

    And then there was the isolation. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t seem to build community. We missed home. We missed our people. We prayed for God to open a door back to Fresno, begged for it at times. I applied for job after job. I updated my resume. I networked. And the silence from God stretched on.

    For six years.

    I would come home from work to find Talacey in the corner of our small apartment, weeping. “I just want to go home,” she’d sob. And I had no answers. No job prospects. No indication that anything would change. Like Abram and Sarai, I started wondering if I needed to make something happen—force the door open instead of waiting for God to move. But every attempt to take control ended in frustration.

    As I look back now, I see what I couldn’t see then: God’s faithfulness in the waiting.

    That season—though painful—shaped our faith, strengthened our marriage, and taught us to rely on God and each other when nothing made sense. Eventually, He did make a way. He led us home in His perfect timing, in a way we never could have orchestrated on our own.

    Mark 2 reminds me why this matters. When the paralyzed man was brought to Jesus, the crowd expected a physical healing. Instead, Jesus first forgave his sins. Why? Because his deepest need—and our deepest need—isn’t a change in circumstances, but a restored relationship with God. Sometimes God delays the answer we want because He is already working on the answer we truly need.

    Abram and Sarai rushed ahead of God, and the consequences were devastating. I’ve done the same more times than I’d like to admit. But Genesis 15 reminds me that faith—real, lasting faith—is trusting not just in God’s promises but in His timing.

    Lord, forgive me for the times I try to take control instead of trusting You. Help me rest in Your promises, remembering that Your ways are higher than mine. Teach me to trust Your perfect timing, knowing that You are always faithful. Amen.

  • When Healing Doesn’t Come

    When Healing Doesn’t Come

    Day 7

    Genesis 13–14 | Mark 1:21–45 | Psalm 4

    “Moved with pity, He stretched out His hand and touched him and said to him, ‘I will; be clean.’” (Mark 1:41)

    I want to rejoice when I read this verse—Jesus’s compassion and power on full display. But if I’m honest, it stings. I see Jesus heal the leper with a touch, and I wonder: Why hasn’t He healed me? Why hasn’t He restored my hand after all the prayers and tears?

    It reminds me of an episode from The Chosen, where Little James asks Jesus why he hasn’t been healed. Jesus responds with such love, explaining that James’s faith in the midst of suffering is a greater testimony than healing would be. That scene wrecks me because it feels so real.

    Maybe you’ve felt the same—watching others receive the miracle you’ve begged for, wondering why God hasn’t answered the way you hoped. But this passage reminds me: Jesus isn’t distant or indifferent. He is moved with compassion. His power and purposes go far beyond the physical. Sometimes the greater healing happens in our hearts, as He reshapes our pain into a testimony of His grace.

    In Psalm 4, David declares, “You have put more joy in my heart than they have when their grain and wine abound” (v7). True joy doesn’t come from getting what we want. It comes from knowing the One who holds all things together. That joy doesn’t erase the ache, but it reframes it—pointing us to the hope we have in Christ.

    I’m still waiting. I’m still praying. And I’m learning to trust that His plan is better than my own. My scars remind me that God’s compassion is not absent, and His purposes are still at work.

    Lord, help me trust Your purposes when the answers don’t come the way I expect. Use my weakness for Your glory. Remind me that Your compassion and power are always near, even in my waiting. Amen.