I’m finding that being in a season of stillness can feel incredibly quiet. Maybe it’s because so much of stillness involves waiting. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been particularly good at waiting.

When I’m waiting on God for an answer, direction, change, healing, or simply the next step, my mind has a tendency to fill the silence. Instead of resting, I start thinking. Then I think about what I was thinking. Then I analyze it from three different directions, imagine five possible outcomes, and somehow convince myself I need to figure out what God hasn’t revealed yet.

Anxiety creeps in. Nervousness follows. Sometimes there is dread. Sometimes there are those familiar loops of overthinking where my mind keeps circling the same questions without ever landing anywhere.

Waiting can make me feel as though I’m doing nothing. And I don’t like doing nothing.

But recently, a friend in my writing accountability group said something that caused me to look at this season differently. She reminded me that in the stillness of waiting, I am still doing. I’m simply doing things differently.

That thought stayed with me. So I sat down and began thinking about all the action that can actually take place while we wait.

We can be:

waiting, abiding, praying, preparing, trusting, worshipping, positioning, fasting, kneeling, surrendering, resting, reflecting, writing, seeking, asking, knocking, holding on, meditating, obeying, depending, lifting our hands, crying, quieting our hearts, rejoicing, listening, talking with God, declaring His truth, healing, growing, receiving, staying, reaching, acknowledging, thanking, repenting, giving, learning, praising, and breathing.

Suddenly, stillness didn’t look quite so empty. It looked active. Not necessarily active in the way the world defines productivity, but active in the ways that shape the heart.

Psalm 119 has been reminding me of this. The writer of this psalm understands waiting. Throughout the chapter, there is longing, questioning, seeking, crying out, remembering, meditating, hoping, and choosing obedience.

At one point he writes:

“My soul faints with longing for your salvation, but I have put my hope in your word.”
Psalm 119:81

I love the honesty of that verse. He doesn’t pretend waiting is easy. His soul is weary. He longs for God to move. He wants an answer. Yet in the middle of that longing, he makes a decision: I have put my hope in Your Word. A few verses later, he asks the question many of us have whispered ourselves:

“When will you comfort me?”
Psalm 119:82

There it is. Faith and frustration occupying the same space. Hope and weariness sitting beside each other. Trusting God while still wondering when.

Maybe that is what this season is teaching me. Waiting faithfully doesn’t mean I never become tired. Stillness doesn’t mean I never have questions. Trust doesn’t mean I understand what God is doing. Sometimes faith simply looks like staying close to Him while I wait.

Psalm 119:114 says, “You are my refuge and my shield; I have put my hope in your word.”

That is what I want this season to become for me. Not a season where I anxiously search for every possible answer, but one where I learn to make God my refuge. 

A season where I stop treating stillness like an interruption and begin recognizing it as an invitation. An invitation to listen. To pray. To heal. To prepare. To learn. To worship. To breathe. To allow God to do the work in me that I might have missed if I had been rushing toward the next thing.

And perhaps one of the hardest parts for me is this: I sometimes struggle with being a testimony while I’m still being tested. I would much rather tell the story after everything has worked out. After the prayer has been answered. After the breakthrough comes. After I can neatly explain what God was doing and tie everything together with a beautiful conclusion.

But that isn’t where I am right now. I’m still walking through it. Still waiting. Still praying. Still learning.

And maybe there is something beautiful about allowing people to see God at work before the story is finished. There is vulnerability in saying, “I don’t know how this is going to turn out, but I still trust Him.” There is testimony in choosing to praise God when you haven’t received the answer yet. There is faith in opening His Word again when yesterday’s prayer still seems unanswered. There is courage in admitting that the waiting hurts while continuing to believe that God is present in it.

Psalm 119:148 says, “My eyes stay open through the watches of the night, that I may meditate on your promises.”

That doesn’t sound like someone doing nothing. That sounds like someone anchoring themselves in the promises of God while they wait. And that is what I want to do.

So, in this season of stillness, I’m choosing to lean in instead of constantly trying to escape it. I’m leaning into prayer. I’m leaning into worship. I’m leaning into God’s Word. I’m learning to trust that even when I cannot see movement around me, God can still be producing growth within me.

Because stillness is still doing. And sometimes the quiet seasons are when God prepares us for whatever comes next.

💬 A Thought for You

If you are in a season of waiting, don’t automatically assume nothing is happening. Ask yourself: What might God be inviting me to do differently in this season?

Maybe your action today is praying. Maybe it’s resting without guilt. Maybe it’s opening your Bible and sitting with one verse instead of desperately searching for an immediate answer. Maybe it’s preparing for something God has placed on your heart. Maybe it’s surrendering something you’ve been trying to control. Or maybe today your act of faith is simply breathing and saying, “God, I’m still here. And I still trust You.”

Waiting doesn’t have to be wasted time. There is still worship in the waiting. There is still growth in the waiting. There is still preparation in the waiting. There is still God in the waiting.

🙏🏽 A Prayer

Father, waiting is hard for me. When life becomes quiet, and I cannot see what You are doing, help me resist the urge to fill the silence with fear, anxiety, and endless questions.

Teach me to recognize Your presence in the stillness. Help me abide in You, seek You, listen to You, worship You, and rest in Your Word. When my heart becomes weary and I wonder how long I will have to wait, remind me that my hope is not in what I can see. My hope is in You.

Use this season to prepare me, heal me, grow me, and draw me closer to You. Give me the courage to trust You even while my story is still unfolding. Let my life testify to Your faithfulness, not only after the breakthrough, but while I am still believing for it.

And when I am tempted to believe that nothing is happening, remind me that You are always at work. In Jesus’ name I pray, amen.

🙇🏽‍♀️ A Closing Thought

Maybe stillness isn’t a blank space between where you were and where you’re going. Maybe it is a sacred space. A place where God teaches you to wait without quitting, trust without seeing, worship without answers, and hope without knowing how the story ends.

I may still be in the middle of the test, but God is still writing the testimony. So I will wait. I will pray. I will listen. I will learn. I will breathe. And like the psalmist, I will put my hope in His Word. Because even in the stillness, God is still working.