Maybe Waiting Looks Like This Too
I actually wasn’t going to write tonight.
Mostly because I’ve written about this feeling before.
And somewhere along the way, I think I created this strange little rule for myself that once I’ve written about something, I shouldn’t write about it again.
I’ve written about waiting.
I’ve written about loneliness.
I’ve written about wanting love.
I’ve written about trusting God and struggling to trust Him at the exact same time.
Surely, I should have something new to say by now.
But then I remembered why I started writing here in the first place.
This is supposed to be a journey.
And journeys don’t move neatly from one lesson to the next.
Sometimes you walk forward.
Sometimes you circle back.
Sometimes you find yourself standing in a place you could swear you’ve already been.
Maybe that’s not repetition.
Maybe that’s just what being human looks like.
And tonight, I find myself here again.
This week has been exhausting.
I can’t even tell you exactly why.
It was just… a lot.
And now the week is ending, I’m lying in bed, and everything that was quiet during the day suddenly feels a little louder.
Tonight I watched a video of an 85-year-old man who had just lost his wife.
They had been together for 65 years.
When the interviewer asked him how he was coping, he said he didn’t really know.
His world was falling apart.
He talked about their sons helping him through it.
And then they asked him about their love story.
He said he saw her and it was love at first sight.
He dropped everything for her.
Sixty-five years later, after an entire lifetime together, you could still hear how much he loved her.
And something about that got to me.
Maybe because this week I’ve somehow ended up watching video after video of men loving women.
Really loving them.
And yes, I know how algorithms work.
I know YouTube isn’t secretly delivering divine messages personally selected for me.
But knowing why I’m seeing these videos doesn’t change what they stir up in me.
Because I want that kind of love.
So badly.
And not only for myself.
I think about the single women in my life who have been waiting too.
Women who keep putting themselves out there.
Who keep trying.
Who download the apps again.
Who agree to another date.
Who allow themselves to get a little excited again.
And sometimes they get stood up.
Sometimes someone disappears.
Sometimes they meet a man who seems wonderful until somehow everything becomes sexual again.
Sometimes boundaries that should never need explaining suddenly need explaining.
Sometimes there actually is a connection, which almost makes it worse when it doesn’t work out.
And then, somehow, you start again.
Another hello.
Another first conversation.
Another person to learn.
Another tiny possibility you have to decide whether you’re brave enough to hope for.
Maybe that’s what makes me sad tonight.
Or maybe it isn’t.
That’s the strange thing.
I can’t actually tell you what I’m feeling.
I don’t know whether I’m sad because I’m alone.
I don’t know whether I’m tired of dating.
I don’t know whether I’m grieving something I never had.
I don’t know whether I’m simply exhausted from watching myself and women I love try over and over again.
Maybe it’s all of it.
Maybe it’s none of it.
I just know that sometimes I look at a love that lasted 65 years and something inside me aches.
Not because I begrudge them a single second of it.
Quite the opposite.
I look at a love like that and think,
God, I want that too.
And this is where my faith becomes complicated.
Because there are so many areas of my life where I can somehow trust God.
Even when I don’t understand what He’s doing.
Even when things are uncertain.
Somewhere underneath the fear, I can usually find a little bit of peace.
But love?
This is where I struggle.
This is where I look around and see absolutely nothing.
This is where God’s timing doesn’t feel comforting to me.
It just feels quiet.
And I know those aren’t necessarily the same thing.
I know feeling unseen by God doesn’t mean I am unseen by God.
But tonight, knowing that doesn’t magically make the feeling disappear.
Because sometimes the thought creeps in:
What if it never happens?
And that thought still brings tears to my eyes.
Not because I believe a life without a husband couldn’t be meaningful or beautiful.
But because I want to love someone.
I want to be loved by someone.
I want to know what it feels like to build that kind of life with another person.
And pretending I don’t want it quite this much wouldn’t make me stronger.
It would only make me less honest.
Maybe that’s why I’m writing tonight.
Not because I’ve discovered something new.
Not because I have an encouraging conclusion.
Not because I’ve figured out how to wait beautifully.
But because maybe waiting looks like this too.
Maybe sometimes waiting is hopeful.
Sometimes it’s peaceful.
Sometimes you’re busy living your life and barely thinking about it.
And sometimes you’re lying in bed at the end of a long week, watching an old man talk about the woman he loved for 65 years, and suddenly your heart hurts for something you haven’t even had yet.
Maybe there doesn’t always have to be a lesson in that.
Maybe I don’t need to turn every difficult feeling into a testimony before I’m allowed to write it down.
Maybe tonight I don’t need to understand it.
Maybe I can simply bring it to God exactly as it is.
So, God…
I don’t really know what to ask You tonight.
I feel like I’ve asked You every question already.
I’ve told You what I want.
You know how much I want it.
You know every prayer I’ve whispered about love and every time I’ve wondered whether You were listening.
And tonight, I don’t have another beautiful prayer.
I don’t have the right Bible verse.
I don’t have some profound declaration of trust.
I just have this feeling I can’t quite name.
So maybe tonight I won’t ask You to take it away.
Maybe I’ll just ask You to sit with me in it.
When I don’t understand You.
When I feel forgotten even though somewhere inside me I know I’m not.
When hope feels easy.
And when the thought of hoping one more time makes me tired.
You already know what my heart wants.
So tonight, I don’t need to explain it again.
I think I just need You to be here.
And maybe, for tonight,
that’s enough.
Amen.