No matter what we’re waiting for, the process can feel heavier than we expect. I’ll be honest - patience has never come naturally to me. I tend to believe that if something can be done now, it should be done now.
When we moved into our first home, I was determined to refinish the hardwood floors before moving in. Anyone who has done that knows - it’s messy, time-consuming, and not something you want to deal with after your furniture is inside. With only four days before move-in, I felt the pressure.
I rushed to the store, grabbed a sander, stain, and polyurethane, and got to work. The sanding alone took two full days—already putting me behind schedule. On day three, I stained the floors, and they looked incredible. Everything was coming together.
But then came the final step: applying polyurethane. The instructions were clear—wait 24 hours after staining. But I didn’t feel like I had 24 hours. The floors looked dry after 12, and I convinced myself that was good enough. It wasn’t.
As soon as I applied the polyurethane, a cloudy white residue began to form. The stain hadn’t fully cured, and the trapped gases ruined the finish. What should have been the final step turned into rework, frustration, and a result that never quite looked right. Looking back, the issue wasn’t my effort - it was my unwillingness to wait. I tried to rush a process that required patience, and I paid for it.
And if waiting is hard in something as small as a floor project, it’s even harder when it touches the deeper parts of our lives - our hopes, our prayers, our longings. In those seasons, waiting can feel less like inconvenience and more like grief. It can feel like something is slipping away.
However, as I have walked through different seasons of waiting, I have learned that waiting isn’t just about time passing - it’s about what’s happening in our hearts while we wait. And sometimes, the most beautiful outcomes are formed not just in the answer - but in the waiting itself.