The Waiting Room: Trusting God, His Timing, and His Faithfulness In Seasons of Waiting

Written By: Louise Pelosi

Content note: This post contains discussions of infertility and loss. Please read with care if these topics are tender for you.

This may be one of the rawest things I’ve ever written.

I’m sitting in my home in Scotland, and to anyone looking from the outside, it probably seems like I have a pretty good life. A loving husband. A home. A career. A faith I openly share online.

Yet if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: the human heart is never naturally content.

And I’m not just talking about money or possessions. We long for certainty. We long for comfort. We long for prayers to be answered. We long for life to unfold according to the timeline we’ve carefully written in our own minds.

The problem is, because of our fallen nature, we quietly begin to believe we’re entitled to things God never actually promised us. We convince ourselves that because something is good, it must automatically be God’s will for our lives. Sometimes we don’t even realise we’ve started worshipping the gift more than the Giver.

I know the verses. “My God will supply all your needs” (Philippians 4:19). I believe them with all my heart.

Yet I’ve still found myself praying “Lord… this would be nice. That would be nice. Any time now?”

Maybe it’s just me… but I doubt it.

For those who don’t know my story, loss has marked much of my life. I’ve lost my dad. I’ve lost my twin sister. I’ve watched friendships end, opportunities disappear, and dreams quietly slip away.

More recently, my husband and I have spent years walking the road of infertility. If you’ve experienced it too, you’ll know you almost become conditioned to the questions.

“So… when are you two having a baby?”

“Do you want children?”

People rarely mean any harm, but they don’t see the appointments, the tears, the waiting, the prayers behind those simple questions, and the positive test results we did have but that ended in loss.

I told you this was going to be raw.

Some days it honestly feels like everyone around me is having children. Friends, family, people I grew up with… even children I taught dance to over 15 years ago are now having babies before me!

And yes, there have been moments where I’ve looked at God and thought, “Lord… you gave them a child?” The second that thought enters my heart, the Holy Spirit convicts me.

Who do I think I am?

Comparison is one of the enemy’s quietest weapons. It whispers that someone else’s blessing somehow means God has overlooked you. It makes us believe we’re more deserving because we’ve waited longer, prayed harder, or tried to live faithfully.

But grace doesn’t work like that.

God owes me nothing. Everything I have is grace. Everything He withholds is filtered through His wisdom. Everything He allows is for His glory and, somehow - my good. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

It does.

Waiting has a weight to it that only those living it truly understand. But waiting has also become one of God’s greatest classrooms.

The Bible never promises that following Jesus will spare us from suffering. If anything, Jesus promised the opposite: “In this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33). Paul tells us that suffering produces perseverance, character, and hope. James tells us that the testing of our faith produces steadfastness.

God has never been as interested in my comfort as He is in my Christlikeness. And if I’m honest, that’s probably not the prayer I would have chosen. I’ve come to realise that waiting doesn’t just reveal what I want, it reveals what I worship. It exposes the subtle idols I’d built around my plans, my timelines, and my expectations. It asks uncomfortable questions.

If Jesus was all I ever received, would He still be enough?

That’s a question only waiting seems able to answer. One thing I keep coming back to is that throughout Scripture, God is doing some of his deepest work in the waiting.

Joseph waited.

David waited.

Abraham waited.

Israel wandered through the wilderness.

Even Jesus spent 30 years in relative obscurity before 3 years of public ministry. Waiting has never meant God is absent. It often means He is preparing something deeper than we cannot yet see.

So... if you’re in your own waiting room today, can I encourage you with what I’m still preaching to myself?

Don’t measure God’s goodness by your circumstances.

Measure it by the Cross.

The Cross forever settled the question of whether God loves us. Everything else is seen through that lens.

I’m still waiting.

Some days I’m joyful. Some days I’m weary. Some days my prayers are nothing more than a whisper. But I’ve stopped asking God simply to remove the waiting. Instead, I ask Him to make me more like Christ within it.

Because one day, every unanswered prayer, and every painful season will make sense in the light of eternity. Until then, let's keep trusting that the same God who holds the stars, also holds your story.

And that... is more than enough.

The Waiting Room

Stone By Stone

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