This is the love of God.

The God who waits with us.

He is not uncomfortable with the in-between. He is not afraid of silence or sorrow. He does not grow impatient when the way is unclear. There are no tapping fingers or hurried sighs. There is only presence—strong, steady, and kind. He knows that sometimes healing comes slowly. That sometimes answers don’t come at all. That sometimes, the most faithful thing we can do is simply keep breathing.

So He stays.

When the night stretches on and the tears won’t stop, He stays. When the prayer feels unanswered and the heart feels unheard, He stays. When we don’t know what to pray anymore, or what to hope for, He stays.

He does not shame our slowness. He does not scorn our doubts. He holds them as gently as He holds us, because this is not a God who is made uncomfortable by weakness. This is a God who entered it. Embraced it. Lived it, and died in the midst of it. And rose again not to yank us out of it, but to be near us within it.

This is not just a God who waits with us. This is a God who invites us to wait with Him.

Because He, too, is waiting.

He is waiting for the day when every tear will be wiped away. Waiting for the fullness of redemption. Waiting for the moment when every broken thing will be made whole again. And He is not pacing the halls of heaven, wringing His hands in worry. He is sitting, resting, watching, holding all things together with patience that is deeper than time itself.

And somehow, in the mystery of it all, He says to us: Come sit with Me. Wait with Me. Watch with Me. Trust that I am doing something, even if you cannot yet see it.

There is a strange and sacred peace in joining God in that waiting. Not rushing ahead. Not trying to fix what is not ours to fix. But simply being present to the now. To the ache. To the hope that still flickers. To the God who lingers near.

If you are in a season of waiting—for clarity, for healing, for reconciliation, for release—know this: you are not alone. You have not been abandoned. You are not being punished for your slowness or forgotten in your uncertainty.

You are being accompanied.

You are being loved.

By the God who waits with you.

And by the God who gently whispers, Come wait with Me.