My labor with my son was 22½ hours long. And yes, I always add the half.

It felt like forever. I imagine if my son could remember it, he’d probably say it felt like an eternity too—and one journey he wasn’t too eager to make.

Looking back now, those 22½ hours seem so small compared to the years that have followed. They were long in the moment, but they were only the beginning of something beautiful.

It made me think…

Birth is the shortest journey we will ever make.

From our very first breath, life becomes a series of journeys. Some are exciting. Some are painful. Some feel impossibly long. Some take us places we never imagined we’d go.

We wait.

We wait for answers.
We wait for healing.
We wait for test results.
We wait to hear if we got the job.
We wait for the phone to ring.
We wait for someone to say yes.
We wait for relationships to mend.
We wait for life to change.

Sometimes the waiting feels longer than the destination itself.

Our world tells us to rush through those seasons. Stay busy. Distract yourself. Keep scrolling. Find the next thing. Move on as quickly as possible.

But what if there is something sacred about the waiting?

What if the waiting isn’t wasted?

I’ve learned that some of life’s greatest lessons don’t happen after the answer comes. They happen in the space between the question and the answer.

That quiet place can feel uncomfortable. It can feel empty. It can even feel lonely.

Yet it is often in that very place that God does His deepest work.

When we are willing to embrace the void instead of constantly trying to fill it… when we allow ourselves to sit with our sorrow, our uncertainty, or our disappointment instead of racing toward the next good thing… something changes within us.

We become more patient.

More compassionate.

More grateful.

More aware of God’s presence in places we might have missed if life had moved faster.

I’ve noticed this in my own health journey. There have been seasons I desperately wanted to skip over. Seasons when I prayed for quick answers and immediate healing. But looking back, I can also see that those were the places where my faith grew the deepest, where my perspective changed, and where I learned that God’s timing has never once been late.

The waiting didn’t always change my circumstances right away.

It changed me.

Just as labor has purpose, even when it hurts, the waiting seasons of our lives are often preparing us for something we cannot yet see.

No mother would choose the pain of labor for its own sake. She endures it because she knows there is life on the other side.

Maybe that’s where you are today.

Waiting.

Wondering.

Praying.

Hoping.

If so, don’t be too quick to wish this chapter away. It may be shaping you into the very person you’ll need to be for the chapter that’s coming next.

The destination will come soon enough.

Until then, don’t miss the beauty hidden in the journey.

Psalm 90:12

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”