When Waiting Feels Like Punishment

February 08, 2026

When Waiting Feels Like Punishment

Hey y’all! I know it’s been a while. For those of you who have been here since day one—you know who you are—thank you. You’re the ones who typically know what’s going on in my life. I know I haven’t been very social lately, but nothing is wrong, I promise. It’s just a lot.

Recently, I came across a post that hit me hard, and I want to share it with you because I think some of you might need to hear this too.

I’m not the most patient person. I hate waiting for long periods of time. When I pray, I want answers now. When I’m hurting, I want relief now. When I’m confused about where my life is going, I want clarity now. So when I read about the Hebrew word for “wait” in Psalm 27:14—qavah—it stopped me in my tracks.

You know the verse: “Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord” (Psalm 27:14, KJV). I’ve read it a hundred times. But I always thought “wait” meant exactly what it sounds like—sit down, be quiet, and do nothing until God decides to move. That was the first thing I realized I’d gotten completely wrong. (And by the way, I don’t like being wrong.)

The word qavah doesn’t mean passive waiting. It means to twist, to bind together, to actively expect. Like a rope being woven—threads pulled together under tension, creating strength. It’s the same word used in Isaiah 40:31: “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

That word “wait”—qavah—it’s active. It’s hopeful. It’s enduring. It’s being twisted together with God’s purposes even when the tension feels unbearable.

And let me tell you, the tension has felt unbearable lately.

There’s a part of me that feels like I’m being punished. Like I did something wrong and now I’m paying for it while everyone else gets to skip ahead. But another part wants to argue otherwise. I mean, do I really think God would call me back here, telling me He needed me, only to punish me? Jeremiah 29:11 says, “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.” God’s thoughts toward me are good. I know that in my head. But some days, my heart has a hard time believing it.

Then again, part of me whispers that maybe I deserve this. Maybe I made too many mistakes. Maybe I should have done things differently. Maybe this waiting is my fault somehow.

It’s not fair. I’ve told God that many times—probably more times than I should admit. I get to watch the people who wronged me live happily ever after, or at least that’s what it looks like from the outside. They get promotions, relationships, breakthroughs. And I’m over here like, “God, what about me? Don’t you see what they did?”

Psalm 73 talks about this exact feeling. Asaph wrote, “For I was envious at the foolish, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked… they are not in trouble as other men” (Psalm 73:3, 5). He struggled with the same thing I do—watching people who don’t honor God seem to get everything they want while the faithful suffer. But then he went into the sanctuary of God and understood their end (Psalm 73:17). Sometimes we can’t see the full picture. We only see this moment, this season, this storm.

And trust me, I’m in a storm. It’s hard, most days, seeing everyone moving on with life while I stand alone in the middle of the chaos. The wind is howling. The rain is relentless. And I’m exhausted from trying to stand firm. I think about the disciples in the boat during the storm in Mark 4:37-39. The waves were crashing over them, filling the boat, and they were terrified. Meanwhile, Jesus was asleep. They had to wake Him up and say, “Master, carest thou not that we perish?”

I’ve asked God that same question more times than I can count. “Do you not care that I’m drowning here? Do you see me? Do you hear me?”

But here’s what the post said at the end, and here’s what I keep coming back to: qavah means you’re being woven together with God’s plan. Yes, under pressure. Yes, under tension. It takes weight—real weight—for something to reach the beauty it has coming.

Romans 8:28 promises, “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” All things. Even the waiting. Even the tension. Even the parts that feel unfair. God is weaving it all together into something stronger than I could create on my own.

James 1:2-4 tells us to “count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.” The trying—the testing—the pressure—it’s all working something in me. Patience isn’t just about waiting; it’s about becoming complete through the process.

I’m learning that waiting on God doesn’t mean my life is on pause. It means I’m being prepared. Shaped. Strengthened. The rope doesn’t become strong by lying loose on the ground. It becomes strong by being twisted together, strand by strand, under tension.

David understood this. Before he became king, he waited years—hiding in caves, running from Saul, wondering if God’s promise would ever come to pass. In Psalm 40:1, he wrote, “I waited patiently for the Lord; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry.” David’s waiting wasn’t passive. He was actively trusting, actively hoping, actively holding onto God even when circumstances screamed that God had forgotten him.

And God hadn’t forgotten David. Just like He hasn’t forgotten me. Just like He hasn’t forgotten you.

Lamentations 3:25-26 says, “The Lord is good unto them that wait for him, to the soul that seeketh him. It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.” There’s that word again—wait. But notice it’s paired with hope and seeking. This isn’t about sitting in despair. It’s about actively trusting that God is good even when we can’t see the outcome yet.

So I’m choosing to believe that this season of waiting—as hard as it is, as unfair as it feels—is weaving me into something stronger. The tension I feel isn’t breaking me; it’s making me. Every thread of pain, every strand of confusion, every fiber of frustration is being twisted together with God’s purpose for my life.

And one day, I’ll look back and see the rope He was making all along. Strong. Unbreakable. Beautiful.

If you’re in a season of waiting too, I want you to know you’re not alone. We’re being woven together—under pressure, under tension—but into something far greater than we can imagine right now.

Wait on the Lord. Be of good courage. He will strengthen your heart.

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