Tag Archives: prayer

❤️I WAITED 👑🔖

At the end of it all, when life finally slows down enough for reflection, I want it to be said, clearly and without explanation, that I waited.
Not that I rushed.
Not that I forced doors open.
Not that I settled because time was moving and pressure was loud.
But that I waited.
I waited for the money.
I waited for the marriage.
I waited for the car.
I waited for the house.
I waited for the peace.
I waited faithfully.
Waiting is not passive. It is not empty. It is not lazy. Waiting is loud on the inside. It is full of questions, calculations, prayers, tears, hope, disappointment, courage, and restraint. Waiting is choosing obedience when shortcuts are available. Waiting is trusting God when logic is impatient and fear is convincing.


There are days I am clapping while I wait. I am genuinely celebrating others; weddings, keys handed over, cars purchased, milestones announced. I show up. I smile. I applaud. Even when my heart quietly asks, “God, when will it be my turn?” I clap anyway. I refuse to let jealousy poison my spirit or comparison rob me of gratitude. I learn how to celebrate without resentment and how to bless without bitterness.
And then there are days I am wailing and waiting.
Days when the weight of responsibility feels heavier than faith. Days when prayers come out raw and unpolished. Days when I am tired of being strong, tired of believing without evidence, tired of trusting timing I don’t understand. I cry and I wait. I let the tears fall because faith doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay, it means staying even when it isn’t.
There are moments I am crawling.
Barely moving. Barely hopeful. Dragging myself forward with nothing but stubborn belief and whispered prayers. Crawling through financial pressure. Crawling through unanswered prayers. Crawling through loneliness. Crawling through disappointment. Crawling through seasons where effort doesn’t seem to equal reward.

And even there; low, exhausted, stretched thin ~ I am still waiting.


I ask God real questions.
I ask Him when it will be my turn.
I ask Him if He sees me.
If He remembers me.
If He knows how hard I’m trying.
Sometimes I even ask Him if He forgot about me.
And still ~ I wait.


I wait for money; not just to spend, but to steward. Not for excess, but for stability. For freedom. For provision that doesn’t come with panic. I wait to earn honestly, grow wisely, and build patiently. I refuse shortcuts that cost me my peace. I refuse wealth that demands compromise. I wait for provision that aligns with purpose.


I wait for marriage, not as a rescue, not as validation, not as proof that I am chosen, but as partnership. I refuse relationships where someone thinks they’re doing me a favor by choosing me. I wait for love that meets me with respect, safety, and intention. I wait for someone who doesn’t compete with my growth but celebrates it. I wait for something built, not borrowed.


I wait for the car, not just movement, but momentum. For progress that feels earned. For independence that doesn’t choke me with debt. I wait for the version that comes without anxiety attached. I wait because rushing would cost me more than patience ever will.


I wait for the house, not just walls, but rest. A place that feels like peace, not pressure. A space that holds laughter, healing, prayer, and growth. I refuse to force milestones just to prove I am not behind. I wait for the house that comes with stability, not stress.


But most of all, I wait for peace.
The kind of peace money can’t buy.
The kind marriage doesn’t guarantee.
The kind success doesn’t automatically bring.
The peace that settles your spirit even when life is still unfolding. The peace that tells you you’re not late, you’re aligned. The peace that allows you to sleep at night knowing you didn’t betray your values to arrive early.


Waiting teaches me restraint in a world addicted to shortcuts. It teaches me that not every opportunity is divine and not every open door is God. Waiting teaches me that preparation matters, that timing matters, that character matters.


I wait while people underestimate me.
While some write me off quietly.
While others accept me but don’t expect much from me.
While a few assume whatever comes my way is luck or pity instead of promise.
I don’t argue.
I don’t explain.
I don’t rush to prove.
I wait.


Because waiting is not absence, it is alignment. It is God shaping me into someone who can hold what I’m asking for without losing herself. Someone who won’t fumble the blessing because she skipped the process.
And when the day comes, when the money is steady, when the marriage is real, when the car is mine, when the house feels like home, when peace finally settles deeply, I don’t want the story to be about luck.


I want it to be said that I waited.
That I waited faithfully.
That I waited when it hurt.
That I waited when it felt unfair.
That I waited when giving up would have been easier.
That I clapped and waited.
That I wailed and waited.
That I cried and waited.
That I crawled and still waited.
That I trusted God when my hands were empty and my heart was tired.
And when He comes through because He will, I will know it wasn’t coincidence. It was obedience. It was patience. It was faith in motion.


I waited.
And He did not forget me.

A Letter to My Future Husband: Love, Faith, and Purpose

I don’t know your name yet. I don’t know the curve of your smile or the exact timbre of your voice when you whisper goodnight. I don’t know how you weep when life breaks you or how your laugh sounds when it bursts out unrestrained. But I believe, truly, deeply, that when you come, my soul will know.

Not because it’ll feel like a fairytale, but because it will feel like home. Like something in me finally exhaling. Like peace after a storm that tried to swallow me whole. You’ll walk in, and something ancient in me will recognize you, not just as a man, but as a promise fulfilled.

You see, I’ve prayed for you. Not the light kind of prayer that brushes past heaven, but the kind that scraped through my chest and poured out as tears. I’ve fasted. I’ve waited in the quiet. I’ve whispered your name into the dark even when I didn’t know it yet. I’ve told God, “Let it be him, the one who sees me as I am, and stays anyway.” I’ve asked for you when I had nothing left to offer but a trembling hope on shaky legs.

I have known ache, love. Deep, soul-wounding ache. Not just from absence, but from almosts. From doors that opened halfway and never fully let me in. From people who said the right things but couldn’t carry the weight of my heart. From moments where I gave, and hoped, and waited, only to be told I was too much. Too tender. Too intense. Too emotional. Too present.

But I know now: I was never too much. I was just too much for someone who wasn’t you.

Still, I waited. Not perfectly, but faithfully. I’ve sat in rooms full of people and still felt the hollow echo of loneliness. I’ve smiled and poured into others while silently asking God, “When will it be my turn?” There were days I doubted you existed. Nights I nearly stopped believing. I wrestled with God like Jacob, not just for a blessing, but for a promise. Like Paul, I’ve carried my own thorn: longing. A holy ache that reminded me I was made for love that hadn’t yet arrived.

There were times the wait almost broke me. Moments I whispered, “Lord, did You forget?” Nights I stared at the ceiling, wondering if someone could carry the fullness of my love without growing weary of it. Days I doubted if I was enough, too loud in my laughter, too deep in my feelings, too much in my dreams.

But God whispered, “You are not too much. You are just enough for the one I’ve designed for you.”

So I’ve been learning to dance in the hallway while the door to our forever remained closed. Learning to love my own company so I never place the burden of fulfillment on you. Learning that I am already whole, not because you complete me, but because Christ already did.

But when you come, it will still be more.
Not a completion – but a multiplication.
Not a rescue – but a revelation.
Not a fairytale – but a covenant.

And I promise, by God’s grace, I won’t come to you as a damsel in distress, but as a woman walking in destiny. I will come carrying vision. Wrapped in prayer. Eyes full of wonder and arms ready to build with you. I’ll be your helper, your encourager, your safe space, your biggest cheerleader, your softest place to land.

Because the Word of God says, “He who finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favor from the Lord”. When you find me, you’ll find more than a woman, you’ll find a good thing. A blessing. A partner in purpose. A testament that God still honors those who wait.

When I say yes to you, it will not be just for the easy days. I will say yes to growth, to the midnight talks, the tough decisions, and the sacred work of choosing us every day. I’ll say yes to being your peace when the world is loud, your prayer when the load is heavy, your hand to hold when words run dry.

I will cover you in prayer. I will speak life over you, even when life feels like drought. I will fast when you are weary and lift up your name when your knees feel too tired to kneel. Because this is kingdom love. And I am not here for just a wedding; I’m here for purpose.

Ecclesiastes 4:9–10
“Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion…”

That’s what I’m coming to do. Not just love you, but lift you.
Not just build a home with you, but build the Kingdom with you.

When you forget who you are, I’ll remind you.
When you doubt your calling, I’ll echo heaven’s voice: You were chosen before the foundations of the earth.
When fear tries to paralyze you, I’ll remind you that perfect love casts out fear, and we do not walk by sight, we walk by faith.

Our love won’t be perfect, but it will be holy. There will be days we stumble, but grace will be our rhythm. There will be nights we disagree, but forgiveness will be our anchor. Because God is not just writing a love story for us: He’s writing a legacy.

When I think of you, it’s not with desperation, but with sacred hope. I pray for the little boy you once were and the man you are becoming. I bless the roads you’ve walked and the mountains we will climb together. I ask God to keep you hidden in Him until it’s time, for both of us.

I believe the wait will be worth it.

Until the day I hear your voice call me “mine,” I will keep preparing a heart that loves deeply, forgives easily, and worships endlessly. I will keep becoming. I will keep building a life you can walk into and call home.

Because when you come, it won’t just be the end of a chapter, it will be the beginning of the greatest assignment we’ve ever known. You and I, hand in hand, not chasing a perfect picture, but carrying out a divine purpose.

So, until you come;

I’ll remain…
Still healing. Still hopeful. Still chosen.
Still His. Still praying. Still becoming.
And always, always waiting in promise.

Forever,
Your Future Wife