I have spent more time in waiting rooms than I ever imagined possible.
Waiting for appointments.
Waiting for test results.
Waiting for surgeries.
Waiting for phone calls.
Waiting for answers.
Waiting for healing.
For much of my journey, I viewed waiting as an obstacle.
Something standing between me and the life I wanted.
Something delaying progress.
Something frustrating and unwanted.
I wanted answers immediately.
I wanted healing immediately.
I wanted certainty immediately.
But life rarely works that way.
Neither does faith.
Looking back now, I realize some of the most important lessons of my life were learned while waiting.
The waiting room became a classroom.
And God became the teacher.
One of the first lessons I learned was patience.
Not the kind of patience that comes naturally.
The kind that develops through necessity.
The kind that grows when there is no shortcut.
No quick fix.
No immediate solution.
Patience taught me that growth often happens slowly.
Healing often happens gradually.
And God's timing is rarely the same as our own.
There were countless moments when I wanted answers before God was ready to reveal them.
Moments when I wanted clarity before He gave it.
Moments when I wanted certainty before He provided it.
Yet somehow, His timing always proved wiser than mine.
The waiting room also taught me humility.
Illness has a way of reminding us how little control we actually have.
For years, I believed hard work and determination could solve almost any problem.
Then I encountered challenges that could not be solved through effort alone.
No amount of determination could change a diagnosis.
No amount of planning could prevent every setback.
No amount of strength could guarantee tomorrow.
That realization humbled me.
But it also freed me.
Because once I stopped trying to control everything, I learned how to trust God more completely.
Another lesson waiting taught me was compassion.
When you sit in waiting rooms long enough, you begin noticing people differently.
You see fear in their eyes.
You hear uncertainty in their voices.
You recognize pain behind their smiles.
And you realize everyone is carrying something.
The elderly man waiting for test results.
The young mother worried about her child.
The woman sitting alone staring at the floor.
The husband quietly holding his wife's hand.
Each person has a story.
Each person is fighting a battle.
Each person needs hope.
My own suffering made me more aware of the suffering around me.
It softened my heart.
It made me slower to judge and quicker to show grace.
The waiting room also taught me perseverance.
Not because I wanted to learn it.
But because I had no choice.
There were seasons when giving up would have been easier.
Seasons when the road felt endless.
Seasons when progress seemed invisible.
Yet every day I continued moving forward.
Sometimes with confidence.
Sometimes with fear.
Sometimes with tears.
But always one step at a time.
I learned that perseverance isn't about never feeling discouraged.
It's about refusing to stay discouraged.
It's choosing to keep moving even when the path is difficult.
Most importantly, the waiting room taught me faith.
Not faith in outcomes.
Faith in God.
There is a difference.
For many years, I thought faith meant believing everything would work out exactly as I hoped.
Life taught me otherwise.
Faith means trusting God regardless of the outcome.
Trusting Him when test results are positive.
Trusting Him when they are not.
Trusting Him when healing comes.
Trusting Him when healing takes longer than expected.
Trusting Him when life makes sense.
Trusting Him when it doesn't.
That kind of faith changes a person.
It changed me.
Because eventually I realized that God was doing more than answering my prayers.
He was transforming me.
Every waiting room became part of that process.
Every delay.
Every uncertainty.
Every unanswered question.
Every challenge.
They were all shaping me into someone stronger, wiser, and more compassionate than I had been before.
When I look back now, I no longer see waiting as wasted time.
I see it as preparation.
Preparation for deeper faith.
Preparation for greater purpose.
Preparation for the work God still had for me to do.
The waiting rooms were never the destination.
They were part of the journey.
A journey that taught me lessons I will carry for the rest of my life.
And after everything I endured-every diagnosis, every surgery, every fear, every prayer, every victory-I arrived at one simple truth.
I am still here.
And that truth deserves its own chapter.