Wait

Ever waited for a text reply that just wouldn’t come? You stare at your phone, watching those three little dots dance, then vanish. Minutes feel like hours. Silence stretches longer than you want it to. Now, imagine that silence lasting not for a few minutes, or even days—but for four hundred years. That’s what happened between the Old and New Testaments. For centuries, God—who had once spoken through prophets and miracles—was quiet. No visions. No new words. Just silence.

To Israel, it must have felt unbearable. They were God’s chosen people, accustomed to hearing His voice through prophets like Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Malachi. But now, nothing. The heavens seemed closed. And yet, in that long silence, God was not idle. He was working behind the scenes, preparing the world for the greatest message ever spoken: the arrival of His Son. John 5:17 reminds us of this truth: “Jesus responded to them, ‘My Father is still working, and I am working also.’” Even when we can’t see or hear Him, God is still at work.

During those 400 years, the world was being rearranged to make room for the gospel. The Greek Empire had spread a common language that would allow the message of Jesus to travel farther and faster. The Romans built an intricate system of roads, unknowingly paving the way for apostles to carry good news across continents. The Jewish people, through trial and oppression, held tighter than ever to the promises written in the Law and the Prophets. The silence wasn’t punishment—it was preparation. God was creating the perfect conditions for His Word to take on flesh.

Romans 5:6 says, “For while we were still helpless, at the right time, Christ died for the ungodly.” That little phrase—“at the right time”—is the heartbeat of waiting. God is never rushed, never delayed. His timing is always perfect. Maybe right now, your own life feels like one of those in-between seasons—where God’s voice feels distant, and prayers seem to echo back in silence. But silence doesn’t mean stillness. God’s hand may be invisible, but His work is unstoppable.

Waiting always tests our faith. It is often said, “The waiting is the hardest part.” When God seems quiet, faith becomes more than belief—it becomes trust. Hebrews 11:1–2 defines faith this way: “Now faith is the reality of what is hoped for, the proof of what is not seen. For by this our ancestors were approved.” Faith is holding onto God’s promises even when our senses find no proof. It’s standing on His Word when all evidence says otherwise. Psalm 56:3–4 captures this tension beautifully: “When I am afraid, I will trust in you. In God, whose word I praise—in God I trust; I will not be afraid.”

Those silent centuries refined Israel’s faith. They learned to cling to what God had already said instead of demanding something new. In the same way, our seasons of silence aren’t wasted; they stretch our trust and deepen our roots. The Greek word for faith—pistis—means a steady, confident conviction. It’s faith that holds fast when sight fails. Genuine faith thrives in the quiet, when we have no choice but to believe that God is still at work even when He hasn’t yet spoken.

And then, one silent night, everything changed. After centuries of stillness, God broke through—not with thunder or fire, but with the cry of a newborn baby. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us,” John 1:14 declares. The silence gave way to sound, and the Word that had once formed the heavens was now wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger. The long wait made the moment all the more glorious. Heaven’s quiet prepared humanity’s heart to hear again.

That’s what Advent is all about—learning to wait with hope. Paul described this waiting in Romans 8:22–23 as creation “groaning together with labor pains,” longing for redemption. Waiting is woven into the fabric of faith. In Hebrew, the word for “wait” (qavah) literally means “to bind together, like cords twisted tight.” Waiting isn’t sitting idly by—it’s holding on tightly to God’s promises until He fulfills them. Lamentations 3:25–26 reminds us, “The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the person who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for salvation from the Lord.”

So what do we do when we find ourselves in God’s waiting room? We trust. We prepare. We keep faith alive even when heaven seems quiet. Because silence isn’t the end of the story—it’s the space where faith grows stronger and hope takes shape. Every moment of waiting is God setting the stage for something greater. Every unanswered prayer is another line in the unfolding script of His grace.

Psalm 27:13–14 captures the heart of Advent: “I am certain that I will see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart be courageous. Wait for the Lord.” Those three little dots on your spiritual screen—the pauses and delays that drive you crazy—are God’s reminder that He’s still typing. The message is coming. The Savior is near. The same God who broke 400 years of silence with a baby’s cry will one day break the silence again with the sound of a trumpet. Until then, we wait—not with despair, but with hope. Because the silence before the Savior is never empty—it’s expectant.