by Aubrey Marjason
“Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting.” Khaled Hosseini writes this in A Thousand Splendid Suns, and he truly captures something universal. As humans, we are impatient. I know I am.
Why is waiting so difficult? Is it because we want something so badly, or because we fear the unknown? It can be as simple as sitting in a drive-thru when all you ordered was a crisp Diet Coke, yet the car ahead of you seems to have ordered half the menu. Why is it taking so long? Why didn’t they let me go first?
Or it can be far more serious — like waiting on medical results after blood work. Why did they take so much blood? What will the results reveal? It has been over a day — why haven’t I heard anything?
Even smaller moments carry the same tension. You arrive five minutes early to lunch, but now it’s ten minutes past the agreed time. Are they okay? Did I misunderstand the time? Why aren’t they here yet?
Waiting is hard. Anticipating something you care about can feel exhausting and overwhelming. Our minds often demand immediate answers instead of trusting the process of time.
I am not an expert in mastering anticipation, but I have found something that helps. It isn’t easy, and it doesn’t happen overnight, but it has changed the way I approach waiting: trusting God.
As someone who struggles with anxiety and worry, I often try to control every outcome. I make plans and spiral over whether they will succeed. Yet when I release that control and invite God into my worries, things tend to unfold in ways I could not have orchestrated myself. Sometimes God gently reminds us that while we try to manage everything, He has already made a way.
One example stands out from last summer. I was stressed about finding a job. I value working during the summer to earn money, build skills, and prepare for the school year. By April, I felt discouraged. Internship applications had been rejected, and the only opportunity available was a position in the mental health field where my mom had previously worked. The hours were inconvenient, the training felt overwhelming, and the work did not align with my passions.
After sharing my concerns with my parents and praying about the situation, I prepared myself for a difficult and unfulfilling summer. Then, unexpectedly, everything changed.
I received two phone calls in one day.
The first was from a relative telling me about an open daycare position working in the kitchen — a role that felt like a natural fit. The second call came from a church member asking if I would be interested in interning with the children’s ministry.
Yes — absolutely.
That summer, I spent my weekdays learning, working hard, and genuinely enjoying the people and environment around me. What felt random to me did not feel random at all in hindsight. God understood my worries and quietly provided opportunities that aligned with my heart.
Now, whenever I feel anxious about the future, I return to that moment and others like it. Remembering past provisions helps calm present fears.
Another way I manage anticipation is through prayer. While God already knows our hearts, expressing those thoughts matters. Psalm 139:23 says, “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my concerns.” Similarly, Psalm 28:2 reminds us to cry out for help and trust that God listens.
Prayer becomes a release — a way to hand over both the small worries and the overwhelming ones. In seasons of waiting, that surrender creates comfort.
Finally, worship has helped reshape my perspective during anticipation. When we continue to praise God through uncertainty — whether the news is good, bad, or frightening — it reorients our focus. Instead of feeling like victims of circumstance, we remember that our lives are held by someone greater than our fears.
Waiting will never be easy. Anticipation often stretches our patience and tests our peace. Yet through remembering past blessings, praying honestly, and choosing worship even in uncertainty, I have learned to approach waiting differently.
The author of my story already holds tomorrow. So why spend today consumed by worry about what has yet to come?
