Anchored in Hope – The Waiting Room
Good morning, beautiful ladies! 🌸
I hope this blog takes you on a journey today, that you get to hear my heart and experience the joy I felt this morning. But more than anything, I pray it stirs something deeper in your heart – a gentle nudge towards the Father in heaven, who sees you, loves you, and walks with you through every season. May these words be a reminder that you are never alone, that His love is constant, and that no matter where you find yourself today, His grace is reaching for you.
This morning, I walked the Circle in the Forest trail in Knysna. Now don’t go thinking I tackled the 9km like a hero – no, no, I went for the 3km walk with my kids and grandkids. The little ones must’ve walked that route five times over, full of energy and wonder.
Now I’m back home on Anchored In Hope, sitting in the companion way with my laptop on my lap. Curled up next to me is the tiniest new addition to our family. She’s just five weeks old, a little dachshund pup with a heart full of softness and a belly full of milk. We haven’t named her yet. I’m waiting for her to show me who she is, just like God, in His perfect timing, gently reveals who we are as we grow, wait, and walk with Him. This little pup, with her tiny steps and wide-eyed wonder, mirrors how I began – needing love, care, and time. And in the waiting, just like her, I slowly unfolded into the story God has written for my life, and I believe for yours too, each moment revealing something sacred and new.
In the background, I can hear the soft breathing of my grandchildren sleeping in the saloon downstairs. After days of playing, laughing, and soaking up the newness of boat life, they’re completely worn out and snuggled into their bunks. I sit here full of joy, of love, of gratitude for this season, this family, this boat, and the God who holds it all together.
Thinking back on the walk this morning, I have to laugh at myself. When asked if we were tackling 9 km or 3 km, I scoffed – 3 km? That’s nothing! A breeze, I thought. Easy peasy.
Oh, sweet, naive Gwen.
One hour later, I was panting my way up the inclines, gripping my knees like they held all the wisdom of the world, silently begging God not to let me roll down the other side like a human tumbleweed. At one point, I clutched my chest in dramatic despair, looking up at the sky and whispering, “Lord, how did I let this happen? Wasn’t I fit once? Didn’t I have stamina? Where did it go?”
But none of that took away from the beauty around me.
The Knysna Forest…
It’s not loud or dramatic, but it carries a deep, sacred hush. The kind of stillness that makes you whisper. The kind that feels like God’s breath still lingers in the air. Towering yellowwoods and milkwoods stretch high into the sky like ancient sentinels, their trunks wide and weathered – trees that have stood for hundreds of years, quietly growing, silently enduring.
Ferns blanket the forest floor, soft and feathery underfoot, while twisted vines curl around the trees like God’s natural lace. Sunlight filters through the canopy in golden threads, and here and there, the light hits just right, and the whole place feels enchanted, like heaven kissed the earth and left it glowing.
The air smells like damp leaves and fresh earth and wildness. Now and then, you catch the soft rustle of a buck in the brush or the distant call of a Knysna turaco, its wings flashing bright green and crimson if you’re lucky enough to spot it.
And somehow, even in my gasping and stumbling, God spoke.
Because there, in the middle of that ancient forest, clinging to the path and my dignity, I saw beauty. Not in perfection, not in my fitness level, not in how strong I felt… but in simply being present. In being surrounded by life that had grown through seasons I had never witnessed. Trees that had endured fire, rain, storms, and still stood tall.
That forest reminded me:
Even if I don’t feel strong right now, I’m growing.
Even if I can’t see it, God is doing something deep in me.
As I walked, something settled deep in my heart. With this forest, so alive and ancient, I was reminded that the journey of life, just like this trail, is made up of small, faithful steps. I wasn’t fast, and I wasn’t strong, but I kept going. And maybe that’s the deeper message: in the waiting, in the climbing, in the quiet – God is still growing something in us. Strength doesn’t always roar; sometimes it simply keeps walking. This little forest trail echoed the path of my spiritual journey: full of breathless climbs, childlike joy, and beauty we could miss if we don’t slow down enough to notice.
And in the middle of that stillness, I realised something: even when I feel like nothing is happening, something always is.
That tree I stood beneath – I hadn’t seen it grow. I wasn’t there when it first broke through the soil, or when storms came, or when the roots pushed deeper. But there it stood. Tall. Strong. Steady. It grew in seasons no one witnessed. It grew in the waiting.
The Thread That Ties It All Together
Over the past months, we have journeyed together, women anchored in hope, through different seasons:
- The Season of Freedom – when chains fell and hearts began to breathe again.
- The Season of Surrender – where we laid down what we couldn’t carry and trusted God with the weight.
- The Season of Warfare – where we learned to stand firm, armour on, even when the battle raged.
- The Season of Wilderness – where God stripped away the noise and we learned that His presence is enough.
- The Season of Harvest – when the fruit began to show, sometimes in tears, sometimes in triumph.
And now, we come to the Waiting Room – The Circle in the Forest:
At first glance, it feels like the least exciting place. There are no fireworks. No breakthroughs. Just… waiting.
But this isn’t dead space. This is holy ground.
It’s the season where roots grow deep.
The place where heaven is whispering, even if the earth feels silent.
It is where we always come back, this season of waiting.
What the Bible Says About Waiting
- “But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” — Isaiah 40:31
- “The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the soul who seeks Him. It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.” — Lamentations 3:25-26
- “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him.” — Psalm 37:7
- “I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope.” — Psalm 130:5
What to do during the Waiting:
1. Stay in the Word, Even When It Feels Quiet
Sometimes we read the Bible and it feels like nothing’s jumping out – but the Word is still alive. It’s still planting seeds. Keep reading, keep returning. Even one verse a day is still bread for the journey.
“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” – Psalm 119:105
2. Pray Honestly – Not Perfectly
Waiting seasons aren’t about polished prayers. Your walk with the Father was never meant to look perfect — it was meant to be honest, raw, and fully surrendered. Don’t lose sight of God by pretending. He’s not in the performance; He’s in the posture of your heart.. They’re about real ones. Tell God how you feel. If you’re frustrated, say so. If you’re tired, whisper it. Let the waiting deepen your honesty with your Father.
“Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us.” – Psalm 62:8
3. Keep a Waiting Journal
Write down what you’re praying for, what God is showing you, and what He’s doing in your heart. It’s amazing to look back and see how He moved – even when you didn’t feel it in the moment.
4. Worship Through the Waiting
Worship isn’t just for Sunday – it’s your warfare in the waiting. Turn on a song that stirs your spirit, and let it shift your atmosphere.
“Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.” – Habakkuk 3:18
5. Stay in Godly Community
The enemy loves to isolate us when we’re in the waiting. Reach out to one or two trusted people. Talk, pray together, even just sit in silence together. We’re not always meant to wait alone.
“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” – Galatians 6:2
6. Look for God in the Little Things
Sometimes, God’s presence is found in the tiniest moments – a smile from a stranger, a breeze on your face, a verse that just “happens” to pop up. The waiting room is full of glimpses of Him.
7. Practice Stillness and Trust
The waiting season is a classroom for learning trust. Sometimes, God just wants us to rest, to breathe, and to know He’s got it.
“Be still, and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10
Waiting is not punishment. It’s preparation.
In the waiting, God is shifting things, even if we can’t see them. Like that forest, something is always happening. Healing is forming. Courage is building. Faith is stretching. And the promise is growing, even when it’s hidden.
What Happens in the Waiting
- Our faith matures. We learn to trust God’s timing, not our own.
- Our perspective shifts. We begin to see things through eternity’s eyes.
- Our character deepens. Patience, humility, and strength are forged in silence.
- Our roots take hold. And when the winds come, we don’t fall.
God does His most delicate work in the waiting room. It’s not glamorous. It’s not loud. But it’s life-changing.
If you find yourself in a waiting season today – Feeling like time is standing still, wondering when the breakthrough will come, maybe even asking if God has forgotten you – I want to speak straight into your heart:
You’re not forgotten.
You’re not stuck.
And no, this isn’t punishment.
You’re in a season that is as biblical as any battlefield, any harvest, or any miracle. Waiting is part of the walk. It’s part of the shaping. It’s where God does His quiet, holy work deep in your soul.
I know it doesn’t feel exciting. I know it’s hard when the prayers feel unanswered and the silence stretches long. But this is where your roots are growing. This is where your faith gets stretched and strengthened. This is where trust becomes real, not because everything’s perfect, but because you choose to believe when nothing makes sense.
And that matters. That moves heaven.
So don’t rush this season. Don’t try to pray it away or fast forward through it. This waiting, as uncomfortable as it feels, is not empty. Jehovah Jireh, your Provider, is doing something beneath the surface, something sacred. The Ancient of Days is preparing a weight of glory that will echo into your future – something you’ll one day look back on and thank El Shaddai for. Not just because the season ended, but because of what was formed in you while you waited.
It’s in these quiet, stretching seasons that the Master Builder lays foundations – ones that won’t crack under pressure, ones that can carry the weight of the calling ahead. What the Eternal One is shaping in this season is lasting. It’s real. It’s eternal.
I’ve sat in this waiting room more times than I can count, and I know what it feels like to wonder if anything is happening at all. Maybe you and I have unknowingly passed each other here, walking the same hallway of hope, praying through the same pause. And if we have, walking it beside you is an honour.
It humbles me that the King of Glory would allow me to serve you in this season, not as someone who has it all figured out, but as someone who knows the ache of the in-between and the beauty of a God who meets us right there.
“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain.” – Hebrews 6:19
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Stay close to Him. Stay in the Word. Stay teachable. Stay honest. And know that this quiet place is not empty – it’s sacred.
Because this isn’t just waiting. This is becoming.
We are women anchored in hope.
And even here – especially here – our anchor always holds. – Hebrews 6:19
Jehovah-Jireh,
– Women Anchored In Hope (Gwennie)
Here I am again.
In the space between promise and fulfilment,
between the Word You gave and the door You haven’t opened.
I confess, this waiting feels like a wilderness.
Stillness can be so loud.
But I know You are here – not absent, not indifferent.
You are the God who waits with me,
who writes purpose even into the pause.
Help me not to despise this season.
Help me to sit, not just with patience, but with expectation –
like a daughter who knows her Father is still writing her story.
Teach me to worship when I don’t see the way,
to trust when I feel forgotten,
to rest when I’d rather run.
And when doubt knocks,
remind me of every miracle that once had to wait its turn.
This waiting room is not a punishment – it’s a place of preparation.
So here I am, Lord – not just waiting for something,
but waiting with You.
And that… is holy.
Amen.
Father, thank You for every woman walking through a waiting season. Thank You that even when we can’t see it, You are working. Grow our roots deep. Strengthen our hearts. Teach us to trust You more. Remind us that You are never late. Fill our waiting with Your presence, and help us to rest in Your perfect timing. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
