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Habakkuk 2:2–4

Then the Lord answered me and said:

“Write the vision and make it plain on tablets,
That he may run who reads it.

For the vision is yet for an appointed time;
But at the end it will speak, and it will not lie.

Though it tarries, wait for it;
Because it will surely come,
It will not tarry.

Behold the proud,
His soul is not upright in him;
But the just shall live by faith.”

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There was a point in my life where I didn’t stop praying…

but I quietly stopped believing.

For at least a year straight, I prayed one specific prayer—for a mighty encounter with the Lord and for the salvation of someone I loved deeply.

I prayed it almost daily.

I filled pages of journals and notebooks with both words and tears. I prayed not only for them, but for the company they kept and the people surrounding them. I wanted so badly for this individual to experience the unfailing love of God our Father.

But days turned into weeks.

Weeks turned into months.

Months eventually became years.

And nothing changed.

If anything, things appeared to get worse.

As time passed, lagging just behind it ever so slightly, was my hope. It was fading.

Now, let me be clear—I knew that God was faithful. There was no way that I could ever discount Him. He had been encountering me, speaking to me, guiding me, and carrying me since my youth. In seasons where I felt like I didn’t have a father or a friend, He was there. He held my hand, comforted me, and sustained me.

But in this one area…

I couldn’t trace His faithfulness.

And because I couldn’t trace it, I assumed I had done something wrong.

I kept praying, but after a while, my prayers began to change.

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Unknowingly and unintentionally, I shifted my focus toward praying for others. I joined my faith with the faith of those around me. I prayed for their marriages, their children, their healing, their finances, and their breakthrough.

And I genuinely loved it.

I love prayer.

I love praying with people and witnessing the hand of God move in their lives.

But somewhere along the way, something inside of me broke.

When it came to my own desires, my prayers became shallow—almost unbelieving.

I still prayed.

But I no longer prayed with expectation.

I was too afraid to hope in something that might never happen.

Too afraid to believe for something that could leave me disappointed once again.

So instead of risking hope, I settled for safety.

And without even realizing it, my faith began to shrink.

Not because God had changed.

But because I had started protecting myself.

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I didn’t stop praying.

I stopped expecting.

I didn’t stop believing in God.

I stopped believing He would do it for me.

And if I’m honest, that realization was difficult to face.

Because faith doesn’t usually disappear all at once.

It erodes quietly.

It fades in the spaces between prayers.

It weakens every time disappointment goes unaddressed.

It diminishes every time we stop bringing our deepest desires before God because we’ve convinced ourselves it hurts less not to hope.

But Habakkuk reminds us of something powerful:

“Though it tarries, wait for it.”

Not because the waiting is easy.

Not because we understand what God is doing.

But because what God has spoken will eventually speak for itself.

The promise may seem delayed, but God’s faithfulness never is.

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Looking back now, I realize that God wasn’t absent in my waiting.

He was present in ways I couldn’t yet recognize.

And what I interpreted as silence was often preparation.

What I perceived as delay was often protection.

What felt like unanswered prayer was frequently God writing a better story than the one I was trying to author myself.

And if I’m honest…

it wasn’t just disappointment that had taken root.

It was something deeper.

Something that looked like caution but was actually control.

Something that felt like wisdom but was quietly rooted in fear.

I didn’t recognize it then.

But I would eventually learn that it had a name.

And we’ll talk about that next.

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🌿 Grounded in Grace 🌿