Trusting the Timing I Cannot See

Dating has never been simple for me. I go into it with intention, with a heart wide open, and with the hope that maybe this time it will be different. I give my best—listening, understanding, empathizing, loving. For a little while, it often feels mutual. But then, like every other time, it unravels. And I’m left holding the weight of another goodbye.

This time feels even harder. I finally met someone I truly connected with, only to learn his heart is still drawn back to a past relationship. He told me he wished he had met me sooner, but life unfolded differently. Part of me wants to wait for him, to cling to the possibility of maybe someday. But deep down, I know this: waiting for him is not the same as waiting on God.

And that’s where the real struggle begins. I know waiting on God is the wisest, safest, most loving choice I could make. I know His timing is perfect. But if I’m honest, it doesn’t always feel perfect. It feels slow. It feels heavy. It feels lonely. My heart wrestles with wanting what’s right in front of me, even when I know it’s not fully mine to have.

Yet maybe—just maybe—God’s timing could involve him, just not right now. Maybe the story isn’t “no,” but “not yet.” And that thought both comforts me and tests me. Because waiting with no guarantees stretches my faith in ways I never imagined.

The truth is, I don’t want to live in limbo anymore. I want to honor this season, even if it doesn’t look the way I imagined. Right now, God has set something else in front of me: a board exam I just scheduled, a dream that requires focus and preparation. It’s no small thing—it’s a step toward my future. And I can either let loneliness swallow my energy or I can pour myself into the opportunity before me.

But here’s the tension—I can sit with my books open, and still feel alone. Friends love me well, and I love them, but it’s not the same kind of connection I long for. There’s an ache that companionship with a man uniquely fills. And when it’s missing, the silence feels loud.

There’s also the ache of giving your heart in prayer—lifting people up, wishing for their healing, hoping they’ll change or grow, only to watch life unfold differently. I’ve prayed for people who struggle deeply, poured love and care into them, and still things don’t work out the way I hoped. It makes you feel foolish, but it’s not foolishness—it’s humanity. You are learning to love without controlling, to surrender without giving up, and to trust even when the outcome is unclear.

And then there are moments of embarrassment and disappointment, like the guy I dated for two weeks after meeting the man I’m drawn to. I liked him too, but he embarrassed me in front of my friends and hasn’t reached out in days. That hurts. And yet, even in those moments, I remind myself: his choices do not define my worth.

What I’m learning, though, is that being “alone” doesn’t mean being abandoned. God has never left me. He sees the longing in my heart, and He knows how hard it is for me to wait. He knows how much I wrestle with wanting answers now. And still, He is patient with me, steady with me, present with me. If the love I give is real, then the love meant for me will be real too—steady, mutual, and unwavering.

So in this season, I’m choosing—sometimes shakily, sometimes through tears—to keep waiting on God. Not because it feels easy, but because deep down I know His plan is worth it. Whether His timing eventually brings me back to this man, or leads me to someone entirely different, I trust that it will be clear, mutual, and good. Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s this: I am not forgotten. And the love written for me will not pass me by.

Lord, You see my heart, my longings, and my struggles with waiting. Teach me to trust Your timing, even when it feels slow or uncertain. If this man is part of my story, let it be in Your time and in Your way. And if not, lead me to the love You’ve written for me—the one that is steady, mutual, and true. Until then, hold me close, quiet my restlessness, and remind me that I am never forgotten. Amen.