Grace in the Waiting Season

Mother: Elizabeth
Scripture: Luke 1:24–25 NIV

There are seasons in life that feel hidden.

Not broken. Not abandoned. Just… quiet.

The prayers are still there.
The longing is still there.
The hope may even still be there somewhere beneath the surface.
But time keeps moving, and what once felt possible begins to feel distant.

Elizabeth knew that kind of waiting.

In Luke 1, we meet a woman who had lived faithfully before God for years. Scripture describes both Elizabeth and Zechariah as righteous and obedient, yet they carried a grief that had followed them through much of their lives: they had no child. In a culture where motherhood was deeply tied to identity and honor, that kind of absence carried not only personal sorrow, but public shame.

And still, Elizabeth remained faithful.

Not loudly.
Not performatively.
Not perfectly.
But steadily.

Sometimes we imagine that faithfulness always looks strong and triumphant, but often it looks quiet. It looks like continuing to trust God when prayers seem unanswered. It looks like showing up with hope even after disappointment. It looks like believing God still sees you when life feels delayed.

Elizabeth’s story reminds us that hidden seasons are not forgotten seasons.

God had not overlooked her.
He had not misplaced her prayers.
He had not ignored her tears.

He was still writing her story.

Luke 1:24–25 NIV says:

“After this his wife Elizabeth became pregnant and for five months remained in seclusion. ‘The Lord has done this for me,’ she said. ‘In these days he has shown his favor and taken away my disgrace among the people.’”

What strikes me most is not just the miracle itself, but the tenderness of God’s timing.

But there is another layer to this story that reveals the depth of God’s faithfulness even more.

When the angel told Zechariah that Elizabeth would have a son, his first response was doubt. After years of waiting and disappointment, the promise sounded impossible. Luke 1 shows us a faithful man struggling to believe that God would still do what once seemed out of reach.

And yet, even in Zechariah’s doubt, God did not cancel the promise.

He disciplined him, yes. Zechariah was made unable to speak for a season. But the blessing still came. Elizabeth still conceived. God still fulfilled exactly what He said He would do.

That is such a powerful reminder for weary hearts: God’s faithfulness is not dependent on our perfect response.

Sometimes long seasons of disappointment make hope difficult to hold. Sometimes we want to believe God, but the waiting has exhausted us. Zechariah’s reaction reflects the honest struggle many people carry after years of silence and delay.

But God, in His mercy, remained faithful anyway.

It is almost as though God said, “You may not fully see it yet, but My promise still stands. Just wait and see.”

And perhaps there is meaning even in the silence Zechariah experienced afterward. Unable to argue, explain, or question aloud, he had to sit quietly and watch the promise unfold before his eyes.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10 NIV

Sometimes God says, “Be still and know,” not because nothing is happening, but because something holy is unfolding quietly.

The stillness was not the absence of God’s movement. It was the space where His plan unfolded beyond human interference.

God already knew every response before the conversation even began. He knew Zechariah would doubt. He knew Elizabeth would quietly withdraw and protect what He was growing. He knew Mary would surrender with, “May it be to me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38) None of their reactions interrupted His plan because the fulfillment was never dependent on human perfection.

The unfolding had already been established in God.

And sometimes stillness becomes the place where we finally realize that God does not need our striving in order to accomplish what He has already ordained.

Maybe that is why stillness can feel so uncomfortable for us. We want to reach for the pen. We want to explain, control, rush, adjust, or rewrite the unfolding when it does not happen according to our timeline.

But God’s still writing the story.

And sometimes faith means learning not to steal the pen.

As a writer, I know stories do not always unfold exactly where we expect them to go. Sometimes a chapter that feels slow becomes essential later. Sometimes the meaning of the story is not fully visible until several chapters afterward. What looked like delay was actually development all along.

Faith often works the same way.

The story is not finished until God says it is finished, and the stillness may simply be the moment where He asks us to trust Him enough to let Him keep writing.

Zechariah could no longer speak over what God was doing. He simply had to witness it.

And while Zechariah was silenced, Elizabeth withdrew.

Their responses were different, yet deeply connected. Together, they entered a hidden season where God allowed the promise to develop before it was publicly revealed.

Elizabeth’s seclusion does not feel like shame. It feels sacred.

After years of disappointment, after years of carrying private grief, after years of wondering if her prayers had gone unanswered, she was finally carrying visible evidence that God had remembered her.

That kind of miracle changes how you move.

She did not rush to announce it. She did not place it before doubting voices too early. She held it close while it was still forming.

Sometimes God hides what He is growing until the season of revelation arrives.

And perhaps this is one of the gentlest forms of God’s nurturing.

Because nurturing is not always loud or visible. Sometimes God nurtures through silence.

A child is nurtured in the hiddenness of the womb long before anyone else can see life forming. Seeds are nurtured beneath the soil before they ever break through the surface. And some of God’s deepest work in us happens quietly, away from public visibility, while He develops what could not survive premature exposure.

Elizabeth’s hidden season was not empty. It was nurturing.

God was not only preparing the promise — He was protecting it.

The silence became the environment where faith could deepen, where identity could heal, and where the unfolding could belong fully to God.

Not everything is meant to be announced immediately. Some promises need quiet. Some miracles develop in hiddenness before they can withstand public scrutiny. Sometimes God protects what He is forming from the weight of doubt, commentary, and premature exposure.

Elizabeth knew what God had done for her before anyone else could see it.

And five months is significant.

By then, the promise could no longer be hidden. What once required faith had become visible. By the time people saw Elizabeth again, the evidence of God’s faithfulness was undeniable.

And beside her stood a husband who could not speak.

A silent priest.
A once-hidden woman now visibly carrying life.
A household marked by something only God could have done.

One of the visible signs of how God works is His miracles.

Not only because they bless the people receiving them, but because they become evidence for everyone watching that God still intervenes in impossible places.

And maybe that is the encouragement for today: if your season feels delayed, quiet, or unseen, it does not mean God has forgotten you. Delay is not abandonment. Silence is not absence. Hiddenness is not rejection.

God still works in unseen places.

He still prepares promises in quiet seasons.
He still restores hope after disappointment.
He still remembers every prayer whispered through tears.

Waiting seasons often shape us in ways visible seasons cannot.

In hidden places, God develops endurance.
He deepens trust.
He heals identity.
He teaches us to rest in who He is instead of what we can immediately see.

The waiting is painful, yes. But it is never empty.

There are things formed in hiddenness that cannot be formed any other way.

And when fulfillment finally comes, we often realize God was sustaining us long before the answer appeared.

Elizabeth’s story reminds us that fulfillment is not proof God was finally paying attention. It is proof that He was faithful the entire time.

Sometimes grace arrives slowly.
But it still arrives.

And eventually, what God has been forming in hiddenness becomes visible for everyone to see.

Reflection Question:
What would it look like to trust God enough to let Him keep writing, even in seasons where the story feels quiet or unfinished?

Prayer:
Father, thank You for being present even in the hidden seasons of life. When waiting feels heavy and disappointment feels close, remind us that You never forget Your children. Help us remain faithful in quiet seasons, trusting that You are still working beyond what we can see. Teach us when to be still, when to protect what You are growing, and when to trust You with what has not yet become visible. Help us release the need to control the story and trust You enough to let You keep writing. Restore hope where weariness has settled, and help us recognize Your grace even before fulfillment arrives. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Leona