Dr. Verlyn Fontaine Waterman
Blog | “Who Is She” Series
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” Proverbs 13:12
There is a silence that speaks louder than sound. A stillness that reverberates through the soul. A delay that doesn’t just test your patience—it tests your identity.
To many women, hope deferred isn’t a seasonal experience. It is a way of life. It becomes the atmosphere you breathe. A suspended place between what was promised and what is not yet visible.
You wake up wondering, “Is this the day it finally breaks?” Only to feel the familiar echo of delay. It is in this suspended space—the dark night of the soul—where faith is not felt, but formed.
When the Heart Grows Weary
Hope deferred has a sound. It’s in the quiet sigh before prayer. It’s in the tear that falls while worship continues. It’s in the smile you wear while your heart feels heavy.
The antonym of anxiety isn’t always peace. Sometimes, it’s holy endurance. Waiting doesn’t always mean stillness—it often looks like aching in motion.
You carry your dreams like a womb that refuses to miscarry—even when no heartbeat is heard from what you’re carrying.
Mary Pondered…
Scripture tells us, “And Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19)
She didn’t understand it all. She didn’t announce it prematurely. She didn’t demand validation.
She pondered. She waited. She remained faithful to the Word spoken by her Creator.
Mary is a model of what it means to hold space for the unseen—to nourish a promise that has yet to bloom. And like Mary, many of us are carrying things no one else understands.
We’re waiting for healing, marriage, children, breakthrough, peace, or simply a reason to hope again.
Waiting is Not Wasting
We serve a God who never forgets His promises, even when the timeline confuses us. God is not indifferent to your pain. He is not absent in your waiting. He is refining, realigning, and preparing.
Hope deferred is painful—but it is not a denial. It is a divine delay with purpose in every pause.
Isaiah 60:22 reminds us: “At the right time, I, the Lord, will make it happen.”
What you’re carrying is sacred. What you’ve endured is not in vain. Your promise is not postponed—it is perfectly scheduled.
The Dark Night of the Soul
There is a season where heaven seems closed, and silence surrounds your faithfulness.
Where your prayers feel unanswered, your dreams feel dormant, and your spirit questions everything.
This is not abandonment. This is the dark night of the soul—a spiritual furnace where false hopes burn away and real trust emerges.
It’s where you stop striving to earn answers and start surrendering to the God who sees. You are not being punished. You are being purified. And in this night, your identity is being reborn—not in your feelings, but in your faith.
The Promise Will Come
Dear sister, the story isn’t over.
The silence is not final. The delay is not a denial.
Your God is faithful.
The same God who visited Mary in a hidden place, The same God who formed promise in her womb without permission from man,
The same God who said, “Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill His promise to her,” — that same God sees you.
And He will fulfill what He has spoken.
You Are Not Forgotten
Let this be your declaration:
I will wait, not with bitterness—but with belief.
I will ponder, not with worry—but with worship.
I will not abandon my promise—because He who promised is faithful.
Even here—especially here—I am becoming.
I am She Who Waits With Wonder.
Closing Prayer: While I Wait
Heavenly Father,
You are the Keeper of Time and the Author of every promise. You see me in the stillness, in the struggle, and in the waiting.
When my heart grows weary and my hope feels far, remind me that You are near—closer than the silence suggests.
Teach me to wait not with despair, but with divine expectation. Give me the courage to hold fast when I can’t see the way forward.
Let me be like Mary—pondering, trusting, yielding—believing that what You have spoken will come to pass.
Heal the ache of deferred dreams. Renew the fire of delayed passion.
Restore the joy that feels lost in the fog of waiting. I lay down every timeline, every fear, every whispered lie that tells me I am forgotten.
And I pick up truth—Your truth—that says I am remembered, I am called, I am deeply loved, and my promise is still on its way.
I may not see the full picture now, but I trust the One who holds the brush.
Strengthen me in the dark night, and let my soul rise with the dawn.
In Jesus’ name,
Amein.