Waiting is a period of learning. The longer we wait, the more we

“Waiting is a period of learning. The longer we wait, the more we hear about him for whom we are waiting,” wrote Henri Nouwen, the gentle priest and spiritual teacher whose words have healed countless restless hearts. In this sentence, as soft as a whisper and as deep as the sea, he speaks of a truth few have the patience to learn — that waiting is not emptiness, but formation; not idleness, but preparation. To wait is to be stretched, refined, and taught by time itself. Nouwen, who lived much of his life in prayer and contemplation, knew that the soul grows not in constant movement, but in the sacred stillness between desire and fulfillment.

In the modern world, where haste is praised and silence is feared, Nouwen’s words sound almost foreign — a relic of another age. Yet they are the very medicine our spirits need. For he teaches that waiting is not merely enduring the passage of time; it is a period of learning. Just as the seed waits in the dark soil before it blooms, so must we wait in the darkness of uncertainty before understanding blossoms within us. Every delay, every longing unmet, every prayer unanswered, becomes a classroom where the soul learns humility, faith, and patience. Waiting teaches us to listen — not to our own anxiety, but to the still, quiet voice of God that speaks only when we are silent enough to hear.

When Nouwen says, “The longer we wait, the more we hear about him for whom we are waiting,” he is pointing to the mystery of divine relationship. The one “for whom we are waiting” may be God, a calling, a moment of healing, or a long-sought peace. The longer we dwell in the waiting, the more attuned our hearts become to that presence. What once felt distant grows near, not because time has shortened the distance, but because patience has deepened our perception. In waiting, the beloved becomes clearer, the purpose purer, the heart softer. The absence becomes a kind of presence — a silent teacher shaping our souls for what is to come.

The ancients understood this truth in their bones. The Israelites wandered forty years in the desert before reaching the Promised Land; those years were not punishment, but preparation. In the wilderness, they learned to trust, to rely on divine provision, to let go of idols and self-sufficiency. Their waiting was their education. Likewise, Nouwen, steeped in the contemplative traditions of the desert fathers, reminds us that waiting is not wasted time — it is sacred time. The impatient heart demands answers; the wise heart allows waiting to reveal them.

Consider the story of Nelson Mandela, who waited twenty-seven years behind prison walls for the freedom of his people. He did not allow the long years to harden him, but to teach him. In that waiting, he learned forgiveness; he learned to listen not only to his own suffering, but to the pain of a nation. When he emerged, he was no longer merely a man — he was a symbol of reconciliation. Mandela’s waiting became his transformation. So too, Nouwen teaches that the soul that waits with faith does not emerge the same; it emerges wiser, purer, and closer to love.

But to wait rightly requires courage. The waiting Nouwen describes is not passive resignation, but active surrender. It is a posture of trust — a willingness to believe that even when nothing seems to move, something sacred is taking shape beneath the surface. To wait is to hold hope when the heart grows weary, to listen when all seems silent, to remain faithful when understanding fails. This is the hardest lesson of all, for impatience is the child of fear, but patience is the offspring of faith. The wise wait not because they are powerless, but because they have learned that growth cannot be rushed, and that what is eternal unfolds only in its appointed time.

So, my child of time and longing, take this teaching to heart: let your waiting become your teacher. Do not curse the silence; let it speak. Do not rush the unfolding of destiny; let it form you. In every delay, ask, “What am I being taught?” rather than “When will this end?” For every season of waiting is a forge — burning away pride, polishing faith, deepening love. The one who learns to wait well learns to live wisely.

And thus, remember always the gentle wisdom of Henri Nouwen: waiting is a period of learning. Life’s greatest revelations are not born in speed, but in stillness. The heart that dares to wait finds not emptiness, but communion. The one who listens deeply in the silence of delay will one day recognize the voice of the beloved — not as a stranger arriving at last, but as a presence that had been whispering all along.