It Felt Delayed. But It Was Never Late.
Two years. A custody battle. A faith tested beyond recognition.
And a God who was on schedule the entire time.
I Contemplated Writing this… but the testimony requires me to share.
For two years, I fought a custody battle that I never asked for, never anticipated, and never… in the deepest and most honest part of my heart, was fully prepared for. There is no preparation class for watching something you love and have built your entire life around, become a battleground. There is no book I’ve read or conference breakout session that walks you through what it feels like when the unthinkable is happening right in front of your eyes, and you cannot stop it.
But what I found in that wilderness, and what I carried out of it, is worth every page of this newsletter.
“There were moments I was so confident that change was right around the corner. And then when it didn’t come, something in me started to shift. My faith began to waver. And I didn’t know how to say that out loud.”
I believe healing begins with honesty, so I have to be as transparent as possible with you. In the beginning, I walked into this season with every spiritual weapon I owned. I had scriptures written on post-it notes. I had prayer partners & I spoke declarations daily. To put it plainly…I had faith. And for a while, that faith felt unshakeable.
But then the months stretched. And as the months stretched, and the situation, instead of resolving, seemed to grow more painful, and more impossible. And I started to notice something happening inside me that I was almost ashamed to admit: I stopped walking with expectation. I stopped looking toward the horizon for what God promised because every time I looked up, and it wasn't there yet, the disappointment was almost worse than not looking at all.
I had reduced my faith to a self-protection mechanism, and I stopped believing fully because it hurt less not to.
Have you ever been there?
But in the midst of what seemed arduous, I had a friend who spoke what I couldn't see in the moment.
My friend would say it to me plainly, with the kind of calm that only comes from someone who has stood on the Word long enough to know it holds: "Friend… it's all an illusion. It is not real. You have to know that God's Word will not lie."
Some days I received those words like water. Yes. Yes, I know. I believe it. And then some days, I have to be honest, I couldn't see the forest behind all of those trees. My feelings were so loud and my circumstances were so present. And my faith felt like something I was rehearsing rather than something I was living.
That tension, between the promise and the delay, between what you know and what you feel… is not a sign of weak faith. It is a sign of human faith. And as I studied Habakkuk 2:3, I found something buried in the Hebrew that gave me fresh revelation.
The word "tarry" appears twice in this verse. Most readers assume it means the same thing both times. But it does not. In the Hebrew, two entirely different words are at work, and the distinction between them is the very heartbeat of this entire passage.
The fresh revelation I received is…
There are two timelines running simultaneously in your story. There is your timeline, which is the human experience of māhah, and this is where the promise feels slow, where you've checked the clock a hundred times and cannot understand why God hasn't moved yet. And there is God's timeline, which is the achar reality, where not a single moment has been missed, not one appointed thing has slipped, and the moed is precisely where He said it would be.
I lived in that tension for two years. And I am here to tell you, both timelines are true at the same time. You are allowed to feel the delay. And God is still on schedule.
I heard Dr. Moody say in church on Sunday that…
“A faith that can’t be tested can’t be trusted.”
And throughout this trial, my faith was tested. Thoroughly. Publicly. Painfully. And yes… it wavered, I will not pretend otherwise. But here is what testing revealed: there was something on the other side of the waver. Something that, every time I came back to the Word, every time my friend spoke truth over me again, every time I chose to declare what I could not yet feel, rebuilt itself stronger than before.
Tested faith is not weak faith. It is proven faith. It is the faith that has looked impossibility in the face and decided to stay anyway. And that kind of faith, the kind forged in the fire of a two-year custody battle, of watching the unthinkable unfold, of learning how to cry in private and stand firm in public, that is the faith that wins.
The vision tarried. It was māhah, it appeared delayed, it seemed slow, it felt like it had forgotten my address. But it was never achar. It never missed its moed. And when it arrived, it arrived with such precision that only Heaven could have orchestrated it.
Victory came. And I am still catching my breath.
So, for every woman in the middle of her two years, here are 3 tips on:
How to Tarry
Without Losing Your Way
Separate the Feeling from the Fact
Māhah, which is the feeling of delay, is real. God does not discount it. He named it in the very verse He gave you about waiting. He is not asking you to pretend the delay doesn't sting, that the silence isn't heavy, that the waiting doesn't cost you something every single day.
But feelings are reporters, not prophets. They tell you what is happening in the room; they do not tell you what God has decreed for the future. Abraham believed God against hope, fully convinced that God was able to perform what He had promised (Romans 4:18–21). He didn't feel his way to faith. He chose it.
Practice this: When the feeling rises, be honest and acknowledge it. Write it down. Say to God, "Lord, it feels delayed. It feels like You've forgotten." And then, in the same breath, follow it with the fact: "But Your Word says it is not late. And I choose the fact over the feeling today."
Stay in the Company of Those Who Can See
There will be seasons of waiting when you simply cannot see clearly. Your pain is too close, and your grief is too loud. There are too many trees, and the forest has disappeared entirely. This is not failure. This is humanity.
This is why God places people in our lives who carry a vision for us when we cannot carry it ourselves. My friend, the one who kept saying "it's all an illusion, it is not real," was seeing what I could not. She was holding the vision on my behalf until I could hold it again myself.
Do not let pride or shame keep you from accepting that kind of companionship. Call that friend. Text her and tell her the truth about where you are. And then let her speak the Word over you until your spirit rises to meet it. Iron sharpens iron. You were not designed to wait alone.
Let the Test Develop You, Not Destroy You
God has to conquer you before He uses you. Please know that this is not punishment; it is preparation. The weight He is calling you to carry in the next chapter requires a strength that comfort cannot build. Only the furnace does that kind of work.
Isaiah 48:10 says He has tested His people in the furnace of affliction, not the furnace of ease. Because what comes out of fire is refined. What survives the heat is real. And a faith that has been through the fire is a faith that cannot be shaken by the next storm.
Ask yourself as you wait: What is God conquering in me right now? What pattern, what fear, what self-reliance is He dismantling so He can rebuild something stronger? The test is not a detour. The test is the training. Don't waste it by merely surviving it. Let it sharpen you. Let it sanctify you. Let it make you ready for what you've been asking God for.
The Vision Is Still Coming.
And It Will Not Miss You.
I need you to hear this as more than a newsletter ending. I need you to receive it as a word over your life, from a woman who stood in the dark of māhah and has now seen the light of the moed arrive.
What God has promised you is not dead. It is not lost, and it has not been reassigned to someone more deserving, more patient, more faithful. It is written in Heaven, and it is moving toward you with the precision of a God who does not miss appointed moments. The test did not disqualify you; it actually qualified you. The delay did not diminish the promise; it deepened your capacity to carry it. You have been conquered. And that means you are ready to be used.
The vision is yet for an appointed time. And beloved, your time is near.
