When Timing Meets Alignment
There’s a quiet kind of wisdom that comes with pausing.
It’s not about giving up … it’s about stepping back far enough to see the whole picture.
Recently, I had to make two big decisions: to reschedule my retreat and to realign my book launch. Both were rooted in faith and fueled by purpose. Every detail had been carefully crafted … the vision clear, the energy behind it on fire. And yet, there was this still, unmistakable sense that something was off … not in spirit, but in timing.
I’ve learned to pay attention to those whispers. They don’t roar; they hum softly beneath the surface, a sacred nudge from the One who sees the path from beginning to end. Sometimes, even when we’re walking in full alignment, God asks us to pause … not because we’re on the wrong road, but because He’s preparing something better up ahead.
For years, I’ve believed that alignment meant momentum … that once you found your path, things would naturally fall into place. But what I’m learning in this season is that alignment also invites stillness. It asks for the courage to wait when every part of you wants to sprint. It asks for the faith to trust divine rhythm when your plans seem to unravel.
The truth is, you can be in alignment and still be asked to wait.
That realization is both humbling and freeing.
The retreat I planned was meant to be a gathering of hearts … a sanctuary for rest, creativity, and soulful reconnection. The book, Tattered and Mended, has been a labor of love for over a year, a weaving together of stories about loss, legacy, and renewal. Both hold deep meaning for me. And yet, when the time came to move forward, I sensed a resistance that didn’t come from fear; it came from wisdom.
The kind that says: “Wait. The soil isn’t ready. The hearts meant to receive this haven’t yet arrived.”
That’s not an easy message to hear when you’ve invested your time, heart, and hope. But I’ve been reminded that there is a difference between doing good work and doing it in God’s time. Timing shapes everything … how the message is received, how energy flows, how transformation happens.
I’ve seen it in my creative process over and over again.
A painting that felt stuck suddenly comes alive when I return days later with fresh eyes.
A design idea that seemed uncertain blossoms after a quiet walk or a prayerful pause.
A plan that once felt urgent finds its natural unfolding when I surrender it.
These moments remind me that divine timing isn’t about delay; it’s about alignment on a higher level. It’s the unseen orchestration that ensures we’re not just doing the right thing, but doing it at the right time, with the right people, in the right way.
So, I’ve given myself permission to pause.
To not rush what God is still refining.
To trust that sometimes, slowing down is the most faithful step you can take.
This space between “now” and “not yet” is tender. It can feel like standing in the doorway between what was and what will be … one foot in purpose, the other in patience. But it’s also sacred ground. It’s where faith deepens, clarity returns, and creativity renews itself.
Waiting doesn’t mean nothing is happening. It means unseen things are being set in motion.
It means God is weaving threads we can’t see, preparing connections, opportunities, and outcomes beyond our imagination.
I’ve come to understand that the pause protects the promise.
It gives your vision time to grow its roots before it blooms. It protects your heart from launching too soon out of pressure or perfectionism. It prepares you for the fullness of what’s next, so when it arrives, you can hold it with grace instead of exhaustion.
The older I get, the more I see that waiting is not wasted time. It’s sacred time.
It’s the quiet conversation between you and God that shapes the next chapter.
It’s where your trust muscles strengthen and your creative voice refines.
And maybe that’s the real invitation: to stop equating productivity with progress, and instead see patience as a form of devotion.
When I pray and set my intention, I always pray for this … or something better.
It’s my way of saying, “God, I trust You with what I cannot yet see. If my plan isn’t the best plan, I surrender it so You can make it so.” That prayer has carried me through so many transitions and tender pauses. It’s a reminder that even when I’m uncertain, God’s view is wider than mine: His pace wiser, His plan kinder.
So for now, I wait. I revisit the pages of my book with gentler eyes. I listen for what the retreat wants to become rather than forcing it into what I thought it should be. I let the stillness teach me.
Because in the pause, I find peace again.
In the waiting, I find clarity.
And in both, I find a deeper trust that God’s “not yet” is still a “yes” … just one that’s being shaped for something better.
Maybe the timing wasn’t off at all. Maybe it’s being fine-tuned for something divine.
And I know, when the moment arrives, it will unfold exactly as it was always meant to … gracefully, beautifully, right on time.
Because in the waiting, and in the pause, I know it will be even better than I could imagine.
A Thought to Carry
“Faithfulness isn’t a feeling. It’s a steady movement in the same direction, even when the outcome is still unseen.”
— Ruth Chou Simons“To everything there is a season,
A time for every purpose under heaven.”— Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NKJV)
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