I have a promise from the Prince of Peace, the hope of something yet to come.
Even though I cannot see what’s coming, I trust in the One
who hung the stars in the sky, and still knows me by name.
So I don’t have to ask, “Why?” when things still look the same.
It’s been a little while now since I was first told
of a miracle I won’t know how to explain or unfold.
My friends have started to doubt, and my family just mocks me
for believing in a way out—for believing in the unseen.
So I ask the Almighty King when the stage will be set
for the wonders He will bring, but He simply says, “Not yet.”
Day after day, night after night, everything seems to stay the same.
I would give up my daily fight, but instead, I choose to pray
and put my trust in the One whose thoughts are higher than mine—
For when all is said and done, I may see a good end in my time.
But the days are getting shorter as the nights go on and on.
I feel myself slip into disorder; perhaps there’s something wrong.
Have I prayed enough today? Did I fail to get it right?
Do I carry enough anointing to make it through the night?
I’m on my knees again, asking if this is some sort of test.
But when I ask my God for answers, His gentle response is, “Not yet.”
I find myself obedient once again as I walk toward a place I do not know.
Arm-in-arm with those I call “friends,” but they are acting more like foes
as they no longer hold my hand, but instead slip shackles on my wrists.
This new pain, this weight, I don’t understand—how did it ever come to this?
I scream for HELP! I want my freedom. I call for the only aid I can get.
But when I cry out to His heavenly kingdom, my God only says, “Not yet.”
This weight on my hands is so heavy, it’s making it harder to praise.
My steps are weak and unsteady. Do I have to be the one who stays
patient in the middle of a pit where my so-called friends left me
to waste and wither and sit until there is nothing left to see?
I’m six feet deep in a hole dug by someone else’s hands.
It’s getting harder for me to control my peace when I no longer understand
the path God has set before me. Is this really as good as it gets?
I ask my Redeemer if He will save me, but He gently replies, “Not yet.”
So I trust and I wait, I sit and I stay as the weight of life builds on my coffin.
It is quiet and lonely as I weep and pray in this place, left behind and forgotten.
I grow tired and restless from stillness. How can I pass such a test?
I beg and I plead for fulfillment of this trial, seeking my final rest.
I don’t want to stay any longer— I ask for my tombstone to be set.
But when I hear from my Heavenly Responder, He whispers through the darkness, “Not yet.”
But I can’t take it anymore, just look—I have scars from when I tried to get away!
Then He shows me His hands, and says, “But look at the scars from when I chose to stay.”
So I listen once more to the Gospel, for if my King defeated Calvary,
then maybe I can trust the Faithful One in taking care of me.
I sit still and know that He is true, believing my God will make a way
as He gives me new life—this breakthrough, I find, comes by finally outgrowing my grave.
I’ve learned that my scars are not shameful, but testimonies of what I once was.
They tell the story of a God who is faithful, the One who is merciful and just.
The darkness no longer frightens me, and this storm is nothing new.
It is true that sometimes, I cannot see, but my God will always come through.
So when you see me wait, and wonder why I do not fear or fret,
it’s because this storm won’t last forever—not with the God of “not yet.”
— February 13, 2023