When Waiting Becomes Worth It

At 36, Amaka had learned to put on a brave face. Outwardly, she was the successful branch manager of a bank in Enugu,  stylish, confident, and respected. But behind closed doors, she sometimes cried into her pillow at night.

Every Sunday, after service, someone would whisper:
“Amaka, don’t you see you’re not getting younger? All your mates are married. What exactly are you waiting for?”

At first, she would smile politely and wave it off. But deep inside, the words stung. She had prayed, fasted, joined prayer groups, and even agreed to awkward blind dates her cousins arranged. Nothing worked.

So instead of chasing love, she poured her heart into her work and volunteering. She mentored young girls, teaching them financial literacy and confidence. “If I can’t have my own family yet,” she thought, “I’ll pour love where it’s needed.”

Meanwhile, in Lagos, Kunle was going through his own wilderness season. At 39, he had built a modest printing business, but his personal life was barren. His last serious relationship had ended in betrayal six years ago. The heartbreak had left him cautious, almost cold.

Friends mocked him:
“Kunle, you’ll soon clock 40! Just marry anyone available. You’re too picky!”

He would chuckle and reply, “I’d rather wait than settle for someone I can’t walk life’s road with.”

But alone at night, staring at his ceiling fan spinning slowly, the loneliness felt unbearable.

The turning point came at a leadership retreat in Abuja, hosted by a Christian network. Amaka attended as a volunteer coordinator, helping with logistics. Kunle came as a participant eager to sharpen his leadership skills.

Their paths crossed on the second day, during a breakout session. The facilitator asked:
“How many of you believe your waiting season has been a blessing, not a curse?”

The room went silent until Amaka raised her hand. Her voice was steady.

“I used to think waiting was punishment,” she said. “But over the years, I’ve realised it’s been preparation. I’ve learned patience. I’ve found my identity outside of marriage. And I’ve learned how to love selflessly by serving others. Waiting has shaped me.”

Kunle watched her, struck by the conviction in her words. After the session, he walked up to her.

“Excuse me,” he said shyly. “You spoke with so much depth. I’m Kunle.”

She smiled politely. “Thank you. I’m Amaka.”

That brief introduction turned into a two-hour dinner conversation later that night. They spoke about life, loneliness, disappointments, and faith. For the first time in years, both felt understood.

As the weeks rolled by, they kept in touch. Calls turned into video chats. Chats turned into visits.

One evening, Amaka admitted:
“Kunle, sometimes I wonder if my waiting has made me too… independent. I’m used to doing everything myself. I don’t know if I can share my space again.”

Kunle paused, then replied gently:
“I understand. I’ve had the same fear. But maybe the waiting wasn’t just about being alone… maybe it was preparing us to recognize each other.”

Still, it wasn’t all smooth. Old scars surfaced. Amaka sometimes doubted if he was serious. Kunle sometimes withdrew, afraid of getting hurt again.

One evening, after a minor argument about long-distance calls, Amaka snapped:
“Maybe you’re just like the rest — not ready to commit. Maybe I should stop hoping.”

Kunle’s voice broke:
“Amaka, please don’t say that. I know I struggle to open up, but that’s not because I don’t care. It’s because I’ve been burned before. Give me time. I promise I’ll show you that I’m not going anywhere.”

Her tears softened. She realised his wounds were as deep as hers.

Months later, Kunle travelled to Enugu to surprise her at one of her mentorship programs. As he watched her speak passionately to a group of teenage girls, something clicked.

That night, as they walked together under the soft streetlights, he stopped abruptly.

“Amaka, I used to think waiting was God forgetting me. But now I see,  He was preparing me for you. Will you let me walk this road with you, not just as a friend, but as my wife?”

Amaka froze. Tears welled in her eyes. “Kunle, do you know how many nights I cried thinking I’d never hear those words? Yes… Yes, I will.”

Their wedding, a year later, was not just a celebration of love; it was a testimony. At the reception, Kunle held the microphone and said:

“I once thought waiting was wasted time. But I now know waiting is never wasted when it’s in God’s hands. Every lonely night, every prayer, every tear — it all led me here. If you are still waiting, don’t despise it. It is not the end of your story.”

Amaka squeezed his hand, whispering through happy tears, “And this is only the beginning of ours.”

Waiting may feel like a delay, but it is actually a form of preparation. It builds resilience, patience, and clarity, qualities that sustain love when it finally arrives.