The question haunts most of us at some point: “What is God’s will for my life?” We lie awake at night, scroll through social media watching everyone else’s highlight reel, and wonder if we’ve somehow missed our calling or taken a wrong turn.

But what if we’ve been asking the wrong question all along?

Perhaps the better question isn’t “What is God’s will for my life?” but rather “How does my life fit into God’s will?” This shift in perspective changes everything. We aren’t the main character in this story. The script doesn’t start with us; it starts with Him.

God is unfolding a massive narrative on this planet—one that puts His glory and goodness on full display. From the very first page of Genesis to the final chapter of Revelation, God has one unshakeable objective: He wants a praising people in a Promised Land. It was His design in Eden, and it remains His design today. Everything happening in between is simply God refusing to let anyone ruin His blueprint.

The Deliverer in a Basket

The story of Moses in Exodus 2 perfectly illustrates how God weaves individual lives into His grand narrative. When we slow down and read this familiar account carefully, we discover layers of meaning we might have overlooked.

Moses’ mother “saw that he was a fine child” and hid him for three months. That phrase—”saw that it was good”—echoes back to creation itself. Then she placed him in a waterproofed basket sealed with pitch, language that deliberately recalls Noah’s ark. Creation. Re-creation. And now, the birth of a deliverer.

The courage of the women in this story cannot be overstated. The midwives who defied Pharaoh’s death decree. Moses’ mother who refused to surrender her son. His sister Miriam, who boldly approached Pharaoh’s daughter with a solution. And Pharaoh’s daughter herself, who showed compassion when she could have shown cruelty.

God doesn’t just provide for Moses’ safety—He lavishes blessing. Moses’ mother gets paid wages to nurse the child who is already hers. It’s over-the-top provision, foreshadowing how God would later have the Egyptians pay the Hebrews with wealth as they left slavery.

Moses grows up navigating two worlds. His Hebrew name means “drawn out of the water.” His Egyptian name means “son.” He’s perfectly positioned—raised in Pharaoh’s house with elite education and royal connections, yet knowing his Hebrew roots.

The Agony of Taking Control

Then we encounter a forty-year gap in the narrative. Moses is now a grown man who sees an Egyptian beating a Hebrew slave. Instead of trusting God’s timing, Moses takes matters into his own hands. He looks left, looks right, murders the Egyptian, and buries him in the sand.

He tries to force the deliverance. He tries to be the savior on his own terms.

It completely blows up in his face. His own people reject him, Pharaoh puts a hit out on him, and Moses has to run for his life into the desert of Midian.

Here’s the painful truth: Moses at forty years old had the education, the connections, the passion, and the calling. What he lacked was the character. He was infected with self-reliance. Before Moses could be used by God, the arrogant Egyptian prince had to die in the sand so the humble shepherd of Yahweh could be born.

Forty Years in the Wilderness

Moses goes from potential savior to lowly shepherd—an occupation Egyptians considered an abomination. He marries, has a son, and names him Gershom, meaning “I have become a foreigner in a foreign land.”

Then he waits. And waits. And waits.

Forty more years pass. Forty years of tending sheep in the dirt. Forty years of absolute silence. Moses is stuck in the middle of nowhere, separated from his people, having given up on his dreams of deliverance.

Meanwhile, back in Egypt, the Israelites continue groaning under slavery. Generations live and die under Pharaoh’s whip, wondering if God will ever show up.

It all looks so dark. From a human perspective, this has become a story about massive failure.

Four Verbs That Change Everything

But then we read these words in Exodus 2:23-25: “During those many days the king of Egypt died, and the people of Israel groaned because of their slavery and cried out for help. Their cry for rescue from slavery came up to God. And God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob. God saw the people of Israel—and God knew.”

Four verbs. Four game-changing realities:

God heard. Not just articulate prayers, but groaning. Your pain has His ear. Even when you don’t have words anymore—just tears, exhaustion, and groaning—God hears.

God remembered. Not because He forgot, but because it was time to act. When God “remembers” His covenant, it means He’s moving to fulfill His promises.

God saw. You are not invisible. Your struggle is not out of His line of sight. He sees the unfairness, the loneliness, the anxiety that keeps you awake at 2 AM.

God knew. This is intimate, experiential knowledge. He knows the weight of your chains, the sting of your pain, and exactly what He’s going to do about it.

The Waiting Room Is a Workshop

When you realize God is working behind the scenes, you understand that the waiting room isn’t an empty void. It’s a workshop.

We spend all our time and energy desperately trying to change our circumstances. But God is actively using our circumstances to change us.

It took forty seconds to get Moses out of Egypt, but it took forty years to get Egypt out of Moses.

So the question becomes: Who are you becoming while you wait?

Are you becoming bitter, cynical, manipulative—trying to force outcomes? Or are you becoming softer, more humble, finally realizing you cannot control your life, and that’s okay because the God who hears, remembers, sees, and knows is on the throne?

Your waiting is not wasted. God isn’t just preparing the blessing for you; He’s preparing you for the blessing.

The Ultimate Deliverer

Moses eventually became a deliverer, but he was only a shadow pointing to the ultimate Deliverer—Jesus Christ.

When Jesus faced temptation in the wilderness, He refused to take shortcuts or grasp for control. In Gethsemane, facing the most agonizing waiting room in history, He could have called down ten thousand angels. Instead, He opened His hands and said, “Not my will, but yours be done.”

Because Jesus was willing to wait—willing to surrender control all the way to the cross and through three days in the tomb—the grave was beaten and our ultimate Exodus was accomplished.

If He loved you enough to bleed for you, can you trust Him with your waiting room?

You can stop striving. Stop forcing it. Open your hands and say, “Lord, I hate this season. I hate the waiting. But I trust You.”

When you do, the waiting changes. Because you realize you aren’t just waiting for something—you’re waiting with Someone who holds your entire life in His hands.