The Promise Might Look Different. But, It's Still Coming

Every year, I have a countdown in my head for the second weekend in October. If you’re from Northeast Ohio, you probably know why: this is usually when the fall leaves are at their best. Trees turn bright red, yellow, and orange. The air feels different, and even normal everyday things seem a little more exciting. For a few days, it’s like stepping into an episode of Gilmore Girls. It’s magical and totally worth the wait.

So, like I always do, I started counting down. But this year, something felt off. The weekend came closer, but the leaves weren’t changing. A lot of the trees just looked dark and bare. I thought maybe it was just my neighborhood. But as I drove around, I saw the same thing everywhere.

That’s when I started to feel anxious. I told myself, “Fall always comes. Maybe it’s just late this year.”

Social media didn’t help. My feed was filled with articles explaining that the leaves wouldn’t be as colorful this year because of the heat and lack of rain.

So I gave up. I told myself fall just wasn’t going to happen. Maybe next year.

Then one day, I went for a walk. Halfway through the trail, I started noticing little bits of color - pinks, reds, and yellows. The more I walked, the more I saw. Suddenly, the trees were glowing with the fall colors I’d been waiting for.

It came late. But it came.

That moment made me think. How many times do I do this in life? I expect something, and when it doesn’t happen the way I imagined, I start to doubt. I assume maybe it’s not going to happen at all.

It’s easy to question a promise when there’s no sign that it’s coming.

Whether you’re waiting for healing, clarity, stability, or hope after loss, there’s always that voice that says: "What if it never happens?"

When we don’t see change, our minds jump to conclusions: "Maybe I misheard God. Maybe it’s not meant for me."

But fall still came. It just didn’t look how or when I expected. And the same is true for our lives. Just because something is taking longer (or showing up in a different way) doesn’t mean it’s not coming.

I’ve started to wonder if the lesson isn’t just about waiting, but about how we wait. Do we keep looking for beauty? Do we let little signs of hope remind us that good things are still possible? Or do we give up too soon?

I’ve had seasons that felt really heavy - loss, heartbreak, and hard change. But even in those moments, small signs of hope would find me. A kind text. The perfect cup of coffee. A good laugh. They were little things, but they reminded me that life was still happening. And that healing takes time.

So if you're feeling stuck or tired of waiting, here’s something to think about: What are you holding onto right now? What are you trusting God for?

Sometimes we keep those things locked inside. But when we name them, and give them back to God, it can shift everything. It turns silent hoping into honest surrender.

So where can you begin? 

1. Name the promise you're holding onto.
Say it out loud or write it down. Even if it feels scary.

2. Identify what’s speaking against that promise.
Is it fear? Doubt? A person? Social media? Be real about what’s making it hard to trust.

3. Reframe the lie with truth.
What does God say about this? Find a scripture or truth that reminds you what’s real.

4. Ask God for the next step (not the full plan).
You don’t need to map out everything. Just ask for the next small move.

5. Trust that what you can’t see is still growing.
Like the leaves, change might be quiet and hidden, but that doesn’t mean it’s not happening.

You don’t need perfect timing to believe that fall is still coming. And you don’t need all the answers to believe that hope is still real.

The promise might look different than you expected. But it’s still coming.

Because I know how hard it can be to hold onto that truth (especially in the middle of waiting) I created a small reminder for you.

It’s a digital wallpaper for your phone, something simple you can carry with you throughout the day. For the moments when doubt creeps in or your circumstances feel louder than hope, I hope it gently reminds you: Even so, it’s still coming. 

You can grab that here.