God Takes His Sweet Time

“God takes His sweet time” isn’t usually something we say with peace in our hearts and a smile on our faces. Most days, it feels like a bitter pill—especially when we’re tired of waiting, hurting, or watching others move forward while we feel left behind.

But what if the delay isn’t punishment…but preparation? What if the dream that feels postponed isn’t lost—it’s just being refined? The words, “God takes His sweet time” have come to shape my entire life.

If you’re in a season of wondering where God is—or why the dream in your heart feels stuck—please know you’re not alone. I have often asked those questions. I have come to learn that each time, in His sweet, deliberate way (and timing), God has shown me that what felt like delay was actually His deep hidden preparation. What felt like the end of a dream was often the beginning of something far more beautiful than I could have imagined.

I’d like to tell you about three important chapters of my story—and what each taught me about the sacred art of waiting. They all have one thing in common: God took His sweet time.

The year was 1957. I was a frightened six-year-old girl, sitting curled up in the corner of a dark closet, knees hugged tightly to my chest, hoping my father wouldn’t find me.

That same year, I could also be found kneeling by my parent’s empty bed, gazing up at the large wooden crucifix on the wall, begging Jesus to take me away.

By the time I was six, I already knew life wasn’t safe. I had been sick for some time with what was eventually diagnosed as tuberculosis. It had settled in the lymph nodes under my right jaw, causing me to look like I had the mumps. When the swelling didn’t subside, doctors ran a series of tests and discovered the true cause.

What followed was a blur of painful treatments, surgery, medicine that made me feel sick, and penicillin shots every other day for months. I was isolated from neighborhood kids whose parents were afraid of my illness. I was in the hospital the day Alaska became a state, while my family celebrated with the rest of Anchorage.

I lived in a home where I didn’t feel safe. I was being abused by my father, and my mother either didn’t know or wasn’t able to protect me. So, the day I knelt by my parent’s bed and begged Jesus to take me, I meant it. When He didn’t—I walked away from Him.

I kept going to church—my father was a devout Catholic who took us to church every Sunday (ironic, I know)—but my heart was shut down. For decades after I left for college, I stayed away. I didn’t realize until much later that, even though I walked away from Jesus, He never walked away from me.

He was there all along.
He had plans for me.
But He took His sweet time—for good reasons.

Fast forward to 2001. I had been working in business for over 25 years and was beginning to feel restless. I enrolled that summer in a nine-month coach training program. I felt excited. Energized. Like something new and life-giving was taking root.

Then the crash happened.

One sunny day in Seattle, I was rear-ended by two joy-riding teenagers. My car was smashed between two vehicles, and although I could walk away, I would soon learn I had sustained a traumatic brain injury. In the days that followed, I couldn’t think straight, was bumping into furniture, and couldn’t hold a thought from one room to the next.

The dream of becoming a coach died on impact.

Much rehab followed. Specialists. A neurologist who told me my cognitive functioning may never return. I lost my career, my hope, my momentum. I lost what I thought was my future.

And yet—God was not finished.

A counselor at the Department of Vocational Rehab placed me in a volunteer peer-counseling position at a crisis pregnancy center. I was nervous, unsure whether I could be helpful to anyone in my condition.

But something clicked. I discovered that counseling these women came naturally. I was really good at it, and it used a part of my brain that hadn’t been impacted by the accident. For the first time, I saw how God could take my broken self and still work through me.

That experience led me to pursue a master’s degree and become credentialed as a licensed mental health counselor. In the process, I discovered something important: God doesn’t waste anything. He used the crash to redirect me to something so much more aligned with who He created me to be.

But He still wasn’t in a hurry.

God knew that Dare to Dream couldn’t grow from my own striving. It had to be rooted in wholeness. Every old issue that had been buried needed to be addressed and healed. If only I had understood that at the time.

So many of us misread the middle. We think we’ve failed, or worse—that God has abandoned us—when in reality, He is forming us. We think we’ve lost our way, when God is actually leading us deeper. We think God is punishing us, when He’s protecting us from launching something too soon.

In Anatomy of Change, a course I’ll be offering again soon, we talk about how waiting seasons are often the most transformational periods of our lives. God often does His deepest work in the slow, silent in-between.

Those transformational experiences help us surrender control so we can finally partner with God in creating a life that reflects His heart and love, not our effort. It’s where our false identities fall away—where trust in Him is forged.

During this long season, God gave me an image I’ll never forget. He showed me that I was like a bucking bronco inside a rodeo gate—desperate to be released. I kicked, strained, and tried to force the gate open.

But God told me that if He let me out, I would destroy myself—and possibly the dream. “Dare to Dream is Mine,” He said, “not yours.” I needed that reminder.

That image changed me. I slowly stopped striving, stopped trying to push the dream forward on my own. I surrendered—again and again. Soon things began to shift. Each time I surrendered control, God revealed the next piece of the path.

God started bringing people and opportunities into my life that I could never have orchestrated. A marketing mentor. A writing coach. Speaking invitations. A vision for my Dare to Dream books—and the courage to write and publish them. A friend to whom God whispered five simple words for me that pierced my heart and kept me moving forward: “God Eats Impossible for Breakfast.” I now know the truth of those few words.

That shift—from pushing to partnering—is the heart of the transformation I now teach. We aren’t called to hustle our way into healing. We’re called to co-create with God, walking with Him moment by moment, letting Him shape not just the dream, but the dreamer.

I want to offer you this reflection. Take a deep breath. Invite God into this moment.