Hope in the Calling: The Waiting Teacher

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

-Isaiah 40:31 (KJV)

Waiting is rarely gentle. Ask any preschool teacher who has guided a line of squirming children, reminding tiny hands to stay to themselves while patiently counting ‘one, two, three…’- waiting can feel both endless and urgent all at once. It stretches us, exposes our impatience, and forces us to live in the gap between what we need now and what has not yet arrived. Teachers who have prayed for a breakthrough with a student, waited for a class to settle into community, or longed for a moment of clarity in the middle of daily chaos know that waiting can feel like a slow, quiet ache, while at other times it rushes in all at once, sharp and exhausting (like when the copier jams or the wi-fi goes down!). And yet, woven into that same ache is a trembling joy, a quiet anticipation that something good is forming beneath the surface, unmistakable anticipation that God is already moving toward us. Advent teaches us that the pain of waiting and the joy of anticipation are not opposites but close companions. The deeper the ache, the brighter the hope. This is the paradox we enter as the season begins: we are people who feel the weight of the world as it is, even as we prepare our hearts for the world as God has promised it will be. Advent begins in the place between what is and what we long for God to make new.

Teachers know this place well.

Teaching is full of waiting. Our entire vocation is rooted in waiting: waiting for growth to show, for understanding to take root, for trust to form, for breakthrough moments you cannot force. Some days you wait with eager expectation and confidence; other days you wait with a weary spirit that wonders whether your efforts truly matter. So much of the meaningful work in education happens below the surface, where your eyes can’t yet see it.

But waiting is so hard, especially now! We live in a fast, continuously accelerated world: students’ attention spans have shortened, digital noise competes for every second, and teachers are pressured to move faster, cover more, and keep pace with expectations that grow heavier each year. Research on attention and cognitive load shows that deep work, the kind of learning that forms character and cultivates wisdom, requires space, slowness, and sustained presence. Yet those are the very things our modern culture erodes.

It’s no wonder waiting feels frustrating, even foreign. Yet, Scripture insists that waiting is not wasted time, it is forming time.

This is where Advent begins, in the long stretch between promise and fulfillment. In the honest place where faith and fatigue often hold hands.

Isaiah reminds us: “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength.”

Not those who hurry.

Not those who accomplish.

Not those who hold everything together.

Not those whose students show adequate growth on their MAPS scores.

But those who wait, those who dare to trust that God is at work even when they cannot see it.

This kind of waiting is not weakness. It is worship, and it promises renewal.

Martin Luther emphasized the sacredness of waiting in ordinary work with one of his most beautiful convictions: that God is hidden in the ordinary, working through people who may not even realize He is using them. In other words, God works through ordinary callings: farmers, parents, shoemakers… and teachers. Luther believed so strongly in this that he once wrote, "The Christian shoemaker does his duty not by putting little crosses on shoes, but by making good shoes, because God is interested in good craftsmanship.” Your “craftsmanship” is the formation of human beings and their heart, mind, and spirit.

Your waiting, your small acts of faithfulness, your unseen patience- these are not small at all. They are the very places where God is at work through you. You practice it not in grand gestures but in the slow work of presence, compassion, and relationship.

That slow work often requires waiting. And God is there.

Always.

In teaching, the pressure to “do more” can be crushing. But an understanding of vocation reminds us that you were not created for endless output and accomplishments. You were created with purpose. For meaningful work shaped by grace. For relationships that heal and restore. For a calling in which Jesus Himself walks into your classroom with you.

During this Advent time of waiting, remember that your vocation is not measured by speed or productivity, but by faithfulness. By love. By the quiet courage to keep showing up, even when results feel delayed or unclear, and even when exhaustion is at its peak. Today, in this first step into Advent, hear this deeply: Your waiting is not wasted. It is worship. It is your participation in God’s slow, beautiful work of renewal in both your students and in you.

Advent stands at the doorway of your classroom and says: Pause. You don’t need to outpace your limits. You are invited to rely, not strive. When you wait on the Lord, you are reminded that you do not teach alone. The strength you need does not come from your effort but from God’s enduring presence in your classroom, in your students, and in you.

Waiting with Purpose

Where might patience become holy ground in your work right now? A student whose progress is coming slowly? A lesson that feels stuck? A colleague with whom collaboration is challenging? A season of personal fatigue or exhaustion? Take those places to God as you long for His renewal.

Prayer

Lord, renew my strength as I wait on You. Teach me to wait with purpose, not frustration. When my work feels slow or unseen, remind me that You are present in every ordinary moment. Help me trust that You are at work in the places I cannot yet see, in my students and in me. Renew my strength as I rely on You. Shape my patience with Your grace, and teach me to trust the quiet, steady work You are doing in my students and in my own heart. In this season of Advent, anchor me in hope that rests in You alone. Amen.