I’ve come to notice something about conversations—the most meaningful ones don’t always happen in the middle of the noise.
They happen in the waiting.
At the end of a gathering, when everyone else has headed out the door and someone lingers just a little longer.
In the quiet pause after a question that wasn’t easy to ask.
In a hospital waiting room, where we are more vulnerable.
In the moments when you can tell someone has something on their heart, but they’re not quite ready to say it yet.
Those are what I’ve come to think of as "waiting conversations".
They don’t force their way in. They don’t compete for attention. They just…wait.
And if we’re paying attention—if we’re not rushing to the next thing—we get the privilege of being there when they finally unfold. My problem is that often I am rushing to the next thing, but I'm trying to be more aware.
I’ve had more of these conversations than I can count. A young adult hanging back after everyone else leaves. A friend who says, “Do you have a minute?” and you can hear in their voice that it’s not really a minute they need. A moment when someone starts with something small, but you can tell there’s more just beneath the surface.
These conversations aren’t efficient. They don’t fit neatly into a schedule. They often come at inconvenient times. They are often interruptions . . .but good can come from an interruption.
These conversations are holy in a way that rushed conversations can never be.
Because waiting conversations require something from both people.
They require courage from the one who speaks.
And they require patience from the one who stays. Patience is not always my virtue . . .so I'm still learning.
"Waiting conversations" remind me that not everything important can be hurried. Trust is often built in the pauses. Sometimes the best thing we can offer someone isn’t advice or answers—but simply our presence, our willingness to sit in the moment and not rush them through it.
In a world that moves fast and values quick responses, waiting conversations feel like a quiet rebellion.
They say: You matter enough for me to slow down.
They say: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
And every single time, without fail, they make my life better.
Not because they’re easy—but because they’re real.
So maybe today, I’ll pay a little more attention to the moments in between. I’ll notice who lingers. I’ll resist the urge to hurry along.
I want to be the kind of person who is available for others . . .because so many people have made themselves available to me over the years.
Just in case you haven't realized it yet, some of the most meaningful conversations in life…
are the ones that are simply waiting to happen.
Has someone been there for you when you needed to have that conversation? Do you make yourselves available to others?
.png)
