Ryan Gunstream, Highland 11th Ward
“I’ve spent so many nights pleading with God for needed changes: for the job to come through, for the pain to lift, for the door I was so sure was meant for me to finally swing open. I’d lay out my perfect plan in prayer: “Lord, if You could just do this by next month, in this way, it would fix everything.” But more often than not, the answer was silence, or a gentle, “not yet,” or sometimes a clear “no” that left me staring at the ceiling wondering why He didn’t see how desperately I needed it. I used to get frustrated, even angry, thinking, “Doesn’t He know what I’m going through? Doesn’t He care about me?” Looking back, I realize those moments of unmet expectation were where faith started to stretch beyond what felt comfortable. His ways really are higher—Isaiah 55:8-9 isn’t just a nice verse; it’s the hard truth I’ve lived when I have to realize that God does not work for me when I demand it.
There have been seasons—honestly, more than I’d like to admit—where waiting felt like punishment. I’d watch others get their breakthroughs while I stayed stuck, questioning if I’d done something wrong or if my prayers just weren’t strong enough. Yet in the quiet, God kept showing me that His delays weren’t denials; they were protection, preparation, even mercy. What I begged for in my shortsightedness would have hurt me more than helped. He was working on things I couldn’t see: deeper trust, stronger character, a heart that leans on Him instead of outcomes. Ecclesiastes 3:11 has become a lifeline for me: “He hath made everything beautiful in his time.” Surrendering my timeline has been one of the hardest lessons, but it’s also where I’ve felt real peace.
Now, when I look over the years, I can trace His hand in every “no,” every long wait, every unexpected detour. Romans 8:28 and D&C 122:7 aren’t abstract theology to me anymore; they are personal history. All those things I thought would break me? God wove them together for good: deeper dependence, clearer purpose, a testimony I wouldn’t trade. I still catch myself trying to rush Him or dictate the “how,” but I’m learning to rest more easily in the truth that He loves me too much to give me everything I demand when I demand it. What feels like absence is usually His nearness in disguise, shaping me for something far better than my original plan.”