562_Learning to wait for God’s salvation (Psalm 119:81-88)

Psalm 119:81-88 My soul faints with longing for your salvation,
but I have put my hope in your word.
82 My eyes fail, looking for your promise;
I say, “When will you comfort me?”
83 Though I am like a wineskin in the smoke,
I do not forget your decrees.
84 How long must your servant wait?
When will you punish my persecutors?
85 The arrogant dig pits to trap me,
contrary to your law.
86 All your commands are trustworthy;
help me, for I am being persecuted without cause.
87 They almost wiped me from the earth,
but I have not forsaken your precepts.
88 In your unfailing love preserve my life,
that I may obey the statutes of your mouth.

There was a young missionary couple who left their comfortable life to serve among an unreached tribe in Africa. Disease, isolation, and constant danger surrounded them. They did not make even one disciple for Christ after years of labor. Discouraged, the husband wrote in his journal, “My soul faints for God’s salvation, but I still put my hope in His word.” Shortly afterward, he fell ill and died. His wife continued the work alone for many years, until she too became too old to carry on. Many years later, that tribe came to Christ. They remembered the words and kindness of that couple, who had waited on God even when they could not see him at work.

Waiting for God is never easy. Yet His faithfulness is not measured by the speed of His answers. Scripture repeatedly reminds us that waiting on God is not a mark of weakness but of faith. Psalm 119:81–88 brings before us one who waits—not with bitterness or resignation, but with steadfast hope.

The psalmist begins, “My soul faints with longing for your salvation, but I have put my hope in your word.” Though he has nothing left but longing, the assurance of God’s faithfulness to his word sustains him. It seems that God’s help is delayed. Yet he is not looking elsewhere for rescue. His eyes remain fixed on the Word of God. This is the language of faith refined through trial. He knows that God’s salvation alone will last and that all other forms of escape are empty.

This is not stoicism; it is faith born out of deep communion. When he says, “I have put my hope in your word,” he is declaring that God’s promises are more real than his pain. Many of us, in moments of silence or delay, are tempted to fill the gap with our own solutions. But faith waits—not because it is blind, but because it knows the goodness of God. God’s delays are not His denials.

He continues, “My eyes fail, looking for your promise; I say, ‘When will you comfort me?’” The psalmist is not questioning God’s goodness, but crying out for its manifestation. “When will You comfort me?” he asks. The same question echoes across the pages of Scripture—from Abraham waiting for a promised son, to Joseph waiting in prison, to Mary and Martha waiting for Jesus to come to Lazarus. Waiting is part of the believer’s story, a divine school where faith learns to trust not in timing, but in the One who writes the times.

The psalmist’s cry recalls an ancient voice from Genesis. As Jacob neared the end of his life, he called his sons to bless them. But when he looked prophetically at Dan, he saw danger: “Dan will be a snake by the roadside, a viper along the path.” It was a troubling vision—one that revealed deceit and destruction in Dan’s future. Therefore, in that dark moment, Jacob prayed, “For your salvation, I wait, O Lord” (Genesis 49:18). It is the first mention of “salvation” in scripture. Jacob looked beyond the danger revealed to the divine redemption. He remembered God’s ancient promise that the seed of the woman would crush the serpent’s head. His hope was not in his sons or his plans, but in the salvation that belongs to God alone.

That same hope breathes through the psalmist’s lament. “Though I am like a wineskin in the smoke, I do not forget your decrees.” In the ancient Near East, wineskins were made of animal hide. When hung in a smoky tent, they would dry out, blacken, and sometimes crack. The psalmist sees himself as wracked by sorrow, darkened by affliction, almost brittle. Even then, he clings to the Word. The fire may consume his comfort, but not his faith.

Then he asks, “How long must your servant wait? When will you punish my persecutors?” These are not the words of impatience but of longing for justice. His enemies have trapped him unfairly, digging pits in violation of God’s law. The arrogant seem to triumph while the faithful suffer. But rather than taking revenge, the psalmist turns to God’s character: “All your commands are trustworthy; help me, for I am being persecuted without cause.” His ground is not his own merit but the integrity of God’s word. Even when wronged, he believes that God’s law is just.

The next line deepens the sorrow: “They almost wiped me from the earth, but I have not forsaken your precepts.” Many would have given up, saying, “What’s the use?” But he holds fast. Finally, he ends with a prayer of surrender: “In your unfailing love, preserve my life, that I may obey the statutes of your mouth.” He is not asking for life so he can enjoy comfort, success, or vindication, but so that he can continue to honor God. He longs to live, not for himself, but for obedience. That is the essence of waiting for God’s salvation—to desire His glory more than our relief.

Jacob’s cry and the psalmist’s song both teach us that waiting for God’s salvation is not passive resignation. It is active trust that continues to hope, pray, and obey when the light is dim. To wait on God is to live in expectation that His promises are true even in the face of the worst circumstances.

This waiting requires courage because it often feels like walking in the dark. It is easier to seize control, to scheme like Jacob once did before he learned to trust. But when we strive in our own strength, we end up like Dan—crafty yet destructive, clever yet lost. Human wisdom apart from God always leads us into serpentine paths. That is why Jacob’s final prayer, “For your salvation, I wait,” carries such weight. It marks a man who has wrestled, been broken, and finally learned that only God’s salvation endures.

Jesus, the true Lion of the tribe of Judah, has triumphed over sin and death. When we ask, “When will you comfort me?” the cross and the empty tomb answer, “I already have.” God’s ultimate comfort is not in the removal of trials but in the presence of a Redeemer who walks with us through them. His salvation is not only future—it is present. Yet, we still wait for its full revelation when He returns to make all things new. So even our waiting is touched by victory.

Waiting for God’s salvation may mean enduring injustice like the psalmist, or sorrow like Jacob, or delay like the missionary couple. But in each story, the same thread runs through—God is faithful, even when unseen. Faith is not the absence of struggle; it is the refusal to let struggle define the end of the story.

When the soul feels faint, prayers remain unanswered, our heart grows weary. Perhaps you’ve been waiting for healing, reconciliation, direction, or deliverance. You wonder, “When will You comfort me, Lord?” Take heart. The One who kept His promise to Jacob, who strengthened the psalmist, who raised Jesus from the grave, will not fail you. His timing may test you, but His purpose will bless you.

As we wait, let us keep hoping in His word, remembering His decrees, and keep obeying His commands. Waiting is not wasted when it deepens trust and shapes obedience. God uses waiting to make our faith real and our character strong.

So let us learn to wait for God’s salvation—not with resignation, but with expectation; not in despair, but in devotion. Let our prayer echo Jacob’s and the psalmist’s: “For your salvation, I wait, O Lord.” For one day, all waiting will end, and we will see that the God who seemed slow was never late. Until then, we wait—and we trust. God bless.