For the past 7 years, March has been a tender month for me.

Seven years ago, my youngest son, Jude, was 11 months old. One March Day, I went in to check on him during a nap and discovered him unconscious. He was medflighted to Children’s Hospital where we spent 3 weeks for treatment and getting him stabilized. He suffered a traumatic brain injury and the diagnoses were overwhelming.

I prayed for immediate healing. I begged God for it. I believed God could do it in a moment. I hoped desperately for Him to heal Jude instantly. I waited for the miracle that would make everything right again overnight.

But that’s not how healing came.

Instead, it came slowly.

In small steps.

Through appointments, therapies, and progress that was sometimes almost invisible unless you knew where to look.

God didn’t heal my son instantly, but He didn’t leave us either.

Over time, I learned that healing doesn’t always arrive like lightning. Sometimes it unfolds quietly, faithfully, over months and years.

Later came another time I asked for instant healing.

I prayed for instant healing in my life. For pain to disappear. For wounds to close quickly. For the past to stop hurting. I wanted God to fix everything at once, to restore, redeem, and resolve it all in a single moment.

Instead, He invited me into slow healing.

Healing that required patience.
Healing that involved setbacks and progress.
Healing that taught me trust I didn’t want to learn.

I prayed believing God could heal my son instantly, and I still believe He could have. Scripture says in Ephesians 3:20 that God is “able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine.” His power was never the question.

But over the years, a quote from Priscilla Shirer has helped me hold that truth in a way that feels honest and grounded:

“Just because God can, doesn’t mean He will. But just because He hasn’t, doesn’t mean He won’t. The bottom line is God is able.”

That perspective reshaped something in my faith. God’s ability was never in doubt. The timeline, however, wasn’t mine to control.

For a long time, I equated miracles with speed. If healing wasn’t fast, I wondered if God was still working. But watching my son heal changed that for me. It showed me that slow healing is not a lack of power. It is often a deeper kind of mercy.

Isaiah 40:31 says, “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.”
Not instantly.
Not all at once.
But over time.

I’ve learned that God is just as present in gradual healing as He is in instant miracles. He is faithful in the waiting. He is near in the process. And He does not waste the long road.

Lamentations 3:22–23 reminds us, “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning.”

New every morning, because sometimes healing comes one day at a time.

Maybe you’ve prayed for something to be healed quickly too. A body. A heart. A relationship. A season of pain. And instead of instant answers, you’ve found yourself walking a longer path than you expected.

If that’s you, I want you to know this:

Slow healing is still healing.

And God is still faithful, even when the miracle takes time.

March reminds me of that every year.