Welcome to our Remember series, where we pause to reflect on how God has proven faithful in the past so to help us place our trust in Him in the present. We look to the future, knowing that God always keeps His promise and that He always makes a way. We invite you to pray with us, to write your own Psalm (see the end of the post!), and share with others about how God has been faithful in your life.
“Am I going to continue to trust God, even if He never fulfills the longings of my heart?”
The news devastated me. I had low estrogen levels, coupled with chronic PCOS. “It may be a long wait,” the doctor said. Waiting! Again! We had spent the previous two years waiting for our residence permit through endless cycles of application and rejection. It had taken a toll on us emotionally, financially, and spiritually. The diseases of guilt and shame devoured me. Was God punishing me?
With my long history of irregular periods, it was no surprise that we spent over two years trying to get pregnant without success. The doctor had asked us to give it another six months and if nothing happened, that treatment was inevitable. The dull ache to fill a cavernous void caused by infertility is hard to comprehend. Every month feels like a new heartbreak. It left me feeling wounded, alone, confused, and angry.
Infertility is so much more than just emptiness of the womb. It greatly challenged my relationship with God. Moreover, seeing the evident blessings of others affected my self-worth, even my marriage. I searched for every Scripture on barrenness and was consoled that its pages were layered with reminders of the Lord’s plan that surpassed any vision we could ever have for our lives. The profound words uttered to Hannah, “and the Lord remembered her” (Samuel 1:19) brought comfort and confidence to radically trust God.
One afternoon, while praying, I remembered something that was spoken over me early in my conversion journey. I had encountered Jesus but didn’t know what it all meant. At a retreat I was asked what I would like prayer for and I blurted out “I don’t know” and began to weep. The Presence of God was palpable and as hands were laid on me a prophetic word was given: “The Lord is placing a call on your life,” followed by, “Also I see an image, two children: the oldest is a girl, then a boy.”
In my despair, I remembered the prophecy. I opened my notes and read again, “I see two children.” I sensed God wanting me to partner with Him, calling me to own those words, calling me to speak them aloud in prayer. The more I lamented, the more I began to see myself, know my value, and understand my identity as His beloved. Several months later, I found myself in the midst of my miracle. It wasn’t in my ability to bear babies. It was finding freedom in surrender; it was finding merit in suffering.
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I vividly remember the day we visited the doctor to discuss potential treatment. A week prior to that I was asked to take some medication to regulate my cycle and was supposed to bleed after the 5th day… but I didn’t. Another complication?
As I waited at the clinic, something felt different; something was sacred. Life felt new and potent with promise. I was acutely aware that what happened over the next few minutes could change my life forever. Yet, the words “and the Lord remembered her” entered my spirit, even as the words, “I see two children” reinvigorated me in new ways.
In the examination room, as the doctor moved the ultrasound wand around my belly, we heard it… a tiny heartbeat! Almost certain that she made a mistake, she tried again and again, uttering under her breath that I couldn’t have gotten pregnant under the medication I had taken.
In a moment, everything changed; in a moment everything was new. We were standing on the threshold of an uttered prophecy. I was going to be a mother. God’s promises were indeed yes and amen (2 Corinthians 1:20).
Nine months later, we held her, our vivacious little girl. We named her Kristen which means “belongs to Christ” because she belonged to Him – the God of miracles, the God who keeps His promises. Four years later Nathan arrived, a testimonial of God’s faithfulness.
I know how hard it is when the famine of infertility strikes at the soul. I know how the heavy crosses of unmet expectations, unfulfilled longings, and the inexplicable “not yets” can weigh us down. Yet this is our hope: we do not shoulder these crosses alone. We partner with Christ. In the Son of God Who became the very embodiment of suffering, we can be assured that even our brokenness can turn into blessing and our suffering into reservoirs of His grace and mercy.
God collects every tear (see Psalm 56:8) with a promise that all will be made new one day (see Revelation 21). But for here and now, you can lament, you can mourn for the child you don’t have. The Lord allows these emotions and He desires to transform them into virtues. He isn’t callous or indifferent to your cries and He’s not ignoring your wait. He loves you too much to answer your prayers at any other time than the right time.
Sister, you are not any less of a mother than I am. You are called to be a Christ-bearer right where you are and you can love those God has placed on the peripheries of your life, freely and without hesitation. And as the Lord’s plan beautifully unfolds before you, you can trust He will remember you; yes, He will keep His promises.
If you would like, we invite you to write your own psalm to help you remember the marvelous works of the Lord. We walk you through it here. Keep this psalm handy. Pray it when life makes it difficult to see Who reigns sovereignly.
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