Five Years of Praying for a Baby

This one is difficult for me to write.

Normally, when I sit down to write something for Lavender & Light, I want to encourage you.

I want to leave you with hope.

I want to tell you something God has been teaching me.

But today, I’m writing from a place that still hurts.

For five years, I have wanted a baby.

Five years of hoping.

Five years of praying.

Five years of wondering.

Five years of watching time pass while carrying a prayer that still hasn’t been answered the way I desperately want it to be.

And if you’ve ever struggled with infertility, you probably understand that those few sentences hold a whole lot of pain.

There Is a Grief That Comes With Waiting

Infertility is strange because you can grieve something you’ve never actually held.

You can miss someone you’ve never met.

You can love a child who doesn’t exist yet so deeply that your heart physically aches for them.

You imagine the little things.

What it would feel like to see those two lines.

To tell your husband.

To hear a heartbeat.

To watch your belly grow.

To hold your baby for the first time.

To hear someone call you Mom.

And month after month, you wonder:

Will it ever be my turn?

That’s a hard question to admit.

Especially as a Christian.

Because sometimes we feel as though having faith means we’re never supposed to be sad.

We’re supposed to smile and say:

“God’s timing is perfect.”

And I believe God’s timing is perfect.

But sometimes…

waiting still hurts.

I Know God Can Do It

This is where my faith and my heartbreak meet.

I believe in a God who performs miracles.

I believe He created life.

I believe nothing is impossible for Him.

I believe He hears every prayer I’ve prayed about becoming a mother.

And I believe He knows exactly how badly I want this.

But faith doesn’t mean I know what God is going to do.

That’s one of the hardest things I’ve had to learn.

I can believe God is able without pretending that I know His plan.

I can ask Him boldly for a baby while still surrendering the answer to Him.

I can have enormous hope…

and still cry.

Those things can exist together.

Sometimes I Don’t Understand

There have been moments when I’ve wondered:

“God, why not me?”

Why does something that happens so easily for some people feel impossible for me?

Why would You put such a big love for children in my heart while allowing this part of my life to hurt so deeply?

Why have I prayed this prayer for so long without receiving the answer I’m asking for?

I wish I could tell you I’ve never wrestled with those questions.

But I have.

And I’m learning that wrestling with God isn’t the same thing as walking away from Him.

He can handle my questions.

He can handle my tears.

He can handle the prayer that sounds like:

“God, I trust You… but I don’t understand.”

Scripture Doesn’t Hide the Pain of Infertility

One thing that comforts me is knowing that the Bible doesn’t pretend this kind of pain doesn’t exist.

Scripture tells the stories of women who knew the heartbreak of longing for children.

Sarah waited.

Rebekah struggled with infertility.

Rachel cried out because she desperately wanted children.

Hannah wept and prayed so deeply for a son that Eli initially misunderstood what he was seeing.

These stories remind me that God sees women who are waiting.

But I also have to be careful with these stories.

Because I don’t want to turn them into a formula.

Their stories ended with children.

I pray mine does too.

Oh, how I pray it does.

But my faith cannot rest on believing God owes me the same ending.

My faith has to rest in God Himself.

God Is My Hope

I still pray for my baby.

I still hope.

I still believe God is capable of doing something I cannot do for myself.

And until I know otherwise, I’m going to keep bringing this desire to Him.

Not because I think I can pray the perfect prayer that forces God’s hand.

Not because I think enough faith guarantees me the outcome I want.

But because He’s my Father.

And when something hurts this much…

He’s exactly where I want to take it.

Psalm 34:18 says:

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

Right now, I don’t need a God who only meets me at the end of this story.

I need Him here.

In the middle.

In the waiting.

In the disappointment.

In the hope.

In every tear.

Maybe You’re Waiting Too

Maybe your prayer isn’t for a baby.

Maybe you’re waiting for healing.

A relationship.

A job.

Restoration.

Direction.

A miracle.

Maybe you’ve prayed so many times that you don’t know what else to say.

I won’t tell you that God is definitely going to give you exactly what you’re asking for.

I can’t promise myself that either.

But I can tell you this:

An unanswered prayer does not mean an unheard prayer.

God sees you.

Your tears matter to Him.

Your questions don’t scare Him.

And you don’t have to pretend the waiting doesn’t hurt in order to prove that you trust Him.

You can cry and trust.

You can grieve and worship.

You can question and still believe.

You can hurt…

and still have hope.

So I’m Still Praying

Five years later, I’m still praying for a baby.

I’m still asking God.

I’m still hoping that someday I’ll look back on these words while holding the child I prayed so many years for.

I don’t know whether that will happen.

That’s incredibly difficult for me to write.

But I know something else.

Whatever happens next, I don’t want this season to teach me only how desperately I wanted something from God.

I want it to teach me how desperately I need God Himself.

So today, my prayer is still:

“Lord, please let me become a mother.”

But right beside it is another:

“And while I wait, please hold my heart.”

Because right now, He is my hope.

Not because I know what tomorrow holds.

But because I know Who will be there when tomorrow comes.

And for today…

I’m still hoping.

💜

A Prayer 

Father,

You already know how badly I want to become a mother.

You have seen every tear, heard every prayer, and known every hope I’ve carried over these five years.

Lord, I am asking You again:

Please give me a baby.

If it is Your will, please make a way where I cannot see one. I believe You are able.

But while I wait, protect my heart.

When hope feels painful, hold me.

When I don’t understand, help me trust You.

When I see someone else receive the thing I’ve been praying for, help me respond with grace even when my own heart aches.

And when I’m tired of waiting, remind me that I don’t have to carry this pain alone.

I surrender what I cannot control into Your hands.

My hope is in You.

Amen. 💜

Reflection Question 

What prayer have you been carrying for a long time, and what would it look like to honestly bring both your hope and your hurt to God?