A Mother’s Heart in the Waiting

This past weekend was Mother’s Day.

For some, it’s a day filled with celebration, laughter, flowers, hugs, and getting to honor the mothers and motherly figures who have shaped our lives. For many women, it’s a day of joy and gratitude as they hold their babies close and celebrate the gift of motherhood.

But for others, Mother’s Day carries a different kind of weight.

It can be a day where joy and grief exist side by side. A day where smiles are accompanied by tears. A day where celebration still happens, but there is also longing, aching, and heartbreak quietly carried underneath it all.

That’s how this Mother’s Day felt for me.

Another Mother’s Day passed where I wasn’t able to hold my baby in my arms. Another Mother’s Day waiting and praying for my little miracle.

To be honest, it’s the one Sunday out of the year I dread going to church. But even knowing it would hurt, I still felt like I needed to go.

That morning, I stood in church holding my husband’s hand as a mother… but as a mother with empty hands.

Walking into church and hearing “Happy Mother’s Day” from strangers who didn’t know my story felt heavier than I expected. Watching mothers hold babies in their arms while mine remained empty. Watching families celebrate while quietly grieving the child I don’t get to raise this side of heaven.

There’s an ache in that that words truly cannot describe.

And yet at the same time, there was also beauty in being seen by the people closest to me.

Family members hugged me tighter than usual that day. Some looked at me with tears in their eyes and still told me, “Happy Mother’s Day,” acknowledging that even though my baby is not physically here in my arms, I am still a mother.

That meant more than I can explain.

There was both grief and gratitude woven throughout the entire day.

I held my nieces extra tightly too. Just soaking in their hugs, their laughter, and their little hands wrapped around me. They reminded me not to take a single moment for granted and how fragile and precious life truly is.

One of the songs sung during church that morning was “It Is Well With My Soul.” That hymn has become deeply tied to my season of miscarriage, grief, and loss. As the congregation sang, tears streamed down my face while I quietly whispered the words under my breath:

“It is well with my soul.”

And if I’m honest, sometimes those words are hard to sing.

Because grief is hard.

Waiting is hard.

Longing is hard.

Standing in church worshipping while your heart aches for the child you miss and the child you still pray for is hard.

But even through tears, I can still sing those words because I know God is faithful. I know He is near to the brokenhearted. I know He has not abandoned me. And I know that even when I don’t understand what He is doing, I can trust Him.

Over the past year, one of the hardest parts of walking through miscarriage and seasons of waiting has honestly been the internal battle that comes with it.

I know so many women who walk through this carry guilt and shame silently. There’s this feeling that tries to creep in — a lie that somehow your body failed you or that you failed your spouse or the people around you. I remember especially in the depths of grief after losing our baby, I wrestled with those thoughts so heavily.

I questioned myself constantly.

Was it my fault?

Did I do something wrong?

Did my body fail me somehow?

And when months continue passing during seasons of waiting, those thoughts can become even louder.

Especially when you feel like you’re doing everything “right.”

I remember feeling so confused because it felt like no matter what I did, nothing was changing.

But through this process, God has been teaching me something I desperately needed to learn:

He is the giver of life.

Not me.

And while wisdom and stewarding our health matter, there is also a point where we have to lay our striving down at His feet and remember that He alone is sovereign.

This world is broken. We live in a fallen world where loss, grief, pain, and death exist all around us. And sometimes things happen that are not our fault.

That’s something I’ve had to continually surrender to the Lord.

And I thank God endlessly for my husband because in seasons where I blamed myself, John continuously reminded me of the truth. He reminded me that God is still in control. He reminded me that this was not my fault. He reminded me that the Lord is still good even in our heartbreak.

I truly do not know how I would walk through these chapters of my life without him.

And I want to be really careful here, because every story in this journey is different, and no two paths look the same.

Some women walk through the grief of miscarriage and, in God’s timing, receive their answered prayer. For others, there are multiple losses carried along the way. Some walk through miscarriage and then enter long seasons of waiting that stretch far beyond what they ever expected. And others are still in a season of waiting, trusting and hoping without yet seeing the answer they’ve been praying for.

There are so many different layers to this kind of grief and longing, and none of them are small. None of them are less real than the other.

Every story holds its own weight, its own ache, and its own moments of faith and surrender.

But what connects all of them is that deep place of learning to trust God in seasons that don’t look the same, don’t move at the same pace, and don’t always make sense to us in the moment.

At the end of Mother’s Day, after spending time with family, John and I sat together in the car with tear-stained cheeks, holding hands, praying, crying, and trying to process everything we were feeling.

Praying for our future family.

Praying for strength.

Praying for peace.

Praying for God’s will to be done.

And even in all the sadness, there was still love there. There was still comfort in knowing we were facing this together.

One of the greatest gifts through all of this has been realizing that I am walking through these hard things with one of my greatest answered prayers.

John himself is an answered prayer.

Since I was a little girl, I prayed for a husband who loved Jesus and would faithfully walk beside me through every season of life. And God answered that prayer so beautifully.

So even in the seasons where I don’t understand His timing, I remind myself that I have seen His faithfulness before.

This writing has also become a way for me to process everything I’m walking through. My hope in sharing this isn’t just to encourage those who are currently in these seasons or those who will walk through them after me, but also to look back and remember God’s faithfulness. These words are my story, but they are also a testimony of His goodness, His presence, and His faithfulness in every step.

This season has made me more grateful for my mom, for the motherly women in my life, for my sisters, and for my nieces. It has made me cherish family even more deeply and reminded me how sacred life and relationships truly are.

And while this isn’t something I would normally share publicly, I truly feel like God has been leading me to speak more openly about it because there are so many women and couples quietly walking through these same chapters.

Some with loss. Some with waiting. Some with both.

And all of it is seen by God.

It’s okay to still cry months or even years after losing a child. Healing does come, but that loss never fully leaves you because that child was deeply loved before anyone else even knew they existed.

I still miss my baby, Shiloh.

I still miss that precious gift from God.

And while my heart has healed in many ways, there will always be part of me that longs for the baby I didn’t get to hold longer this side of heaven.

The grief changes over time. Grace carries it differently. The tears may become fewer. But love never disappears.

Loss, longing, and waiting become part of your story.

But so does God’s faithfulness.

Scripture tells us that “His mercies are new every morning.” It tells us that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” And Ecclesiastes reminds us that there is “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.”

There are seasons for all of it.

And I think sometimes we put pressure on ourselves to rush through grief when God never asked us to.

He simply asks us to bring it to Him.

So to the women and couples walking through miscarriage, infertility, grief, or seasons of waiting: don’t lose hope.

Keep pressing into the Lord.

Keep allowing Him to comfort you.

Keep drawing close to your spouse instead of pulling away from one another.

There is something deeply beautiful about facing the trials and suffering of this life hand in hand with the person you love most.

And it’s okay to still find joy while you wait.

It’s okay to laugh together, dream together, travel together, build your life together, and genuinely enjoy the season you are in even while praying for more. That joy does not dishonor your grief.

There is beauty even here.

One day, I pray Mother’s Day will look different for me. I pray one day my arms will be full of answered prayers.

But until then, I will continue worshipping.

I will continue trusting.

I will continue thanking God for every blessing He has already given me.

And I will continue holding onto hope — because even now, I can see His blessings and answered prayers already woven throughout my life, holding me, sustaining me, and reminding me that He is still good.

My prayer is that Mother’s Day will look different for you too. That your arms will be full of answered prayers, God’s blessings, and your little miracle. And that when you look back on all you’ve walked through, it will have only drawn you closer to God, deepened your trust in Him, and reminded you just how precious life truly is.

Because His mercies truly are new every morning.

And joy really does come in the morning.