grains of sand {faith and infertility}

This week we have been hearing from several amazing women of faith who have journeyed (or are journeying) through infertility. My story, of course, can be found in my book Pain Redeemed, but today I want to take you into a current struggle in my own life. Part of being aware of infertility is understanding (as much as possible) the ongoing battles we are fighting. May this give you a glimpse into the constant war between faith and infertility


God spoke and the syllables swirl deep and strong even now, centuries later.

The words laid Abram low, down-down in humbleness before the God who controlled his destiny and spoke promises into hidden places of longing. Did Abram scribble the words into the ground? Write them on the walls of his tent? How did he manage to cling to the Word of God through years and years of emptiness?

Genesis 22:17
I’ve stood on the seashore and I’ve run my fingers through grains of sand while holding my other hand pressed tight to an empty womb. I can hear and see the agony that caused Sarah to send another woman to her husband’s bed, anything, anything to bring about the child that her soul was screaming for.

It was the middle of desperation, the center of a promise that rang hollow and left her thinking that happiness could only be found if she grabbed hard and forced the hand of God.

Her best laid plans wrecked havoc on her marriage and her home and her heart.

I can taste it, the agony and longing to believe but failing, and the empty lostness.

Genesis 18:10-12

I had a dream once, back in the early days after those first doctor visits. I was wandering around Abraham and Sarah’s camp. I looked up and saw this old, old woman with flawless skin and clear eyes. She was wearing blue. I knew immediately that it was Sarah and I stepped a bit closer. Her gaze focused my way and she walked swiftly toward me, grabbed my arm and looked me straight in the eye. “Don’t laugh,” she said, her voice rough and strong, “of all the things I regret, laughing is the greatest one. When God speaks a promise, just believe.”

I woke up that morning and felt like it was God himself who had whispered into my nighttime slumber. I won’t laugh, I whispered, I won’t. 

But I have.

I’ve laughed.

My faith is so little and broken.

My mother? She holds fast. She prays hard. “I haven’t given up,” she tells me with her hand, the one that is so slim and beautiful, holding my arm. “I believe you will bear a child.” My mama who has beaten cancer twice. Who just walked away from another doctor appointment with a clean bill of health. The one whose whole life spills faith.

And I want to cry, “But what if this promise isn’t mine? What if, by believing, I’m holding tight to something that God is forcing me to give up?” 

I don’t remember when I stopped praying for a baby. Probably that last time, after the miscarriage, when I scribbled out the words in my journal, with anger and fear fueling my actions.

I don’t want to live in fear and unbelief. Neither do I want to strive so hard that I grip and grab for more than what God suggests. I don’t want to create an Ishmael. I just want words spelled out clear and concise. Do this. Don’t do that. Be this. Say that. Go here. 

But God only says, “Walk with me.”

And He leads down some pretty dark and wandering roads.

Hebrews 11:12

“and he as good as dead…” The phrase catches me.

What does God require of you? To walk humbly with your GodTo kill the sinful nature. To kneel hard. To be “as good as dead” in the flesh that He might live in us.

I’ve laughed. Lord, forgive this lost sinner.

 I fear. Lord, heal up this broken fearfulness in me. 

I cling tight to my pride. Oh, Jesus, wash me clean again. Scrub away this desperation in me. 

And Lord, I’m so, so afraid to ask, petrified that I am trying to reach for something you have denied me for a reason, but I know it is my own pride and fear that have kept me quiet– so I’m writing it here where I can’t take a pen and scribble it out, 

please, please, please– give me a child. Somehow. Someway.  

And Lord? If a lifetime passes and I never receive the fulfillment of this desperate prayer? Then I’m trusting that You are good and beautiful and wonderful even in the emptiness. 


Infertility Awareness Week


18 thoughts on “grains of sand {faith and infertility}

  1. Pingback: Infertility Awareness Week |

  2. Oh Natasha! I too was afraid that praying for a godly husband meant holding onto something God wanted me to release… But like you I don’t think there is anything wrong in praying that God would provide, and also praying that even if He sees it best for me to remain single all my days that my heart would be completely satisfied in who He is!
    Sometimes our deepest blessings come from the most painful circumstances which ultimately draw us closer to God… Tales of beauty in brokenness.


  3. I, too, stopped praying years ago that God would give us a child. I guess I had convinced myself that if I didn’t pray about it anymore, it meant I was okay with my barrenness. But I’m not. I just grow so tired of praying a prayer that seems like it will never be answered.

    I know God can work miracles. I know there were many women of old who prayed for many years and God FINALLY, supernaturally answered their prayers. I just don’t know how to cope with the thought that this mother-heart I’ve been given may never be fulfilled. And so, I just try to never think about it. And try to fill the emptiness with busyness. And try to never let on…


      • It helps to know I’m not alone, though. For years I was the ONLY ONE I knew who was married, but had no children. I certainly wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone, but I am encouraged each time I hear of one more woman who is surviving this journey. Thanks for being real and transparent, Natasha. And for hosting this series.


  4. “I just want words spelled out clear and concise. Do this. Don’t do that. Be this. Say that. Go here.

    But God only says, ‘Walk with me.’

    And He leads down some pretty dark and wandering roads.”

    This. Oh, how much faith it takes! If it was really all spelled out so clearly, there would be no need, really, to get to know Him. I’ve struggled with this thing countless times… I’m finally (sort of) beginning to see why. It’s because He wants us to take time to listen to Him, to learn His heart. And also because He wants true followers. Not fake ones along for the happy ride, who hop off as soon as it gets rough. But… yeah. Still a struggle for sure. 😛


  5. So beautiful… This all means so much to God’s heart. Thank you for sharing your deepest, innermost soul. The truth rings true:
    But God only says, “Walk with me.”
    And He leads down some pretty dark and wandering roads.
    The truth isn’t pretty sometimes, but it is always… I don’t know… special somehow.
    Scripture says that God “dwells in a cloud of thick darkness”, (Psalm 97)
    So when we go through hard times, We are learning more of His true character. The side of Him that many people don’t even want to admit is there.


  6. Through your open and honest struggles, you are planting seeds, Natasha. Seeds in another’s parched and barren heart. Seeds that will grow into a new life of faith. You, my dear friend, our planting new life from the ashes of your pain. I will continue to pray that your longing for a child to call your own is answered, and I will continue to thank God for the incredible witness you are to the goodness of God in the midst of our wants.


  7. Thanks for sharing your heart. I’m not married, so I do not know what the future holds for me regarding children though sometimes because of health issues I wonder…
    Your words apply though to any season of life. To trust God. To trust that He will work His plan and that His plan is very, very, good. To trust that some day He may give me husband. To trust that He will provide for me during this season of life.

    Thank you


  8. This is beautiful, Natasha. You have a powerful gift of words. Thank you for sharing faith, faith in any and every pain and trial.

    And may God be mysteriously and wonderfully at work in your heart and body and life to grant you the desires of you heart.

    Judith x


  9. “What if, by believing, I’m holding tight to something that God is forcing me to give up?”

    This is what I struggled so hard with, still struggle with…as though I could have forced the hand of God to give me my children.


  10. Pingback: when loving hurts | Natasha Metzler

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