Two Miracles God Brought Through Infertility

Whitney Akin 

Infertility is a unique kind of grief. It’s like mourning a life that was never there.

For a long time, I felt guilty for being so sad. After all, no one died. There wasn’t a funeral. There was no graveside to visit with flowers. Still, each month the realization of another negative pregnancy test, the gut-wrenching sorrow of “not this time,” felt like its own cruel death over and over again.

I didn’t know grief before infertility. After a year of trying to conceive and a visit to a fertility specialist, I had a medical diagnosis that wrecked my world. No one in my family had struggled with infertility. I was caught off guard and confused. As questions about treatments and chances for conception filled my mind, hurt filled my heart.

Why would God allow this to happen to me? Why would he give children to people who didn’t want them and withhold the blessing from me? The sorrow that filled my heart is hard to put into words, but every woman who has ever longed for a child understands the unique pain. 

As I tried to hold onto my faith, I scoured scripture for some hope I could cling to. One day I found a simple verse that felt like it perfectly described my life.

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.” (Proverbs 13:12, ESV) 

My hope for a child had been put on hold and my heart was sick with sorrow. Every circumstance was wrapped in a haze of sadness. No day was safe from the wave of heartbreak that might hit and force me back to bed, knees to my chest, tears unstoppable. Month after month the hope would build only to be broken again. I was tired of the hamster wheel of sorrow, but I couldn’t get off. 

Three years into infertility, several uncomfortable tests, and a surgery later, I faced the hard reality that I would likely never have biological children. Through familiar tears, I prayed the hardest prayer of my life and surrendered my hope of having a baby to Jesus. I committed to believe in His goodness, even if I never became a mother.

Infertility is a unique kind of grief because sometimes it has a resolution. After three years and a heart resigned to a life without children, God allowed me to conceive. Though my daughter is ten years old today, I’ll never forget the moment I saw two little pink lines on a pregnancy test. There were tears again, but this time they were tears of pure joy.

She was my miracle. But as I cradled my child next to my chest, still fragile from my grief journey, I realized I held another miracle too.

My heart wasn’t the same. My hope wasn’t the same. God had worked a deep spiritual transformation that was only possible through a season of grief. Years later, I’m still realizing the profound effect this suffering had on my life.

Maybe you find yourself in a season where sorrow surrounds your heart. Here are three things I wish someone would have told me in my darkest moments of grief. 

1. God with you really is enough. 

It’s a strange feeling to know that God could fix the situation. He could have given me a baby whenever he wanted to. It’s like sitting in a problem, knowing God could solve it, but hearing him say “not yet.” It’s frustrating, heartbreaking, and confusing.

What I found was that God was inviting me to see him not just as a problem-solver, but as a friend. When I was crying on the bathroom floor, another negative pregnancy test in hand, he was with me, he saw me, and he comforted me. Over time, his persistent presence became something I leaned into, finding real strength in knowing God was with me.

2. There is purpose in this pain.

Early on in my struggle with infertility I prayed, “God, please, if I’m going to go through this, make it worth it.” I wanted to know that my pain wasn’t pointless. He faithfully answered my prayer. God taught my heart of his goodness, comforted me with his presence, and strengthened my trust in Him.

With hindsight, I can see that my season of grief was deeply purposeful. I know God differently than I did before. Infertility taught me to trust his character and believe his Word wholeheartedly. It has allowed me to minister to others in their pain, address tough questions about suffering, and point people back to the hope of Jesus. 

3. Hope isn’t in the resolution, it’s in Him.

This was by far the hardest lesson I learned in infertility. I thought my hope deferred was the baby I longed for. But God showed me that real hope isn’t found in the gift, but in the Giver. He led me to the truth that I could find my desires fulfilled in him, even in the middle of the suffering. And the tree of life described in Proverbs 13:12 wasn’t my answered prayer, it was His presence. 

I am deeply grateful for the miracle of my daughter. God has blessed me with two more children, filling my home with the kind of laughter and chaos I could only dream of in my quiet, dark days of infertility. But as thankful as I am for my children, I see now that the even greater miracle was the one I didn’t know I needed—the gift of knowing Him.