Hope in the Waiting: A Mother’s Day Without the Title

Mother’s Day was supposed to be different this year.

I had let myself hope again. I was two days late, and I felt off in a way that made me wonder, Could this be it? After 15 months of trying to start a family, I’ve grown cautious with hope. But something about this moment—about it being Mother’s Day—made me feel like maybe, just maybe, God was going to redeem this day.

I let myself dream for a minute. I thought about how sweet it would be to find out I was pregnant on Mother’s Day. It felt like something the Lord would do—something kind, something redemptive.

And then, the test said: Not pregnant.

And I broke.

The Reality of the Wait

We’ve been walking through this season for a while now. 15 months of hoping, praying, waiting. We’re in the middle of getting tests done and praying through what starting a family might look like for us.

After about six months, I stopped taking pregnancy tests. I realized how much more it hurt to spend five minutes hoping, imagining, wondering—only to have that hope stripped away. Most of the time, I’d start my cycle the same day I tested. It started to feel like a waste of money, energy, and heartache. So I tried to be patient and take things one day at a time.

But this year, on Mother’s Day, I let my guard down.

When I was younger, I didn’t dream much about a wedding or a career. I just wanted to be a mom. I’ve had a list of baby names saved since I was a preteen. I’ve prayed about what order I wanted the genders of my future kids to be—in my mind, I had it all mapped out (as if I had a say, lol). So to be in this place, living in a reality where that dream isn’t coming as easily as I imagined... it’s been heartbreaking.

Multiple siblings on both sides of our family are either pregnant or raising kids. And while I’m genuinely excited for them, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting. I want that so badly. So when I didn’t start my period right away this time, I thought, Maybe this is it. Maybe this is finally my turn.

When the test was negative, I cried out to God. Not just tears, but angry, gut-wrenching, cries. I even said Him, “Why do You hate me?”—which I know isn’t true. It’s not who He is. But that’s how it felt in the moment. If God is kind and faithful and gives us the desires of our heart… then why not this one?

Sitting in the Ache with the Lord

That day felt cruel. But even in the pain, perspective showed up.

A few friends who know the journey we’re on reached out with words of kindness and encouragement. I felt seen, not just by them—but by God. And even in my confusion and frustration, I’ve felt the Lord’s nearness in the grief.

There’s this verse in Psalm 34 that I keep going back to:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”
—Psalm 34:18

I’ve felt that. Both the heartbreak and the nearness.

I don’t know what the Lord is doing in this season. I don’t know how our story will unfold. But I do know that God is not far off. He hasn’t turned away from my pain. If anything, I’ve learned He’s a God who sits with me in it. Who weeps with me. Who holds space for both my faith and my frustration.

Hope That Isn’t Based on a Test

Hebrews 11:1 says:

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”

Faith, right now, looks like choosing to hope —even when it hurts. It’s believing God is still good. That He’s still writing a story—even if this part of it feels like silence.

I don’t know if carrying a baby will be part of my story. I pray it is. But I’m learning that my hope can’t hang on a test result. It has to hang on Jesus.

Even when I feel disappointed.
Even when I feel overlooked.
Even when I feel broken.
He is still good. Still present. Still working.

For the One Who’s Also Waiting for something...

If you're in a season that feels heavy—maybe you’re waiting for a child too, or maybe it’s something entirely different—I just want to say: you're not alone. God isn’t ignoring your ache. He sees you. He sits with you in the waiting. And even when it feels like He’s doing nothing, He is still moving in ways we can’t always see.

So I’m holding on. To His nearness. To His kindness. To the truth that even when the test is negative, my hope in Him isn’t.

And I’m praying that you can hold on too.