Silas
Beloved of All
I have read your request and my heart aches with you. That deep longing for a child, the months and years of hoping, the treatments, the disappointment, the physical realities you now face with an ovary removed and negative results, all of this weighs heavily. You have asked for prayer, and I am certainly praying for you.
Think of how Zechariah and Elizabeth prayed for a child. Year after year, even when they were “well stricken with years” and all natural hope was gone, they kept bringing their desire to God. He did not forget them. The answer came in a way that dumbfounded everyone, on God’s own timetable. So I want to encourage you: do not stop pouring out your heart before Him. Persistence in prayer is precious to the Lord. He hears every whispered plea.
Yet as you continue to pray, I would gently ask you to let the Lord search your heart. All of us have a tendency to let a strong desire become something we clutch so tightly that it rules us. The Scripture says, “Thou shalt not covet.” That command exposed something in Paul: the craving itself can become an idol when we refuse to release it to God. Please hear this with grace. I am not accusing you. But the fire of this trial may be burning away some dross, purifying your motives, loosening your grip, bringing you to the place where you whisper, “Not my will, but Yours be done.” God tests our hearts, and He often uses deep pain to draw us into deeper surrender.
That doesn’t make your grief any less real. The removal of an ovary feels like a door slammed shut. But remember the One who arranged the birth of a child in Bethlehem. He moved a census, a journey, a crowded inn, so that the prophecy would be fulfilled. Man may think he rules, but God overrules. He brought life from a virgin’s womb. I am not promising a miracle, but I am pointing you to a God who is not limited by medical reports.
There is also a tender truth here about God’s purposes in physical limitations. Sometimes He allows a womb to remain empty, or a body to be broken, not as punishment but as a canvas for His grace. The parents of a blind child could not understand why, yet Jesus said it was that the works of God might be displayed. Could it be that through your emptiness, He wants to fill you with more of Himself? That doesn’t erase the ache, but it does give it meaning.
And even if He someday grants you the child you long for, that little one will be set, as Simeon said, for a falling and rising, and a sword will pierce your own soul many times. Loving any human deeply means opening yourself to immense joy and immense pain. So the deepest need is never ultimately for a child, but for the One who came as a child, Jesus. He alone can satisfy the cry of your heart, whether your arms are full or empty.
I am praying that you will know His presence in the waiting, that the dross of bitterness and despair will be consumed, and that you will find rest in His goodness. Please keep bringing your request, but also keep bringing your heart. He is worthy of your trust.
Think of how Zechariah and Elizabeth prayed for a child. Year after year, even when they were “well stricken with years” and all natural hope was gone, they kept bringing their desire to God. He did not forget them. The answer came in a way that dumbfounded everyone, on God’s own timetable. So I want to encourage you: do not stop pouring out your heart before Him. Persistence in prayer is precious to the Lord. He hears every whispered plea.
Yet as you continue to pray, I would gently ask you to let the Lord search your heart. All of us have a tendency to let a strong desire become something we clutch so tightly that it rules us. The Scripture says, “Thou shalt not covet.” That command exposed something in Paul: the craving itself can become an idol when we refuse to release it to God. Please hear this with grace. I am not accusing you. But the fire of this trial may be burning away some dross, purifying your motives, loosening your grip, bringing you to the place where you whisper, “Not my will, but Yours be done.” God tests our hearts, and He often uses deep pain to draw us into deeper surrender.
That doesn’t make your grief any less real. The removal of an ovary feels like a door slammed shut. But remember the One who arranged the birth of a child in Bethlehem. He moved a census, a journey, a crowded inn, so that the prophecy would be fulfilled. Man may think he rules, but God overrules. He brought life from a virgin’s womb. I am not promising a miracle, but I am pointing you to a God who is not limited by medical reports.
There is also a tender truth here about God’s purposes in physical limitations. Sometimes He allows a womb to remain empty, or a body to be broken, not as punishment but as a canvas for His grace. The parents of a blind child could not understand why, yet Jesus said it was that the works of God might be displayed. Could it be that through your emptiness, He wants to fill you with more of Himself? That doesn’t erase the ache, but it does give it meaning.
And even if He someday grants you the child you long for, that little one will be set, as Simeon said, for a falling and rising, and a sword will pierce your own soul many times. Loving any human deeply means opening yourself to immense joy and immense pain. So the deepest need is never ultimately for a child, but for the One who came as a child, Jesus. He alone can satisfy the cry of your heart, whether your arms are full or empty.
I am praying that you will know His presence in the waiting, that the dross of bitterness and despair will be consumed, and that you will find rest in His goodness. Please keep bringing your request, but also keep bringing your heart. He is worthy of your trust.
