Am I questioning God for starting my IVF journey after 3 miscarriages and infertility?
Lately, I’ve been posting a lot about trusting God’s timing. About believing—even now—that He’s still writing our story. And I meant every word of it. But today? Today I cried. Like, ugly cried.
It’s been months since I’ve let myself break down like that. I’ve gotten really good at holding things together, at praying the right prayers, and reminding myself (and others) that God is still good. But grief has a way of slipping through the cracks, and today, it came through a single, haunting question:
“Am I going against God for starting IVF?”
That question hit me hard. Not because I actually believe I’m going against Him, but because that’s what shame does. It sneaks in and twists our desire to trust God into doubt about our decisions.
But as I sat with that question, and cried through the swirl of emotion, I felt the answer:
I don’t think this means I’m questioning God. I think it means I’m trusting Him in a new way.
I’m not replacing God with science—I’m inviting Him into it. I’m still saying, “God, I believe You. I trust You. I still hope.” We are still walking forward knowing that God is in control of the outcome.
And then I thought about Sarah.
She waited. She doubted. She tried to control the process. She laughed at the thought of the promise coming true. And God still came through for her.
He didn’t throw her story away because she laughed. He didn’t cancel the promise because of her detours or disbelief. He fulfilled it despite them.
Because His promises are not dependent on our perfect faith, but in His faithfulness.
So if you’re walking through a similar season, whether it’s infertility, IVF, grief, or just deep waiting—hear me when I say this:
God is not afraid of your tears. He’s not intimidated by your fears. And He’s not absent from your doctor’s appointments. He’s in every single one of them.
Maybe it’s just the hormones today. Maybe it’s the weight of this season catching up with me. But we agreed to share our story publicly—and that means sharing all of it. Not just the praise reports and milestones, but also the questions, the raw moments, the days when faith looks more like tears than declarations.
So this is me today:
Still hoping.
Still trusting.
Still believing that the God who brought laughter to Sarah will be faithful to us too.
Even here. Even now. Even while we wait for the next 17 days.
