I have been married for ten years to a wonderful man. During this time, we have accomplished so much together: we’ve earned degrees, purchased homes, and traveled some, but the one thing we have not accomplished is having children. I thought once we got married everything would flow like the river, and we would have children after being together for at least three years. I never considered the difficulties of getting pregnant because so many friends around me did not struggle with fertility. It was almost like if their husbands stood close enough to them, they would conceive. However, over our ten-year marriage, I’ve learned that this is not the case for everyone.

After I experienced a miscarriage, people shared their condolences and gave words of encouragement. One thing I repeatedly heard was, “Well, at least you know you can get pregnant.” While those words were meant to soothe the pain of loss, they actually stung. It hit me hard because I had just lost a child. Sometimes I felt as though people wanted me to skip through the grieving process and just be excited because “at least I can get pregnant.”

These words have stayed with me—even five years after the miscarriage. I constantly reflect on the fact that I know God can do great and mighty things, but what if He doesn’t do what I think He should do? Will I still be okay? I know God can bless my husband and I with amazing children, but what if His plan doesn’t include this? What if His plan involves me serving as a mother or auntie figure to other people’s children and helping them navigate different paths in life? As an educator, what if His plan involves me supporting parents as their children go through the educational system?

After listening to what was meant to be words of inspiration from others and wrestling with my own feelings, I started to think, I know God can bless me with children, but what if He doesn’t?

This simple yet layered question caused me to question my relationship with God and if I truly trusted Him. I began to think how sometimes I negotiate in my relationship with God, like how I would negotiate a contract. Well, if God doesn’t do this for me, I mean…like, does He really love me? I mean, when we say to be obedient, what level of obedience are we talking about? Does He really want me to experience the kind of life where my blessings will be exceeding and abundant, or does He just want me to chill and leave Him alone?

Y’all, I was down REAL bad—I was missing the beauty of life because I was focused on one thing: having children.I was missing the tears rolling down my husband’s face from laughing so hard at absolutely nothing while we watched TV together. I was missing my niece’s smile and high energy when she FaceTimed to talk to me about going to her T-ball game or gymnastics practice. I was missing the fact that God allowed the sun to beam down on my luscious brown skin every single day.

I was missing God showing me just how much He loved me through the small daily interactions. Through these small things, God was showing me He is with me, and I simply needed to sat down somewhere—as my mama would say—and let Him do His work.

Once I came to the realization that I know God can, but He will—on His time, a level of peace that surpasses all understanding overtook me. I stopped crying when my cycle came every month and instead thanked God that my body was naturally doing what it was designed to do. I stopped ignoring the baby section in Target and instead purchased items for moms-to-be and celebrated their bundles of joy. I stopped worrying about when I would have children and instead learned to love and appreciate God and life on a deeper level. I learned to be happy in ALL things.

Now, I am still human, and my flesh still gets weak at times. Every once in a while, my Knuck-if-You-Buck spirit rises and I have to tell that thang to sat down somewhere, so I can go back to laughing, traveling, and enjoying life.

I still do not have children, and I’ve learned that this is totally fine. As I wait for God to reveal His timing, I no longer focus on the but. That but in “I know God can, but…” was designed to throw me off course and to have me stop trusting and believing in the things I know to be true. So now, on days when I get a little weak—and even on days when I am frolicking in the sun, I look up and say, “Thank You for allowing me to live a blessed life!”