So many of us do it.
We keep quiet.
We turn inward.
We say, “I’m fine,” when we’re anything but.
We battle silently because asking for prayer feels… hard. Too vulnerable. Too exposing. Too emotional.
Maybe you’ve thought it too:
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
“I don’t want to cry in front of others.”
“What if they don’t get it—or worse, what if nothing changes?”
But what if the breakthrough you’ve been longing for is waiting on the other side of your vulnerability?
Last week, something unexpected—and holy—happened.
It started so simply. After dinner on our girls’ trip, we were wandering around town, craving ice cream. But every shop was closed. So we kept walking—aimless, a little disappointed, but still soaking up the moment.
That’s when we heard him—a man rapping Christian music on the sidewalk. We stopped to listen. And just as we were about to move on, another man approached and asked:
“Do any of you need prayer?”
We all said no. You know, the polite kind of no. “We’re good.”
But then he gently pressed again:
“Is there anything you’re contending for?”
That question hit differently.
Without saying a word, I thought of my journey through infertility and decided to let him into my struggle. He looked right at me. But instead of praying then, he said he wanted his wife to pray over me—only she had just run to the bathroom. So we waited.
And when she came back… what happened next was undeniably holy.
She didn’t know my story. She didn’t know my heart. But the words she prayed—full of tenderness and power—were straight from the Holy Spirit. Every sentence felt handpicked by God. And then she shared this:
While in the bathroom, she suddenly started having cramps. It confused her—she wasn’t near her cycle. She checked her app just to be sure. Then, as she looked in the mirror, she randomly decided to pull her hair up into a ponytail.
She didn’t know why any of that was happening—until her husband told her what I needed prayer for.
Suddenly, it all made sense.
The cramps weren’t hers. They were mine.
A spiritual sign. A birthing pain in the spirit. A tangible reminder that God sees, that He is near, and that He’s orchestrating every detail—even the ones we don’t understand in the moment.
I’ve always carried hope. Even before this moment, I believed.
But encounters like this? They don’t just inspire me… they anchor me.
They solidify what I believe and keep me expectant.
They’re the reason I keep holding on—because God doesn’t just see;
He responds. He confirms. He shows up in ways that mark you forever.
And the ponytail? She had no idea I’d ask to take a photo with her later.
But God knew.
He had her prepared—not just spiritually, but even physically—for what was coming.
He closed ice cream shops so I’d walk by a street corner.
He used a moment of worship, a wave of cramps, a last-minute hairstyle, and a stranger’s prayer to remind me that nothing is wasted.
Not our waiting.
Not our detours.
Not even the prayers we almost didn’t ask for.
That night, I was reminded of something I already knew—but had forgotten in the noise and weariness of my journey:
God works through people.
And vulnerability is the bridge.
We were never meant to walk through hard things alone.
Healing flows through the prayers of others.
Breakthrough often comes when we admit we need help.
And the very thing we’re afraid of—being seen, being raw, being real—might be the very thing God wants to use to bring hope.
I’m 41.
I’ve been married for 19 years.
I’ve been contending for over 13.
And I still believe—any day now—God can do it.
Because what I’ve carried in hope… I will one day cradle in my arms.
He is faithful to finish what He starts.
It’s not just something I say, or hope is true.
It’s what I believe with as much confidence as the sky is blue.
Because with God—it’s not if. It’s when.
Sweet friend, what are you contending for?
What prayer have you been quietly carrying, afraid to say out loud?
You don’t have to be strong all the time.
You don’t have to walk this road alone.
There’s power in asking.
There’s healing in sharing.
There’s strength in prayer.
Let’s believe—together.
Just comment below and let me know how I can pray.
I’d be honored to stand with you.
-Elisha Kearns, founder + president of Waiting for Baby Bird
