A few years ago, the night before Valentine’s Day, I shared a post on the main Waiting for Baby Bird page. It was a simple invitation. I asked couples to post a picture of themselves and their significant other in honor of love.
That night, I was sitting on my couch, scrolling and gushing over everyone’s pictures. Smiling at faces I’d come to care deeply about, along with many I was seeing for the first time. Each photo carried a story. Years of waiting. Loss. Prayers whispered, shouted, and prayed again. Many couples were celebrating anniversaries, sharing wedding photos, and reflecting on the highlights of the day they said “I do.”
As I scrolled, I came across a picture of a couple and noticed the comment beneath it. I had seen the image, but I read the caption more closely first. It shared that after years of infertility—and what I believe were a few losses—they were finally pregnant. The comment also mentioned they were planning to announce the pregnancy the following day as a surprise to family and friends.
Because I had read the comment, I acted quickly.
Not out of emotion.
Not out of jealousy.
Not out of fear.
But because the page is public.
Hear me. PUBLIC.
Which means comments can show up in friends’ and family members’ newsfeeds—even if they don’t follow the page. And in this case, the announcement wasn’t meant to be public yet.
I didn’t have time to really look at the picture again. My concern was protecting their story. And because I reacted so quickly, I didn’t note the name attached to the comment or think to message them first. Once the comment was removed, I had no way to contact the person who shared it.
Later, I received this message.
“Hi! I really don’t understand why my photo would be deleted from your post. So now we can’t be happy for each other after going through loss of a child and then being presented with a miracle baby? I’ve held back my sorrow during everyone else’s happy times of being able to conceive and have children and now that I have the chance, I’m being denied from a page that was supposed to be uplifting and godly through hardship. I’m honestly just so disappointed… I’ll be sure never to post anything happy on your page again!”
I sat with that message for a while.
Because what hurt wasn’t just the misunderstanding.
It was the assumption behind it.
That I was jealous.
That I was angry.
That I was envious.
And none of that was true.
By that point, I had already poured years of my life and my bank account into this ministry. I prayed for wombs to be filled, bodies to be healed, and hearts to be mended. I celebrated pregnancies. I rejoiced when miracles happened. I cried happy tears more times than I can count.
And yet, one moment was interpreted through a lens that didn’t reflect my heart at all.
That’s when it hit me.
We do the same thing to God.
We look at our circumstances and start filling in the blanks.
We assume He’s upset with us.
That He’s disappointed.
That He’s punishing us.
That He’s pulled away.
That He’s stopped loving us.
We do this without knowing the full story.
Without seeing the whole picture.
Just like that message wasn’t rooted in truth, so many of our thoughts about God aren’t either.
Infertility has a way of doing that. It presses on our faith. It magnifies the silence. It makes it easy to interpret waiting as rejection and unanswered prayers as abandonment.
But God’s character doesn’t change because our circumstances hurt.
He isn’t reactive.
He isn’t cruel.
He isn’t withholding love until we get something right.
He sees what we can’t see. He knows what we don’t yet understand. And His heart toward you has not shifted just because this journey is painful.
I want to say this plainly.
Boundaries are not bitterness.
Protection is not punishment.
Waiting is not abandonment.
And misunderstanding—whether from people or from life—does not get the final word.
So, if you’ve ever felt like something precious was interrupted,
or like a moment you hoped to celebrate hasn’t unfolded the way you expected,
or like circumstances moved in a direction you didn’t understand,
this is where perspective begins to matter.
Because no matter how much we know or think we can see, our view remains partial. God’s is not.
We see pieces. He sees the whole.
Sometimes faith looks like trusting God’s heart, even when we don’t yet understand His decisions.