Psalm 37:4 Delight yourself in the Lord , and he will give you the desire of your heart

When the Desire Still Remains

Lately, I’ve desired marriage and kids. It’s no surprise to write this, as it’s something I’ve wanted for most of my life. However, I find myself struggling to pray about a future partner. Even when I feel a nudge to pray, I hesitate.

I struggle because it’s been over 10 years of waiting and praying. Many times, I went my own way—angry at God. But last year, something changed. The only noticeable difference I can point to was an increase in fasting. I’m not sure if that alone made the difference, but fasting has become one of those disciplines that has deeply transformed me.

From April 2024 until now, I’ve fasted more in this short period than in my entire 33 years of life. It has shaped me and changed me in powerful ways—teaching me to deny myself and uncover what I’m truly hungry for. But I digress.

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Learning to Wait Differently

I guess part of me hoped the desire for marriage would go away or shift. Maybe I’d give up on love altogether and become jaded—or simply learn to be content being single. The latter is something I’m wholeheartedly working on, and it’s been a challenging but beautiful journey.

Still, in the midst of that, I find that I do still want marriage. My desire has changed, though. Now, I want it to be pure—to please God. I no longer want to go my own way about it. For a long time, I dated with a short-term mindset, just trying to quiet the ache inside me.

I’ve written about marriage often on this blog because it’s been such a deep desire of my heart for as long as I can remember. And because it’s something I’ve grieved so deeply—the lost time, the ticking biological clock, the longing to be a wife and mother that remains unfulfilled year after year.

It hurts. And yet, it still baffles me that I still yearn for it. Why not give up?

Can I just be a eunuch?

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The Wrestle with God

Every time I prayed to God about being a eunuch—or for Him to take away this desire—I thought, If I didn’t focus on marriage, I’d be so much more productive for the Kingdom. Or so I believed. Maybe my struggle with this desire is part of its goodness.

Every time I prayed that prayer, I sensed a strong “No. You’re going to be married.” Could I be wrong? Sure. But every time I brought it before God, that answer felt firm. So maybe this desire tarries for a reason.

I know I’ve struggled to even tell God that I still want this—because so often in the past, I made it an idol. Or I’ve been angry at Him for not providing in my timing.

In those moments of wrestling, I ask myself: Has God ever spoken to me clearly about marriage? And while there are a few things I believe He’s shown me, one that stands out is a poem I wrote—a picture of God preparing me for marriage while I wrestle to surrender and trust Him.

Nearly every poem I’ve written has been a way for God to encourage me, transform me, or wrestle with my heart.

So today, though I still live in the gap between desire and fulfillment, I’m reminded of a poem I wrote on February 20, 2019. Maybe, just maybe, God is still speaking to me through it.

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Marriage Prep

(Written by Me)

“You look beautiful,” I hear You say.

“Beautifully broken,” I reply in wait.

It’s taken me a while to agree with Him—
that I’m beautiful and worth the wait.

Many years I’ve spent wondering
if this day would ever come.
And here I am, standing before my Abba,
as He prepares me for the day
I meet the man He planned for me.

My eyes shy, cast down low,
still fighting my hopeful dismay.
Shy and inquisitive—not naturally who I am—
but when it comes to love,
it’s been hard not to feel a twinge of shame.

Frustration and bitter anger
have been my pastime for a long while,
until this year Abba said,
“Not anymore, beloved.
It’s time for you to let your heart love
and hope in Me again.”

So today He prepares me,
reassuring me with words:

“You are beautiful, loved, and whole.
Don’t be afraid; I will be with you.”

But I hesitate.
I’d rather stay here—
something terrifies me about the preparation today.
I think it’s coming soon.
He’s asking me to trust Him
in this preparation,
but I’m struggling
with a trembling heart
and a fearful mind.

And although no words were spoken,
He hears my thoughts so plainly,
as if I’ve spoken them aloud:

“It will hurt.
You will hurt me.
I don’t trust You.
Please don’t cause me pain.”

Eyes cast down with shame—
before me stands my Savior.
How can I question His good intentions
or His perfect love?

Then He looks into my eyes
as tears spill down His cheeks:

“I have loved you
with an everlasting love.
I know you fear what you cannot see,
but believe Me, beloved—
have faith in Me.

You shall see the goodness
I have planned for you this day.
But you’ve got to trust Me.
Let go
and let Me take control.
I promise
I am working always for your good.”

And with these words,
I can hear what’s said in between—
how He knows my sorrow well
and has walked through it with me.

With eyes brimming full of tears,
I take His hand in mine
and bow before Him in submission,
His hand upon my head.

He kneels before me,
whispering in my ear—
and I hear the smile across His face
as He joyfully declares:

“I love you
and can’t wait for you to see
all the good things
I have planned for you.”

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What the Poem Taught Me

When I reread Marriage Prep, I realize it was never just about marriage itself—it was about trust. About surrendering the part of me that wants to control outcomes and timelines. It’s about letting God heal the parts of my heart that fear disappointment.

Back then, I thought the poem was a glimpse of what was coming soon, but now I see it was an invitation to walk closer with Him in the waiting. Maybe that’s what preparation really is—not about readying myself for a person, but for a posture of faith. The kind of faith that says, “Even here, even now, You are good.”

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Author’s Note

If you’re reading this and find yourself in a similar season—waiting, wondering, wrestling—know that you’re not forgotten. God is still writing your story, even in the pauses that feel endless. I’m learning that longing doesn’t make us weak; it makes us human. And in His hands, even our waiting becomes sacred ground.

So keep trusting, keep praying, and keep allowing Him to prepare you—not just for what’s next, but for who you’re becoming in Him.