The morning of my appointment, I whispered something to God I didn’t expect to hear: “I want more children.” Hours later, I received news that may change everything. What do we do when new desires meet closed doors? What do we do when our health, our identity, and our dreams collide? This is the hollow I’m sitting in - and the place where I’m learning that my worth is not in my womb, but in the God who calls me His.

I used to believe that a calling was like a lightning strike - one shining road, one perfect assignment, one big reveal. But my life has looked less like a straight path and more like winding trails, detours, and small, ordinary beginnings that never turned into grand stories. What if calling isn’t one thing at all? What if it changes with the seasons, showing up in survival, in small faithfulness, and in love that looks ordinary but is holy? Maybe we’ve been holding our breath for a single answer when the truth is - we’re already living it.

Psalm 25 isn’t a prayer of the put-together, it’s a prayer of the desperate. It’s not glamorous, but it is honest. Sometimes that’s all faith really is — handing over what we can’t carry, and believing God really will.

God isn’t just the Father of fathers - He’s a girl dad. The same God who protected Mary is protecting me. The same God who guarded the Holy Family is guarding mine.

I didn’t start this because I had answers. I started this because I needed somewhere to put the ache. Somewhere to tell the truth about single motherhood, slow faith, and what it means to be held in the hollow places.