Eight Miscarriages Later, She Says God Whispered These Words!

 

After eight heartbreaking miscarriages, Myshel Wilkins could have surrendered to despair. Each loss carried its own wave of grief—quiet hospital rooms, whispered prayers that seemed to hang in silence, and the aching question that so many parents in waiting know too well: Why?

For many, repeated loss slowly erodes hope, replacing expectation with guarded resignation. Dreams once imagined in soft pastel colors begin to fade into uncertainty. Yet somewhere deep within Myshel’s heart, hope refused to disappear. Though her circumstances told one story, her faith kept whispering another.

Long before she ever held a living child in her arms, Myshel believed God had spoken a promise over her life—that she would one day have two children. It was not a promise she could prove, explain, or even fully understand. There were no medical guarantees, no reassuring timelines, and no visible signs pointing toward fulfillment. Still, the conviction remained steady, like a quiet light that would not go out.

In an act that might have seemed small to others—but required immense courage—she bought two tiny baby onesies. Soft, simple, and full of meaning, they became symbols of trust in the middle of sorrow. She kept them close through years marked by tears, waiting, and unanswered prayers.

To hold onto something tangible while everything else feels uncertain is an act of profound faith. Those onesies were more than pieces of clothing. They were declarations. They said, I still believe.

They said, This is not the end of my story.

Seasons passed. Hope was tested again and again. Each miscarriage could have rewritten her expectations. Each disappointment could have convinced her to let go of the promise she carried. Many would have understood if she had chosen to protect her heart by giving up. Grief has a way of making surrender seem reasonable.

But faith often grows strongest in the soil of suffering. What looked impossible to the natural eye never erased what she believed God had spoken. Even when circumstances contradicted the promise, she continued to hold it gently—but firmly—within her heart.

There is a quiet mystery in this kind of perseverance. It is not loud or dramatic. It does not always look heroic from the outside. Sometimes it simply looks like waking up one more day and choosing not to give up. Sometimes it looks like holding onto a promise when there is still no proof in sight.

Over time, the story began to change.

Today, Myshel Wilkins is the joyful mother of two sons—the very promise she carried in her heart before she ever carried them in her womb. The onesies she once held in faith are no longer symbols of waiting; they are reminders of fulfillment. What once felt distant and uncertain has become living, breathing reality.

Her journey does not erase the pain that came before it. The miscarriages were real. The grief was real. The questions were real. Faith does not pretend suffering never happened. Instead, it tells a deeper story—that pain does not always get the final word.

For anyone who has walked through seasons of loss, Myshel’s story resonates on a deeply personal level. Waiting is one of life’s most difficult experiences, especially when the desire of the heart is pure, beautiful, and longed for with tears. Waiting can feel like silence. It can feel like being forgotten. It can feel like standing still while the rest of the world moves forward.

Yet stories like hers gently remind us that silence is not always absence. Sometimes it is preparation. Sometimes it is protection. Sometimes it is the space where unseen work is quietly unfolding.

The phrase delay is not denial may sound simple, but for those living in the middle of uncertainty, it carries profound meaning. Time does not cancel promise. Difficulty does not erase purpose. And unanswered questions do not necessarily mean a final “no.”

Faith often moves forward before the evidence appears. It chooses trust without guarantees. It believes that what has been spoken in hope can still become reality—even when the path is long and unclear.

This kind of faith is not naïve optimism. It is resilient trust. It acknowledges pain while still making room for possibility. It allows tears and hope to exist in the same heart. And perhaps most importantly, it refuses to let despair define the ending.

Myshel’s story is not only about motherhood. It is about perseverance. It is about the courage to keep believing when belief feels fragile. It is about holding onto light in seasons that feel overwhelmingly dark.

Many people carry promises in their hearts—dreams of healing, restoration, family, purpose, or peace. Some of those promises feel delayed. Some feel distant. Some feel almost impossible. Waiting can tempt us to quietly set those hopes aside, convincing ourselves that letting go will hurt less than continuing to believe.

But her journey offers a different perspective. What if the waiting season is not wasted?

What if the promise is still alive, even when unseen?

What if the ending has not yet been written?

Hope does not always arrive suddenly. Sometimes it grows slowly, almost invisibly, beneath the surface of ordinary days. Sometimes fulfillment comes after the moment we thought it never would. And sometimes the very place where we nearly gave up becomes the place where new life begins.

There is something deeply human about longing—and something equally sacred about endurance. To continue hoping after heartbreak is an act of quiet bravery. It is choosing openness instead of protection, trust instead of resignation.

Myshel’s two sons now stand as living reminders that broken chapters do not determine the whole story. Loss may shape the journey, but it does not have to define the destination.

Her life whispers a truth many hearts need to hear: promises can survive pain. Hope can outlast grief. And faith, even when fragile, can carry us further than we imagine.

For anyone standing in a season of waiting, her story offers gentle encouragement. The timeline may not look the way you expected. The path may feel longer than you hoped. But unfinished does not mean abandoned. Delayed does not mean denied.

Sometimes the most meaningful miracles are not only found in the final outcome, but in the strength formed along the way—the deeper compassion, the quieter trust, the resilient spirit that refuses to give up.

And when fulfillment finally arrives, it often carries a sweetness only waiting can create.

If God has spoken something into the depths of a heart, time cannot erase it. Circumstances cannot silence it. Even sorrow cannot fully extinguish it. What is planted in faith has a way of reaching toward light, no matter how long the winter lasts.

Myshel Wilkins once held two small onesies as symbols of belief in the middle of heartbreak. Today, she holds two sons—living proof that hope can endure longer than pain.

Her story is a reminder to keep believing, even when belief feels difficult. To keep hoping, even when hope feels fragile. And to trust that the Author of life is still writing chapters we cannot yet see.

Because sometimes, the promises that take the longest to arrive become the ones that change everything.