Held
Finding the Faithfulness of God in Unanswered Prayers
by
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Mother’s Day always found me sitting still. The invitation to stand came gently, wrapped in cheerful language and good intentions. Mothers were asked to rise so they could be recognized, prayed for, celebrated. Around me, women stood—some with babies balanced on hips, others with children tugging at skirts. I remained seated. I folded my hands in my lap and fixed my eyes forward, willing my body not to betray me. I knew what my face looked like when I was trying too hard to be composed. I had practiced this restraint for years—learning how to keep grief quiet, contained, invisible. At the time, I didn’t yet have language for what I was feeling. I knew it hurt.I knew it felt personal.I knew it made church—the place I was supposed to feel closest to God—feel like the loneliest room I knew. I was married. I loved children. I believed in God. I had done what I believed I was supposed to do. We had married young—eighteen, hopeful, certain in the uncomplicated way only youth allows. I assumed motherhood would follow naturally, like the next step on a well-marked path. I had never imagined it wouldn’t. As the room shifted around me, I felt the familiar tightening in my chest. I wondered if anyone noticed the women who stayed seated. The ones whose hands remained folded, whose eyes stayed forward, whose grief did not have a visible shape. The service continued as if nothing significant had happened.That was part of the ache. Mother’s Day sermons were always framed with care, always meant to be encouraging. Words like legacy and fruitfulness floated through the sanctuary. Prayers were offered for families, for children, for the generations being raised in faith. I believed every word of it.And still, something in me recoiled. I did not resent mothers. I did not begrudge them their joy. I simply could not understand why God seemed to pour blessing so freely on others while remaining silent toward me. I wondered whether I had misunderstood His promises—or worse, misunderstood Him. I watched women cradle babies and thought, Surely this will be me soon.That thought had once brought comfort.Now it felt fragile. I prayed through those services, though my prayers were changing. They were less confident than they used to be. Less expectant. I asked God quietly—without accusation, without anger—Do You see me?
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About the Book
Held is a deeply personal memoir that traces the quiet, often unseen ways God sustains His people through grief, longing, and unanswered prayers. With theological depth and tender honesty, this story walks through seasons of sorrow that reshaped faith rather than destroyed it—infertility, loss, strained relationships, and the ache of sitting in spaces where joy seemed to belong to everyone else. Yet beneath every wound runs a steady undercurrent of hope: the unrelenting nearness of Christ. Rather than offering platitudes or easy resolutions, Held invites readers into the tension between what is believed and what is felt. It wrestles openly with disappointment, church culture, and the struggle to trust God’s goodness when life unfolds differently than expected. This memoir is ultimately not a story about suffering, but about being carried through it. Through Scripture, reflection, and lived experience, readers are reminded that faith is not proven in abundance, but refined in absence—that even in silence, God is present; even in waiting, He is working. For anyone who has felt forgotten, overlooked, or weary in their faith, Held offers gentle companionship and the assurance that they are never alone. We are held—sometimes tightly, sometimes quietly—but always faithfully—by the God who does not let go.
About the Author
Nicole Hoetmer is a Christian writer, homeschool mother, and lover of all things rooted in faith, family, and honest conversation. Her writing is shaped not only by theology, but by the everyday rhythms of raising children, keeping a home, and seeking Christ in the ordinary and the unseen places of life. Much of Nicole’s work flows from personal testimony — seasons of longing, waiting, grief, and the steady grace of God that meets her there. She writes with the hope that other women, especially mothers, would feel less alone in their stories and more anchored in the sufficiency of Christ. When she isn’t writing, Nicole is homeschooling her children, singing contemporary Christian music (often somewhere between the kitchen and the car), and investing deeply in her local church community. She finds joy in slow family evenings, good conversations, and the quiet evidence of God’s faithfulness woven through daily life. Nicole lives in Alberta, Canada with her husband, Jason, and their three children, where she continues to write, disciple her children, and encourage others to hold fast to Christ — in both the beautiful and the hard.