As I watched these glowing women with pregnant bellies float in and out of the doctor’s office today, I could only make out one thought in my head: Lupus has hijacked my life.

Of course these women were manicured and painted, perfectly minimalist, beautiful, full of joy and zen with Kate Spade leather bags, glittery diamond rings, and nothing but bellies to show that they were carrying a life. They looked like they had the time to focus solely on their babies and suck down all the “yummy” green smoothies they could handle. And I’m over here bothered, bitter, childless and in pain to boot. Satan was Van Gogh and painted the perfect scene of the life I could have – I should have had.

I think it was the little girl – no more than three – with her cute white dress and navy buttons that got me started down the rabbit hole. She had so much personality. And I thought about how our little girl would be. Certainly a cute brown-skinned version of her – with a brilliant mind and a smart mouth like that darling little thing in that Yoplait yogurt commercial (that’s her in the Featured image).

Antione and I, then 27 and 26 respectively, said we’d wait three years into our marriage to start a family. I was still a news reporter and he was still finding his way in Orlando. We thought we had time. Before our first anniversary, Lupus arrived. I couldn’t help but think if things went according to our plans that we would have had a 5-year-old. I make no fantasies about being a parent. I know it isn’t glamorous. I’m a realist through and through –but I still want to experience the realness. And so this thought just kept rewinding in my mind: We could have had a 5-year-old. I could have had a 5-year-old. It got to the point that I was at my desk nearly in tears. Yes, gratitude had left the building and I was left feeling sad and sorry.

I emailed my counselor and she cited Romans 8:28. I texted my husband and he said Romans 8:28. I talked to my girl and she said to pray. All great advice and I did… I prayed. And I do believe that God will restore what has been taken. But in that moment I just couldn’t get with gratitude. Being told to be grateful in that moment, just in that moment, felt dismissive and a slap in the face. I was ready to super mug somebody for no reason.

That’s why I love Psalm 43:5. It’s so real. It’s painful, but hopeful and commanding at the same time. It puts your soul and any negativity on notice. The author, assumed to be David, acknowledges that his soul is “downcast” and “disturbed”. It gets no realer than that. But he has fight in him, a lingering spark of hope, and calls on a strength he knows he doesn’t have. He keeps it real and calls out to God for help. This is what I need, what you need when we find ourselves in this place. Downright gritty realness, that hard to look in the face realness, but hope and doggedness that says “Nah, I’m not going out like this”.

I don’t serve a phony God… and I’m grateful (there it is) for that. I am grateful God doesn’t just tell me to brush your shoulders off and move forward. That’s the tired advice I was surrounded with most of my life and for some reason continue to feed myself even though I know better. I’m glad that he knows me intimately and loves me unconditionally.

Yes, Romans 8:28 is good and right, but it just wasn’t connecting today. I had to go back that author that dealt with the pain and had a “Hallelujah Anyhow” praise. Yes, Hallelujah Anyhow. Amen.