As my biological clock pounded away, I was relieved to get married at 36.

I got pregnant a year after we got married. No lottery winner could have felt more grateful when we saw the fetal heartbeat on the sonogram at eight weeks. We never considered the possibility that the following week, we would see no heartbeat. The fetus died, and so did a small part of me when I heard the terrible news.

Fertility specialists assured us that all was fine, but that a little assistance would speed things along. We dutifully sought intervention, some of which required us to turn our lives upside down. We were once recommended to a fertility specialist whose recommendations we faithfully followed. We found out later that his exorbitant fees were exceeded only by his willingness to subject women to procedures that were proven to be ineffective.

Finally, we went to the top fertility specialist at a well-known hospital where we were put at the end of a one-and-a-half yearlong waiting list.

A year after my miscarriage, I got pregnant again during a trip to Israel. My husband and I were delighted, and awaited the birth with great anticipation. A few weeks later, I gave a lecture at a Sabbath lunch. The topic was "Why Bad Things Happen To Good People." One of my patients insisted that a good friend of hers come to hear me speak. The friend was trying to come to terms with a host of tribulations and challenges she was facing, and my patient assured her that my words would help her.

Two minutes before I was to start speaking, I felt the familiar miscarriage sensations. I felt as if a messenger had come to tell me that I was not the rightful winner of the lottery whose prize I had already mentally banked.

I gave my talk, with its uplifting message that nothing happens by accident. Everything is a divinely engineered circumstance tailored to help our soul develop its maximal beauty. When I finished, my patient's friend came over to tell me how deeply my words had touched her.

When the crowd left, I sadly walked back to the rabbi's house where I was staying. In private, I sobbed, feeling physical pain that reflected the emotional torment of my tragedy, even as my intellect told me that G-d was embracing me, and it was all for a good purpose.

Three months later, I got a call from the fertility center. The nurse said that she had found a way to get me into treatment in only six months instead of 18. I jumped at the opportunity.

I underwent yet another fertility workup from scratch, the fifth in two years. This time, though, the news was not encouraging. I was nearly 39 years old, and I may have reached the end of my fertile years. I would have to get monthly blood tests to determine in any given month if I would be fertile that cycle.

Finally, one freezing, windy evening, we heard the unlikely news on our answering machine. My numbers were good, they were within normal range, and I should start injections that evening.

Less than two weeks later, my pregnancy test confirmed that I was, at long last, pregnant. It was June, the flowers were blooming, the warm spring air caressed me, and all seemed right with the world. I waited for the familiar, all-day morning sickness to arrive.

A few weeks later, while writing one of my books, I suddenly felt those sickening sensations. A scream welled up inside me. I couldn't believe this was happening to me a third time. Hadn't I suffered enough? "G-d," I beseeched, "please make me a miracle and save this child. Please."

The next month, my body finally returned to normal, and I called the fertility doctor. "Should I come in for blood tests this month?" I asked.

In an avuncular voice he responded, "Don't bother. You've already spent almost three years and over $50,000 trying to have a baby, and nothing worked. You are no longer fertile. Your chances of ever having a healthy pregnancy are infinitesimal."

I was crushed, and agreed with him that it was futile for me to go back to the hospital. On the other hand, I believed that G-d wanted me to have a child, but not through that avenue. How He would make it happen, I had no idea.

Two weeks later, my husband and I visited Israel for the holidays. We prayed at the Western Wall and absorbed the holiness of our land. Two weeks after we came back to the United States, I discovered I was pregnant. Our daughter was born in June, the first day of summer.

When I saw her for the first time, I was not prepared for what a newborn baby looks like. I had expected a Gerber baby. My child looked like a combination of Popeye and a conehead, covered in mayonnaise and ketchup.

"Isn't she the most beautiful thing?" my husband gushed, his eyes blinded by love. Indeed, when I saw her after she was cleaned up an hour later, she was.

When our daughter was eleven months old, we went to Australia together. When our daughter was one week shy of a year, my husband told me, "Look, our daughter will be over a year old by the time we get back to the States. You need to start getting used to weaning her." She was happily nursing about eight times a day at the time. I said nothing, just intensified my prayers to get pregnant.

Three days later, I discovered that I was pregnant. I gave birth to our second child the following winter.

MANY LESSONS

My experience has taught me many things: First, many of us spend our lives trying to get and achieve what we want. It is easy to think that it is up to us to make our agenda happen. I learned that trying to mold what we want to fit G-d's agenda is what life is all about. My utter helplessness trying to have a baby made me understand that I first needed to feel dependent on G-d before I could properly raise a child who would be dependent on me.

G-d wants us to talk to and relate to Him, not only when we need something, but because we love Him and want to be close to Him.

Love that is dependent on getting what we want is not real love; it's self-love. Loving G-d even when He doesn't give us what we want is a true relationship. I learned to love and trust G-d even when I was very disappointed that He couldn't give me what I wanted.

Second, I realized that sometimes the only way that G-d can get us to do what He needs us to do is to prevent us from having what we want. I realized after having a baby that there is no way that I could have written so many books on Judaism if I had children when I was younger.

Raising children requires so much of my energy that I simply didn't have enough left over to write books for years. G-d wanted me to have children, but not on my timetable. Certain spiritual accomplishments had to occur before it was time for me to be a mother.

Even though I prayed a lot, gave charity, and did mitzvos that didn't result in my having a baby, these were not wasted. No good deed is ever wasted, even if it doesn't get us the results we want. Maybe G-d made me unable to have children for so long so I could deepen my relationship with Him through prayer and Mitzvot. Without this impetus, I would not have done either.

Third, I learned what it feels like to be infertile. I have helped many other infertile people as a result by giving them medical, spiritual and emotional counseling. I learned how insensitive people can be to those not blessed with children.

If I looked at my ordeals only as barriers to my getting what I wanted, I would have missed much of the point of life's challenges. They are supposed to transform us, make us into more giving, caring individuals. I believe I have been able to use the suffering I underwent to make other people's lives easier when they are in the same boat.

Fourth, I learned firsthand that G-d controls nature. While we should not rely on miracles, and have to do everything that is normally required to get results, I was privileged to experience how G-d overturns nature when it suits His purposes.

We are often misled into believing that life and death is in the doctor’s hands. We need to remember that doctors are only G-d's agents, and He is the ultimate Healer and Giver of Life. When we believe only in what is rational or natural, we limit our lives. When we attach ourselves to our Creator, and to His constant providence, miracles can, and do, occur.

Fifth, I realized the importance of doing a Mitzvah correctly. Life is in the details. Does it really matter if I perform a commandment this way or that way, or observe it only in my heart? The answer is yes. Just as there are prescribed doses of medication when a person is sick, or specific ways to wire a house so machines will function properly, spiritual matters must also be done with attention to details.

Finally, I learned the power of prayer. We sometimes pray as a last resort, and then when we don't get the results we want, we don't do it again for a long time.

Learning Torah is how G-d talks to us. Praying is how we talk to Him. A relationship requires communication, and we need to keep open the channels of communication with our Creator. We may not necessarily get what we want, but we can always have the relationship we want. Being close to G-d can change us so dramatically that we become worthy of getting blessings that are out of this world. I am forever grateful that I got both.

Lisa Aiken is author of "To Be a Jewish Woman; Why me G-d? A Jewish Guide to Coping with Suffering;" "Dating Secrets Your Mother Never Told You;" "Secrets to a Happy Marriage;" and "The Hidden Beauty of the Shema." She is co-author of "The Art of Jewish Prayer" and "What Your Unborn Baby Wants to Know."