infant loss

Five Things I Want You to Know on Mother’s Day – To the Women who had Miscarriages

I was so happy. I sat in church and locked eyes with my husband. We exchanged a smile over a secret only the two of us shared.

But then, the next Sunday, tears sprung to my eyes before the first notes of worship even began. I hugged a few close friends but shied away from everyone else.

As the singing of our church service began, I sank into my seat. I was broken hearted.

I had experienced loss. I had miscarried a baby.

I’ve been through this experience five different times over the span of eight years now. I am more in-tune to the emotional signs of loss than the average member of our congregation, but even with my watchful eye, I know many other women slip through my radar and suffer their losses in silence.

Maybe you’ve been there too.

Sweet girl at church, maybe you have experienced a miscarriage as well. Whether you’ve shared your loss or kept it silent, I have some things I want you to know on this Mother’s Day. Whether you sit in my pew, attend my congregation, or live miles away, this message is for you:

1. You are not alone.

Even if you’ve kept your loss private, you are not suffering alone. You may look around the room and see babies in seemingly everyone’s arms, but even the church is not free of heartache.

The most recent statistics state that 15-20% of all pregnancies end in loss.

Our scars are not visible, but many of the women sharing your pew have felt the heartbreak of infant loss as well.

2. Others want to love you.

If you choose to share your losses — and I recommend you eventually do — let the church body surround you with love. Let us bring you meals or bake you cookies. Accept our gifts – even if you don’t believe you need them. These gifts are a physical representation of God’s love for you.

After one of my miscarriages, a friend brought me a pair of fleece pajamas. Every time I slid my legs into those fuzzy pants, I felt the love and support of my friend.

Do not isolate completely, as the whispers of Satan can become shouts in our times of solitude.

3. Grief takes time.

Grieving the loss of an infant is not the same as grieving the passing of your grandfather. He was given the opportunity to live a full life. You have memories with him.

Grieving a baby you never met is unique. You lack the memories and shared experiences, but still posses the pain. You mourn what could have been as opposed to what was.

It’s ok to seem fine one day and struggle again the next.

After my second miscarriage, I took a few days to grieve and then returned back to work. One of my clients announced her due date that next week – it was the same date as the baby I had just lost. Following the announcement, I took a couple more days off of work. My heart was not ready; I wanted to be happy at the announcement of new life, but my wound was too fresh.

Trust your body and your heart as you mourn. Take a day. Take a month. Take what you need. Your grief is as unique as the baby you cry over.

4. God does love you, but Satan hates your family.

You chose to create a family and bring a child into this world. You planned to raise this baby in the church and according to God’s Word. God is not punishing you for any unfaithfulness in your past or anything you have done wrong. God loves you. He desires to give you good things.

But.

But Satan is present and powerful. He hates the idea of a family grounded in truth. He stops at nothing to harm and destroy.

These are facts of the world we live in, but dear friends, don’t allow Satan to win.

Do not allow this trial to breed bitterness or anger against God. Seek wise counsel and help if you need someone to preach and re-preach God’s promises and goodness over you.

Soak up the truth of how God loves you as you continue to read your bible during your grief. Remind yourself of the hope of heaven as you grieve for what sin has taken from you.

5. You were the best mama for your baby.

My babies typically perished between six and ten weeks gestation. For every one of those weeks, I was a good mama for my babies. I kept them safe. I nourished them. I loved them unconditionally.

These losses are not something I wanted. Quite the opposite. I would have done anything to keep them alive.

This is true for you as well, Mama. I don’t doubt your devotion to your children — no matter how long they lived on this earth. You were such a good mama.

If God grants you another babe, you will be a good mama again, no doubt. You will be the best mama for that baby. God made that specific child with you in mind.

 

These are the five things I want you to know on this Mother’s Day – whether you attend my congregation or not, whether your loss is recent or long ago.

Sister, even if your children are not still with us here on this earth, this Mother’s Day is for you. I’m sorry for your loss, but your baby was blessed by your love – no matter how short or how long s/he lived. Sweet girl, sweet mama, Happy Mother’s Day.

photo credit: Darrin Ralph

To the Girl at Church who has Suffered Loss – A Mother’s Day Message for Women who have Miscarried Babies

I was so happy. I sat in church and locked eyes with my husband. We exchanged smiles over a secret only the two of us shared.

But then, the next Sunday, tears sprung to my eyes before the first notes of worship even began. I hugged a few close friends but shied away from everyone else.

As the singing of our church service began, I sank into my seat. I was broken hearted.

I had experienced loss. I had miscarried a baby.

Maybe you’ve been there too.

Sweet girl at church, maybe you have experienced a miscarriage as well. Whether you’ve shared your loss or kept it silent, I have some things I want you to know on this Mother’s Day Sunday. Whether you sit in my pew, attend my congregation, or live miles away, this message is for you:

photo credit: Darrin Ralph

1. You are not alone.

Even if you’ve kept your loss private, you are not suffering alone. You may look around the room and see babies in seemingly everyone’s arms, but even the church is not free of heartache.

The most recent statistics state that 15-20% of all pregnancies end in loss.

Our scars are not visible, but many of the women sharing your pew have felt the heartbreak of infant loss as well.

 

2. Others want to love you.

If you choose to share your losses — and I recommend you eventually do — let the church body surround you with love. Let us bring you meals or bake you cookies. Accept our gifts – even if you don’t believe you need them. These gifts are a physical representation of God’s love for you.

After one of my miscarriages, a friend brought me a pair of fleece pajamas. Every time I slid my legs into those fuzzy pants, I felt the love and support of a friend.

Do not isolate completely, as the whispers of Satan can become shouts in our times of solitude.

 

3. Grief takes time.

Grieving the loss of an infant is not the same as grieving the passing of your grandfather. He was given the opportunity to live a full life. You have memories with him.

Grieving a baby you never met is unique. You lack the memories and shared experiences, but still posses the pain. You mourn what could have been as opposed to what was.

It’s ok to seem fine one day and struggle again the next.

After my second miscarriage, I took a few days to grieve and then returned back to work. One of my clients announced her due date that next week – it was the same date as the baby I had just lost. Following the announcement, I took a couple more days off of work. My heart was not ready; I wanted to be happy at the announcement of new life, but my wound was too fresh.

Trust your body and your heart as you mourn. Take a day. Take a month. Take what you need. Your grief is as unique as the baby you cry over.

 

4. God does love you, but Satan hates your family.

You chose to create a family and bring a child into this world. You planned to raise this baby in the church and according to God’s Word. God is not punishing you for any unfaithfulness in your past or anything you have done wrong. God loves you. He desires to give you good things.

But.

But Satan is present and powerful. He hates the idea of a family grounded in truth. He stops at nothing to harm and destroy.

These are facts of the world we live in, but dear friends, don’t allow Satan to win.

Do not allow this trial to breed bitterness or anger against God. Seek wise counsel and help if you need someone to preach and re-preach God’s promises and goodness over you.

Soak up the truth of how God loves you as you continue to read your bible during your grief. Remind yourself of the hope of heaven as you grieve for what sin has taken from you.

 

5. You were the best mama for your baby.

My babies typically perished between six and ten weeks gestation. For every one of those weeks, I was a good mama for my babies. I kept them safe. I nourished them. I loved them unconditionally.

These losses are not something I wanted. Quite the opposite. I would have done anything to keep them alive.

This is true for you as well, Mama. I don’t doubt your devotion to your children — no matter how long they lived on this earth. You were such a good mama.

If God grants you another babe, you will be a good mama again, no doubt. You will be the best mama for that baby. God made that specific child with you in mind. 

 

These are the things I want you to know on this Mother’s Day – whether you attend my congregation or not, whether your loss was recent or long ago.

Sister, even if your children are not still with us on this earth, this Mother’s Day is for you. I’m sorry for your loss, but your baby was blessed by your love – no matter how short or how long your child lived.

Sweet girl, sweet mama, Happy Mother’s Day.

[Many mamas of infant loss suffer in silence; please pass this along to a mama who needs to hear it on this Mother’s Day.]

Your Moments Defined – Guest Posts

This blog was not born out of a defining moment in my life or my husband’s life; It was born when we made an intentional decision to turn our tragedy into Our Moments Defined.

special needs adoption blog

In 2010, Chance and I experienced extreme sadness as we lost three different babies to miscarriage. We wanted to be parents. We believed God had equipped us for that next chapter of our lives, but at every turn, we encountered loss.

Potentially as a cheap form of therapy, I began writing letters to my cousin in 2011 as she spent time in a rehab facility. I sent letters of encouragement and scriptural truths that spoke to me and my suffering as much – if not more – than they spoke to hers.

These letters were the first posts I uploaded to the blog.

As my cousin made a conscious decision to overcome her heartache and trauma, Chance and I made a similar decision to live, and to live intentionally. We chose to turn what could have been devastatingly defining moments into Our Moments Defined.

We learned lessons from the heartache and knew that God would use us and our struggles. Somehow, in the rawness of our pain, we trusted God would work all things for good.

We just weren’t so sure as to how or when because more tragedy soon came to us.

Knowing that God had given us the tools to be parents and messengers of the gospel to children, Chance and I pursued a domestic, infant adoption. We became certified foster parents and chose an agency specializing in open adoption. We went through training conferences while we decorated our baby nursery. In 2011, we connected with a mama who made an adoption plan for her precious baby boy. He was to be our son.

All the while, I documented our story here on the blog. I shared about my first time hearing our baby’s heartbeat. And I posted when his mother made the difficult decision to parent him.

Our wounds were raw, but Chance and I knew God would use our pain as we refused to allow times of tragedy to become our defining moments, but made them Our Moments Defined.

I continued to write and share our story as we received the referral for Nasko. I documented almost every second of our week meeting him in his Bulgarian orphanage. I wrote about the pain of leaving him as we came home and waited for the process to be completed.

As Nasko flew around the world to join our family, friends and readers held their breath until he was safely in our arms.

Special needs adoption blog

Since Nasko joined our family, we have not stopped pursuing our Heavenly Father’s heart. Incredible pain and loss have preceded our journey of becoming parents. Chance and I could have stopped following God as the hard times came, but instead, we trusted him.

We took potentially defining moments and made them into Our Moments Defined.

Special needs adoption blog

Only because of our miscarriages did we chose to dedicate our lives to raising special needs, adopted boys. 

Then, because of our passion for the orphans and the oppressed, we chose to live missionally and work for a non-profit serving the least of these

Because of our experience in medical settings with Edward, we’re better prepared to minister to other families facing surgeries

Despite the dead-end road of our foster care training, we are able to pray for and support our foster parent friends more effectively. 

Because of our unfortunate, firsthand experience with mental illness and psychiatric hospitalizations, we are able to counsel numerous families who previously felt alone.

 

Chance and I have chosen not to allow tragic, defining moments to steer our life course. Instead, we have seen them as opportunities to grow and serve.

We’ve taken the defining moments and made them into Our Moments Defined. These are the moments I write about on my blog. I capture the redefining of the sad and hard moments.

Special needs adoption blog

I know many of you have done the same. Tragedy and heartache have come your way, but you’ve sought the Father and have redefined those moments.

I want to share your stories.

Staying true to the purpose of my blog, I want to bring your stories to my readers, my family, and my friends. On Fridays, I want to regularly share guest posts.

I want to share how you’ve taken potentially defining moments and made them into Your Moments Defined.

If you are interested in this opportunity, please read the guidelines and information found under the “Guest Post” heading at the top of my blog. Friends and family who follow my blog, please join me in welcoming these guest posters as they share their hearts and their stories.

The first post in the Your Moments Defined series goes live tomorrow morning. I cannot wait to share my friends’ stories of redefining with you!

 

 

An Open Letter to my Babies on their First Birthday [Guest Post]

[I met Caitie twelve years ago while we were in college. We lived on the same floor in the dorms, and I distinctly remember hearing her contagious laugh travel all the way down our hallway from her room to mine. She is a woman with a zest for life with a story to share. After she posted the following letter on Facebook, I asked if she would mind sharing her story on my blog. Her perspective in the midst of heartache is beautiful. I know you all will be encouraged by her story, just as I was.]

A birth story and an openletter to my babies on their first birthday,

This time one year ago, we had checked into the hospital due to a surprise of my water breaking at home. We had no idea what those next hours had in store for us. My body started having contractions and beginning the delivery process. I was given medicine to try and stop the labor, but my body didn’t respond correctly.

By the time I was taken back for the c-section, I was extremely drowsy. I slept through almost my entire delivery; being woken up at 1:29 AM by the anesthesiologist to see Hadley being shown to us. I remember seeing her; in an instant Jamie and I became parents and a family of three. And then, less than two minutes later, I was woken up again being told “I don’t want to miss this.” Dalton was shown to us; we became a family of four.

I was fortunate enough to fall instantly asleep again after Dalton was born. Unbeknownst to me, Dalton hadn’t come out breathing (despite having just shown a strong heartbeat on the monitors directly before the c-section). I was then woken up to someone talking to Jamie and then the anesthesiologist asking me if I understood. I said “No,” and she explained that I needed to really try to stay awake and concentrate to what the doctor was saying. He said “‘Little girl’ is ok, but ‘Little boy’ came out with breathing troubles. Our protocol is to try for 15 minutes to get him back and breathing on his own. We’ve done 30. We need to stop now, OK?”

Those 40 words shocked us to the core where all we could do was agree with a simple “OK”.

I remember lying there just looking around and not crying. I literally couldn’t speak or breathe and finally said, “I think I’m just in shock”. And then they came. The hot sticky tears. And they haven’t stopped yet, one year later.

We are as fragile today as we were then. In 32 minutes we became a family of four; three of whom get to live each day together and one who lives with Jesus, but whose body resides a mile down the road.

October 20, 2015 will forever be the most complex day of our lives. We were robbed of a joyful delivery, of being able to see and hold our babies immediately after delivery, and of cutting their cords. My dear husband had the horrific experience of watching 15 people work to make his only son breathe on his own, and then fail at their attempts. It rips me apart to know he had to experience that while I slept. He is stronger than he even knows.

While this was the worst thing someone can experience, we also got to meet our daughter a few hours later and were told how much of a miracle she was. For the next 35 days, we watched her grow and meet milestones in the NICU. Hadley is the absolute brightest point in our days. Without Hadley, I fear the loss of Dalton would be all-engulfing. There are days, more than not, where I cry and ask why we were given two babies to get to only keep one. Many days, I’m completely angry with God. He hasn’t answered my questions yet, but I choose to breathe and fight to overcome the sadness each day for Hadley and Jamie. Whatever God’s plan is in this, I have to continue on because they deserve it.

Dalton,
We miss you every day. More than anyone can imagine. You are so loved and so wanted. We know that you watch over us each day and we can feel you. We refuse to let you be forgotten, and we have worked very hard this year to honor you. 

We’ve started your foundation. We’ve created a scholarship in your name. It will be granted for the first time the year you should’ve graduated high school. We’ve begun working with senators to change Illinois legislation and law, in your honor, to assist other families whose babies are born still. We’ve donated your carseat to a mother in the NICU that needed one in order to take her baby home. We’ve paid for NICU parents’ parking. We’ve donated some of your clothes to NICU graduates and donated money, in your name, to local organizations we hope you would have grown to love. 

And most importantly, we talk to Hadley about you each day. She brings you flowers every Sunday; 12 red roses. Always. 

Lastly, we’ve never been closer to understanding what happened to you and are dedicated to figuring it out. We love you, baby boy, and would give anything to have you with us, but since we can’t, we will continue to honor you here. Love you, sweet baby. 
– Mama and Daddy 

 

Hadley Rae,
I’ve never – not even for a second – been anything but absolutely ecstatic and thankful for your life. From day one, you have been the happiest baby. You light up a room with your smile and it’s contagious! Your laugh is equally contagious; I’m afraid you may have gotten that from your mama. You have been the strongest little fighter and were determined to not require oxygen in the NICU beyond a few days – a real feat for such a young baby. 

We didn’t know it before, but your 3 pound 5 ounce body was the exact thing missing from our lives. You’ve come in, shaken it up, made everything about you, and I’d have it no other way. 

You are independent, yet love to be held and physically next to someone. You are loving and excited to see literally every.single.person who you come into contact with. Every morning when you get out of bed, we pull your curtains back and smell your pretend peonies; you never let me forget to do this, even on our most rushed mornings. You love music, dancing, and are always on the go! 

These are all qualities I hope you never lose. 

Be independent, but don’t seclude yourself. Always be enthusiastic about life and show love to whoever is around you. Don’t get caught up in what or who society tells you to be excited for. Always take time to enjoy each day and smell the flowers. Be silly and carefree. Dance when you want to – even if you end up not being good at it (please be good at it and please love it!) and never lose the drive and focus you have for each task at hand. 

But above all else, never for a single second think that you are not enough because we lost Dalton; this is my biggest fear. 

Hadley Rae, you are more than enough, you are everything we could ever want and we love you beyond any measure. Love you, sweet baby. 
– Mama and Daddy

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still birth

[If you are interested in contributing to Dalton’s foundation or scholarship, please select “Contact Me” here on the blog.]

Hope from the Heartache – Baby Loss Awareness Week

All week I’ve been struggling with what to write about infant loss during this year’s Baby Loss Awareness Week.

In 2010, we lost three babies in less than nine months.

Three times, I felt my belly swell and my heart practically burst. Three times we were crushed by the pain and sadness of loss.

Our arms were empty.

Then, in 2011, we experienced a different kind of infant loss. We held a brand-new baby boy in our arms. We made plans to bring him home to our waiting nursery. We mapped out his future as our son, until the woman who gave him life decided to raise him.

Again, we had empty arms.

This week, I have spent time remembering my babies. I’ve thought about what could have been, and what was not. I have relived each loss and remembered each baby’s story. I’ve thought about a little boy who may never know how much I loved him, and how hard it was to walk away from him.

But I haven’t felt oppressing sadness.

This fact made me uncomfortable. I thought I couldn’t write about my losses, unless I was still struggling with them.

I assumed this week was entirely about sharing heartbreak, but right now in my life, all I have to share is hope.

Friends, the loss is real. The pain is hard. The sorrow is great. Chance and I have cried many tears over what could have been.

My arms still ache for the four children I have lost. Now though, my heart is full with the children I have gained.

Our losses have helped to form the weave of our story’s tapestry.

Following our second loss, Chance and I were driven to become certified foster parents. We went through the training and the process of certification. We’ve never taken in foster children, but we’ve offered respite and knowledgable advice for our friends who are walking through that fire. The training also gave us a foundation for working with children from trauma.

After our third loss, we decided to partner with a ministry that was doing domestic infant adoptions. We learned much from their priorities – their first was to minister to the birth moms, and their second was infant adoptions. We learned what it looked like to have an open adoption. Over the past few years, this training has helped us minister to a few women who were contemplating adoption plans. It also gave us the love and mission-minded approach we had as we worked with our birth mom in 2011.

More recently, we’ve recalled the foundation laid by this training as we’ve advised some of our closest friends. They entered into an open adoption over a year ago, and have tirelessly shared the love of Christ with their daughter’s birth mom.

We were in-process with Nasko’s adoption when our own open adoption failed. After meeting Nasko, we realized how much care he would require, and knew it would be best for him to be an only child upon finalization of his adoption.

Nasko’s file was sent to us from an agency who saw that his fate was bleak without an adoption. Our hearts were prepared to take on a child with such needs because our eyes had been opened to the orphan crises around the world.

Around the time Nasko was adopted, I made major dietary changes and began seeing articles on the links between food intolerances and miscarriages/infertility. We prayerfully conceived and carried our healthy baby boy, Louis, just over a year later. I’ve become a walking billboard for the understanding that food issues can cause miscarriages; since Louis was born, I’ve told our story to many women with loss-filled pasts. At least four of these women have delivered healthy babies.

Five years ago, our lives were filled with sadness and heartbreak. We had no idea the hope and the promise that would come from our emptiness.

I’ve written about our losses a few times here on the blog. Each time, it has been healing for me, but I know it has also been healing for those of you who were reading. Friends have shared their stories and their memories. Women who have never previously spoken of their miscarriages, have honored their children by sharing their stories here.

This week, I also want to give hope to the hopelessness of loss.

If you have experienced loss, feel free to comment here on my blog with the way you remember your child (whether it be a name or a date). You can share your story here. You are loved and your children have value. I am truly sorry for your heartache.

Also, if you have seen your sadness turned to hope, be encouraged to share that story in the comments  as well.

This week, let us remember our babies and our losses, but let us also cling to the hope that God will use each of our experiences for his glory.

Baby Loss Awareness Week, infant loss, miscarriage,

Infant Loss and Failed Adoptions

Yesterday (and all this week) are designated times when mothers who have miscarried, delivered stillborns, or experienced the death of an infant, pause to remember those children.

Many women lit candles last night in honor of their babies who have passed. We don’t light candles in our home for obvious reasons (one of those reasons rhymes with “Rasco”), but I often remember the three unnamed babies we lost to miscarriages in 2010.

Another loss that isn’t shared by a large number of people, is the loss we experienced through failed adoption. We regularly talk about “Baby I”, the sweet little man we were set to adopt in April of 2011. Almost weekly, we drive past his house.

Yesterday, as I was taking Nasko to a therapy appointment, we turned onto the street where Baby I’s family still lives. As we rounded the corner, Nasko said, “Baby I’s house. Pray. Dear God. Baby I. Love Jesus. Amen.”

A sob caught in my throat as I realized what had just taken place. Nasko, my adopted son, was praying for the child I would never get to parent; a child he would never meet. In Nasko’s limited vocabulary and understanding, he was echoing the prayer I always pray as we drive past Baby I’s house — a prayer that Baby I might come to have a relationship with The Lord.

You see, despite the heartache and the tears on that rainy day in April of 2011, I handed Baby I over to God when I handed him to his birth mother for the last time.

I knew that she was wavering in her decision to have us parent him. I knew she was being pulled by her family to sever the adoption plan. And despite the fact that it wouldn’t be my job to kiss Baby I’s bruises, or to change his diapers, or to rock him to sleep, I promised God that I would continue to fulfill the most important role as his parent, despite what any legal documents said about my status — I would pray for his salvation. I specifically asked God to place Baby I in the home where he would have the best opportunity for a relationship with Christ.

Of course, I had hoped that home would be mine; we are raising our boys to know and love God, but that does not mean they will have a relationship with Him. A child can receive the best biblical instruction, and still not KNOW their savior.

When the decision was made that Baby I’s birth mother would parent him, I trusted that God had His hand in the decision, and I believe that He will faithfully draw I to Himself. And I have not stopped praying.

Obviously, my children are now echoing this prayer. They are praying for their brother, not a sibling, but a future brother in Christ. I maintain faith that these boys will some day be united in heaven as brothers who share a father — our Heavenly Father.

This week, please remember all of those affected by infant loss. Those of us who have experienced the loss remember each of our children; it is healing to talk about them. Also, please pray for those children who have been affected by failed adoptions. And please pray for Baby I to come to a relationship with his Heavenly Father.

Infant Loss

You may have seen a “copy-and-paste-this-status-update” paragraph floating around facebook in honor of infant loss this week.

I have realized that my loss cannot be summed up into one paragraph that someone else wrote.  My loss can never be fully expressed in written or spoken word.

Many times, I have cried out to God in anger, frustration, sadness, confusion, and desperation.  I am sure that my words have jumbled together and meant nothing to anyone who was quietly listening in the next room, but thank goodness I have a God who understands – even when the cries of my heart don’t make sense.

Romans 8:18, 26-27

And the Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. For example, we don’t know what God wants us to pray for. But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words. And the Father who knows all hearts knows what the Spirit is saying, for the Spirit pleads for us believers in harmony with God’s own will.

There is pain, and there is suffering in this world.  There is glory and there is blessing in my future though.  The Lord is preparing to welcome me Home someday.  He already holds three of my babies in His presence.  Also, I pray daily that our other lost baby will join us when he has left this world of hardship and pain.

Romans 8:18

Yet what we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later.

Today, on October 15, 2011, National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Rememberance Day, let us remember the children who have died and who have been lost.  Let us pray for the 2,000 women who daily suffer from this loss.  Let us thank God for His future glory and his ability to make all things beautiful.

I found the following video out in blog-land, and I’m sharing it with you all today.  I hope that it touches you and possibly gives you a glimpse of the loss that the women around you are feeling every day.

Possibly you are one of the women who lost a child.  I’m praying for you.  I’m praying for healing.

Feel free to honor your lost babies by leaving a comment on this blog.  You might want to include your child(ren)’s name and a date you associate with them.

Please know that you are not alone.

Lord, please heal the families who have been affected by pregnancy and infant loss.  Please remind them of the hope that is offered in knowing You.  Please allow the mothers who are suffering to know that they are not alone.  Grant us Your peace and protection.  Amen

Baby Newingham 1 – 12/26/2009

Baby Newingham 2 – 03/22/2010

Baby Newingham 3 – 08/09/2010

Israel Kevon (Newingham) – 4/19/2011