We got married when I was just 19 years old. We met, fell in love quickly, and tied the knot within a year. From the very beginning, children were a topic we discussed openly, though we weren’t actively trying when I found out I was pregnant for the first time.
In the nine months since our wedding, I had gained about ten pounds and had even joined Jenny Craig to try and lose some weight. So when I found out I was pregnant, I actually felt relieved—no more dieting for me. Typical 20-year-old thinking, right? After all, isn’t pregnancy the one time you’re expected to gain weight? Let’s just say I gained quite a bit—one of those pregnancies where you look back and tell yourself, Never again will I let myself go like that!
But becoming first-time parents didn’t slow us down. We continued to travel for my husband’s work as a Christian artist, I kept studying and working, and we took our son everywhere with us, even on date nights. I vividly remember sitting in the theater watching The Sixth Sense with our toddler in tow. In a tense moment of the film, he blurted out something hilarious and the entire audience erupted in laughter. He learned to adapt to our lifestyle and could fall asleep just about anywhere. It was just how we lived, and we weren’t in a rush to add to our family.
We waited over three years before trying again, but this time we were determined to have a girl. So determined that we even bought a book called How to Choose the Sex of Your Child. And wouldn’t you know—it worked! Or at least we like to believe it did. We still had a 50/50 chance. I remember my husband snatching the pregnancy test from my hands, running to the kitchen, staring at it, and saying, “Hmmm, it doesn’t say.” I asked, “Doesn’t say what?” He replied, “It doesn’t say if it’s a boy or a girl!” Three months after our firstborn son Baylee turned four, we welcomed our first daughter, Hadlee.
Sadly, Hadlee was born just one day before the September 11th attacks. On our first morning home from the hospital, John’s mother called urging us to turn on the TV because a plane had “accidentally” hit the World Trade Center. Watching those events unfold was heartbreaking. I remember sobbing night after night as I nursed my newborn, terrified of the world we had brought her into. It was such a bittersweet time for us.
Not long after, despite swearing we’d never move from our hometown—and that John would never be a music pastor—God had other plans. We relocated our family of four from Georgia to Colorado to help with a church plant. Life was good. Hadlee was in pre-K and potty trained, I worked part-time as a speech therapist, and I wasn’t eager to have another baby just yet.
One morning, feeling slightly off, I took a pregnancy test before work and discovered I was expecting again. I decided to surprise John this time. With the help of a friend, I bought baby-themed cupcakes and carrots, and we celebrated quietly at their house. When John arrived, we emphasized the word “baby” until he finally caught on. It was such a sweet surprise. We later announced the news to our church family during a prayer before a meal, when John thanked God for the growing baby in my tummy. Sophee Josephine arrived sunny side up after three grueling hours of pushing—my most difficult delivery yet.
After Sophee’s birth, my family began asking if we were done. My mother even called to say it was time to schedule John for a vasectomy. Though I thought Sophee might be our last, something in me resisted making anything permanent.
Three years into our Colorado life, when Sophee was two and a half, John got a call from a major record label offering him a deal as a Christian recording artist. Within three months, we had moved back to Georgia so he could pursue his dream, and I was finally able to be a stay-at-home homeschooling mom, my own dream.
A year into his new career, despite him being away much of the week, our passion for each other hadn’t diminished—and soon, I suspected I was pregnant again. On our way to the movies one afternoon, we discussed the possibility, and John—impatient as ever—made me buy a test. I refused to take it in the drugstore bathroom but gave in when he suggested I use the theater restroom.
It was a new type of test, and without the box, I didn’t understand the results. I ran back to the car to grab the instructions, cradling my arms in a rocking motion as I walked toward John and our three kids. When I reached them, we hugged and cried right there in the theater lobby. Ezekiel was born just a week before Christmas, our first Christmas baby. During this period, my faith deepened like never before. In prayer, I told God, “I give You my womb. I won’t make anything permanent so You can bless us with as many children as You wish.” John felt the same.
Three years later, we welcomed Josiah, our second planned baby. A prophecy during my pregnancy said he would bring great joy, especially to John. We couldn’t have known that Josiah would be born just a day before John’s mother passed away in the same hospital—six floors below us. Instead of greeting her new grandson, she arrived by ambulance on life support. It was heartbreaking, but John showed remarkable strength. About a month later, I told him it was time to bond with his son, and I captured the moment he finally held Josiah with joy—it was a turning point for him.
Adoption had always been on John’s heart, but I wasn’t open to it—until six months after Josiah’s birth. After spending a week with friends who had adopted from China, something shifted in me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. We began the process, though it was filled with challenges and doubts. During a time of fasting and prayer, God revealed to us a 10-year-old girl in Ukraine named Ana—and when we found her, she matched every detail.
She came with a 14-year-old brother, Maxim, which was intimidating, but we agreed to host them for the summer through a program called P143. We fell in love with them and began the adoption process while they were still visiting. Then came the shock—there was a third sibling, a 12-year-old girl in another orphanage. By Ukrainian law, siblings couldn’t be separated unless one agreed. The agency assured us she would be “free,” but we were overwhelmed—already with five kids, homeschooling four, and limited finances.
Initially, we thought of placing her with another family nearby, but as soon as people expressed interest, we both felt possessive and uneasy. Our children agreed she should stay, and with complete peace, we said yes. Just days before traveling to Ukraine, I discovered I was pregnant again. In one year, our family grew from five to nine children.
Five years later, God evened things out with our fifth girl—making it five boys and five girls. We named her Journee Nova Faith, meaning “new journey of faith,” symbolizing all that God had done for us. Conceiving her was a miracle—health issues had led doctors to believe we couldn’t have more children—but changes in our lifestyle and natural products restored our health. At age 43, I had my healthiest pregnancy and first all-natural delivery.
Today, Journee is seven months old and the light of our lives. Our journey hasn’t been perfect, but it’s been filled with faith, openness, and trust in God’s plan. Sometimes I wonder—if we’d stopped after three kids, scheduled that vasectomy, or refused adoption—how different would life be? Yes, raising ten children takes sacrifice. Yes, adoption was hard. But compared to the reality of eternity, those sacrifices are tiny. We’ve brought seven biological children into the world and given three orphans a home. And to us—that’s worth everything.