There are a few things in life that truly leave a lasting impact. As I get older, I notice that many experiences affect me less deeply than they once did. Yet, some events—no matter our age—hit us with full force and change us completely. These life-altering moments leave us forever different from one day to the next. I want to share one such personal story that profoundly impacted my life and my family’s.
As Father’s Day approaches, I often reflect on how good—or not so good—a father I am. You’ve probably heard me say that we are often our own harshest critics, and I firmly believe that’s true. But I also believe that self-doubt can be a tactic of the enemy, planting uncertainty in our minds to rob us of the confidence to do good.
Being a father to my three children has been the hardest and most rewarding role I’ve ever had. They’ve taught me so much and brought immense joy—and heartache—into my life. I have never felt emotions more deeply than I have with them. I remember when they were small, I would get very angry at myself if they got hurt. I just wanted to protect them always, and when I couldn’t, I felt like I had failed. I didn’t really know how to be a father, how to interact with them, or what my role in their lives should be. I had my own father as an example, but I knew I couldn’t live up to that expectation. Even today, I struggle with my role at times and am painfully aware that I can do better.
If you know my family, you know I have three children. But what you might not know is that we are a family of five children—we lost two. I like to call them our “Angel Babies.” On October 14th, 2014, our fourth child was stillborn. We named him Aaron Joseph. He grew normally inside my wife’s womb until the day of a checkup when we learned that things were far more difficult than we’d hoped. He had several life-threatening conditions, and the doctors told us he would not survive. That moment is forever seared in my memory. I asked the doctor to leave so my wife and I could talk. Suddenly, we went from dreaming of a beautiful future together to facing overwhelming hardship if he were to survive. Together, we decided to carry the baby to term no matter what, because we believed it was God’s plan. Our faith helped us make that decision. We trusted that God had a plan and would provide and care for us just as He always had.
We shared a note with our church:
“Our unborn baby boy, Aaron, is not expected to survive past birth. Please pray that as our pregnancy continues, our sorrow will not overwhelm us, but be turned to joy as we think heavenward.”
Aaron passed away in the womb shortly before birth. I was able to hold him and pray through the night. I still remember the weight of him on my chest as I rocked him gently back and forth. I felt like this was my only chance to be any kind of father to him. I wrote him a wordless song in that rocking chair—a low, humming melody that vibrated through my chest to his. Whenever I think of him, I hum that tune, hoping he can hear it or at least know I’m thinking of him.
A journal entry from that time reads:
“Baby Aaron will never know the shame of ‘bad fruit.’ God spared him from that. He will never know pain or suffering. He’ll only know the warmth and comfort of his mother’s womb. Even in his short season of life, he was blessed beyond measure.”
We buried Aaron’s remains next to a lake where, when we visit, we see the calm water reflecting the sky.
A father’s faith is vital. A mother’s faith is essential. And a family’s faith can change the course of their lives forever.
On July 19th, 2015, we suffered another miscarriage. We named her Autumn Rose.
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