I zealously defend the unborn’s right to life. But in pleading this case, we must support, not shame, their mothers.

My adoption story ends here, but this blog does not. The unborn need advocates like the ones I had in Mom and Lynette

The “God moments” shared between my adoptive family and my biological family will blow your mind.

Lynette carried her first child for nine months. She lugged around the memory of the son she placed for adoption much longer.

Lynette was sent away to hide her pregnancy. The Friends Rescue Home proved no more nurturing than her permanent one.

Tragedy had left Lynette’s mother cold and detached. This brought trouble for her daughter, too.

With advice from a woman who has received a message from the son she placed for adoption, I penned my own letter to my birth mother.

As I tried to find the words to approach my birth mother, I took advice from a friend who has a compelling adoption story of her own.

I had no urgent desire to find my biological father, but I was curious about him nonetheless. What I found proved unsettling.

A search through genealogical records exposes decades of unthinkable loss for my biological mother and her family.

I open my DNA and adoption records to find stunning news about my biological mother — news that renews doubts about whether I’m doing the ri

Men often put the “crisis” in “crisis pregnancy.” They can also take it away, as my cousin and father lovingly demonstrate.

When I point the finger at the oversexed and irresponsible, three more point back at me, as my relationship with Jessica demonstrates.