Angelina Amedeka shares her journey of faith, loss, and redemption — showing how every “amen” spoken in pain or joy becomes part of God’s beautiful design.
𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗆𝖻. 𝖬𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗇. 𝖨𝗇 𝖩𝗎𝗇𝖾 𝟣𝟫𝟩𝟥, 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖦𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖺 — 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗉, 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖻𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗁. 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖾𝖽.
𝖡𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖦𝗈𝖽, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗐𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗅. 𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾. She was 8 months pregnant b𝗎𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗎𝗉. 𝖥𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝖾𝖽, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗒𝖾𝖽, 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, “𝖨 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗒 𝖱𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗒.”
𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖦𝗈𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗒𝖾𝗋𝗌.𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗇, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝖬𝖺𝗐𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗈𝖾, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 “𝖦𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 h𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗍.” 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾. 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗌, 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗏𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁 — 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅, 𝖦𝗈𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇.
READ MORE: Here’s how to celebrate Mother’s Day if you’re struggling with heartbreak from baby loss
One of those trials was losing my twin babies. 𝖠 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 my 𝗐𝖾𝖽𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖩𝖺𝗇𝗎𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝟤𝟢𝟢𝟤, 𝖨 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗇𝖺𝗇𝗍, my 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋t was 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾. My husband and I 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖲𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇.
My husband and I 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖲𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇.
𝖬𝗒 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽, 𝖺 𝖦𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖲𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖦𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖺, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽. He 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝗈𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗇. 𝖶𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗇 𝖤𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾, 𝖺 𝗌𝗒𝗆𝖻𝗈𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖽𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝖨 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖦𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽. 𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋e 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖨 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗌.
READ MORE: Lessons from baby loss - ‘God’s grace is sufficient’
𝖮𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝖻𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗑𝗒𝗀𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝗈 𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗎𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗑𝗒𝗀𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀.
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗎𝗍𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗑𝗒𝗀𝖾𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗂𝖾𝗌. 𝖮𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌. I 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗌. 𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝖬𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌 𝗐𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗂𝗅𝗍 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌.
READ MORE: A lesson from baby loss
𝖨 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖲𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍. 𝖨𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽. 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖽. 𝖨 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖽𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗆𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗌. 𝖳𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖸𝖾𝗍, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗏𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗒, 𝖨 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗒𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖨 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝖺𝗒 “𝖺 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 a𝗆𝖾𝗇” 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖨 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝖦𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀.
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 a𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 “s𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗍.” 𝖨𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝖿𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖽, 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾.
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 a𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 “s𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗍.” 𝖨𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝖿𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖽, 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 b𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖼 𝗈𝖿 𝖦𝗈𝖽’𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. A 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖼 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖻𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌, 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇. 𝖨𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝖦𝗈𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 ‘m𝗒 b𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 a𝗆𝖾𝗇’ 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾: 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 a𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝖨’𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖼, 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖦𝗈𝖽 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖠𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽.
God carried through that period of my life, and by his grace we went on to have three more children, Deborah Praise, Victoria Nartey Amedeka and Alfred Eli Nartey Amedeka. 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐: 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 a𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄, 𝗂𝗇 𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐, 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽. 𝖨𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖼 𝖦𝗈𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾. 𝖪𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖦𝗈𝖽, 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖦𝗈𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖦𝗈𝖽. A𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 h𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 b𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 a𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾.
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