Mia Robertson can’t hold back her tears: “We will all miss him so much… – Check the comments 👇👇👇

Jase and Missy Robertson’s journey is marked by resilience and strength, particularly in facing their daughter Mia’s cleft lip and palate. In a recent revelation, they shared the painful experience of Missy’s miscarriage

between eight and ten weeks into her second pregnancy in 2002. This loss deeply affected them, both physically and emotionally.

Despite the heartache, they found hope in the prospect of a new pregnancy. Shortly after, they discovered they were expecting again, welcoming Mia into their lives. However, Mia’s birth brought its own set of challenges due to her congenital anomaly.

Throughout Mia’s life, she has undergone multiple surgeries, demonstrating remarkable bravery and resilience. Her unwavering faith has been a source of strength for the family, guiding them through difficult times. Jase and Missy’s journey underscores the power of love, resilience, and faith in overcoming obstacles and finding hope in even the toughest of times.

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MY MOM PUT MY CAR INTO HER STORAGE UNIT TO PUNISH ME — WHEN I SAW WHAT ELSE SHE WAS HIDING THERE, I WENT PALE. Lately, Mom’s been acting weird, always asking where I’m going, who I’m with, when I’ll be back. We started fighting over small things, and I had no idea why she was making such a big deal. One night, I came home late, and she was waiting for me, furious. We fought, and the next morning, my car was gone. When I asked her, she said, “I took it. You’ll get it back when you start acting like you deserve it.” I was LIVID. It wasn’t just about grounding me anymore — it felt like she was controlling my life. So, I did what any 17-year-old would do: I snooped around. I knew she had a storage unit, and I figured she’d stashed it there. I waited until she left for a doctor’s appointment and found the keys in her room. It felt wrong, but I was FURIOUS. I had to get my car back. When I got to the storage unit, I couldn’t help but smirk — victory was so close. I unlocked the door, expecting to see my car sitting there, untouched. But what I saw instead made me GO PALE. There were boxes. Lots of them. Neatly labeled with ⬇️

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I HELPED A HOMELESS MAN FIX HIS SHOES OUTSIDE A CHURCH — 10 YEARS LATER, A POLICEMAN CAME TO MY HOUSE WITH HIS PHOTO It was bitterly cold, the kind that seeped into your bones. I had just finished my errands when I decided to step into the church for a moment of reflection. That’s when I saw him—sitting on the church steps, hatless, his hands trembling as he struggled to fix his falling-apart shoes. I couldn’t walk past. Something about him struck a chord. “Let me help you,” I said, crouching beside him. He looked up, his tired, bloodshot eyes meeting mine—still holding a spark of hope. I fastened his shoes, wrapped my scarf around his shoulders, and brought him hot soup and tea from a nearby café. “Here,” I said, handing him the food. I scribbled my address on a scrap of paper. “If you ever need a place or someone to talk to, reach out.” He nodded, silent. I walked away, thinking I probably would never see him again. Ten years passed. Life was ordinary—work, friends, family, routines. One evening, as I sat at home sipping tea, there was a knock on the door. When I opened it, a policeman stood before me holding the photograph of the homeless man I’d helped on those church steps a decade earlier. “MA’AM,” he asked, “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?”⬇️Continues in the comments

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