I was that girl, you know, the one with the teenage pregnancy. But I was carrying more than just an unexpected life; I was carrying the weight of the shame of my sin. Even amid my circumstances, the Lord met me where I was, and my life since November 19th, 2022 has never been the same. 

Growing up in the church, I learned how to talk the talk and walk the walk. I knew what Jesus had done for me, I knew all the right answers, and I knew how to avoid the obvious pitfalls — at least where others could see. But behind closed doors, my private life didn’t reflect the values I so badly wanted everyone to believe I lived by.

I knew from an early age that I had been given the gift of athleticism, so my dream was to be a college athlete. As a 19-year-old, that dream became reality, and I was offered a basketball scholarship. At that time in my life, I thought I had finally made it. Everything “I” wanted, I had. I walked into college as a freshman, blissfully ignorant of my sin. So, from the first day of school, I was surrounded by temptation. 

One of my deepest struggles was my idolization of relationships. I itched to be loved by my peers, authority figures, and especially men, because at this time in my life, I hadn’t yet fully grasped the Lord’s unwavering love for me.

From the first moments on my college campus, my heart was consumed with the search for a relationship, my symbol of acceptance and worth, until I eventually gave in to the temptation 70% of college students engage in — the temporary comfort of hookup culture.

I started hooking up with a guy I had been casually seeing. Through my fleshly desires, I received attention without the expectations of a serious relationship — something private that didn’t require anyone’s approval or awareness. 

I knew what I was doing wasn’t right, and each time I promised myself it wouldn’t happen again. But the prospect of stopping was threatening for me because our actions felt like the only situation in my life that I could control. When it happened again, the precautions we took weren’t enough. The next morning, I took an emergency contraception. 

On December 19th, I found myself in a Wendy’s bathroom staring at a positive pregnancy test. But of course, while the test was so clear, my first instinct was denial. That night, I went back to my college dorm, laid my head on my pillow, and went to sleep in the hopes of prolonging the harsh reality of my choices. 

The following day, I told two of my teammates. They offered to come with me to pick up more tests — to try again, just to be sure. When I went to pick them up, another girl got in the car. Her name was Zoey. I had never really talked to her before — I knew of her, but we weren’t friends.

She climbed in, and without hesitation, I looked her straight in the eye and said, “Hey, I’m Gwyn. I’m probably pregnant. Wanna come take some tests with us?” She let out a little laugh and said, “Sure.” Well, as you can imagine, the following pregnancy tests were still in fact positive.

So, where do I go from here?

I immediately told the guy I had been seeing, and his first response was that I needed to get an abortion. Up until that very moment, I would have told you with full conviction that I would never consider an abortion. As many can likely understand, I learned that day that you never know what you could do until you are in the situation — until the choice is right in front of you. Until it suddenly seems like the only option.

I wish I could say I looked him in the eye and said, “No, that’s not an option.” But I didn’t. I agreed with him.

I talked to my friends. They didn’t pressure me at all, but they did agree that this would be the best and quickest way to not be pregnant anymore. And because I wanted it to be over quickly and quietly, I got on the phone that night and called every clinic and hospital in my area.

I knew I didn’t want to get a procedure done, and because of the abortion laws in Georgia, I wouldn’t have been able to. Then I learned about the abortion pill — I just wanted the fastest route. 

I couldn’t find a place where I could just walk in and get the pill, so I scheduled an appointment at a Planned Parenthood clinic in Atlanta. My last basketball game before Christmas break was December 16th. “My” plan was simple — at least in my head. I would tell my parents I had to stay an extra day for basketball, go to the clinic, take the pill, and be done.

It is amazing how well we can deceive ourselves that sin will be simple and uncomplicated, without lasting effects. “I” planned to go back to my scholarship and to my school. I would reset again and start over.

The night I scheduled the appointment, I was in Zoey’s room. My other two friends had left, and it was just the two of us. It was awkward — we didn’t know each other well. She only knew me as the pregnant freshman on the basketball team. And yet, as I was getting up to leave, she looked at me and said, “Gwyn, I know I don’t know you very well, but I love you already. As your sister in Christ, no matter what you decide, you’ll always have a friendship here. But I can’t support the decision you’re about to make. The Lord has chosen for you to be a mother, and even if you follow through with this abortion, you will forever be one.”

That was the last thing I wanted to hear. I had removed God and my faith completely from the decision. I didn’t want anyone to bring up right and wrong. I was very upset with her for saying that to me. I thought, “Who does this girl think she is?” I had just met her. She didn’t get to tell me what to do, she didn’t get to hold me accountable, she didn’t get to hold Christ over my head! 

Later that next day, I also shared my news with another teammate, and I told her what I was planning on doing. After practice, she said she wanted to talk to me. She shared with me that a couple of months before the season started, she had a miscarriage at three months. In that moment, I mourned her loss and felt sorrow for what she had gone through. 

She then told me the same thing Zoey said the night before. She expressed to me that even though she had a miscarriage, she is still and will always be a mother to that beautiful baby, and that I am now and will forever be a mother. 

I was furious that both people I confided in the most brought God into it. But whether I liked it or not, they opened my eyes to the fact that the pregnancy I did not want was also a person; it was my baby.

The next 48 hours, I wrestled with the idea of going to the appointment or going home and telling my parents. Although I’m grieved to admit that I ever considered abortion, I’m blessed to say that on December 16th, 2022, by God’s grace, I went home instead of staying for that appointment.

After being home for about three days, I finally broke the news to my parents — I was pregnant. “Devastated” doesn’t even begin to describe how they felt in that moment.

I’ll never forget the way they responded. One of the biggest reasons I had even considered abortion — aside from the fear of losing my scholarship — was the belief that my parents would never forgive me. I was convinced they’d hate me, kick me out, maybe even disown me. I had heard enough horror stories about teenage pregnancy to believe that was my fate, too.

But to my complete surprise, their response was nothing like I imagined. It’s something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. Instead of shaming me, my parents embraced me. They held me. They prayed over me. They cared for me. I’m sure they were disappointed, even heartbroken — but they met me with mercy and grace.

And that moment taught me something deeper than I realized at the time.

Isn’t that so often how we view God? We sin. We hide. We mess up — sometimes in ways we never thought possible. And we think we’ve gone too far for grace, that He must be furious, done with us, unwilling to forgive.

But that’s exactly the lie the enemy wants us to believe. Because the truth is, while our sin breaks God’s heart, it does not break the love He has for us. He’s the Father who runs to the prodigal — not to punish, but to restore.

After weighing what to do next, my parents and I decided the best option was for me to come home. We drove the three-plus hours back to my college, packed up my things, and quietly left. I didn’t tell anyone why. No explanation to my teammates. No message to my friends. I just disappeared from the team, the school, and the life I had worked so hard to build.

The weeks that followed were some of the hardest my family and I have ever faced. I had chosen early on not to make my pregnancy public, which meant leaving my scholarship and the sport I had poured my life into without giving anyone a reason. The silence was painful, but I’m so grateful my parents honored my request for privacy, even as they carried the emotional weight alongside me.

By January 2023, I began doing school online. I had mostly come to terms with the fact that I would be a single mom. Even though most people didn’t know I was pregnant, I knew the day would come when my child would be here, and so would the questions.

Through a family friend on the board of Covenant Care Adoptions, we heard about counselors who could walk with us through this season. At first, I immediately shut the idea down. In my mind, adoption meant sending your baby to some orphanage with bunk beds and waiting for someone to come pick them. That wasn’t what I wanted for my child.

But eventually, I agreed to meet with a birth counselor. To my surprise, she didn’t pressure me or try to steer me in any direction. She simply said, “We’re here to walk with you, whether you choose to parent or make an open adoption plan.” And in that moment, for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had space to breathe.

This season further affirmed my decision to keep the pregnancy private. I know it was incredibly exhausting for my parents and siblings. It was heartbreaking to watch the burden I placed on them — coming home without a clear explanation, navigating awkward conversations, trying to protect me without having the words to explain why I was really there.

We didn’t want to lie. But I also wasn’t ready for people to know the truth. During this time, I didn’t want outside opinions or noise — I just wanted to hear from the Lord.

Once I started showing in April, I stopped going out altogether. No work, no activities, no hanging out with friends. I stayed home and mostly in my room. It felt like I had gone into hiding. Naturally, the questions started surfacing again: Where’s Gwyn? How’s Gwyn doing? What’s she been up to?

God used this hidden season to open my eyes to His glory. For the first time in a long time, I began reading my Bible daily, spending intentional time in silence with Him. With all distractions stripped away, it was just me and my Savior — every day, all day.

It was hard at first. I had spent most of my life running — chasing chaos, control, and attention. I never wanted stillness. I didn’t want to rest. I didn’t even want peace. But in the quiet, God was softening my heart and preparing me, regardless of whether I would parent or place.

I continued meeting with my birth counselor and an online counselor. I prayed. I journaled. I listened. And as I learned more about open adoption through Covenant Care, the more confident I became that this was the path God was asking me to walk.

Though we hadn’t seen each other since the night I got pregnant, I stayed in contact with my baby’s father. Over time, he eventually got on board, and together we signed the papers to begin making an open adoption plan.

When I reached about six months into my pregnancy, it was time to start looking through profiles at the adoption center. A profile is essentially a scrapbook — a glimpse into the life of a family or married couple hoping to adopt. I was handed five books, each carefully matched to the hopes and values I had expressed for my daughter’s future. From these five, I would choose her forever family.

It was one of the most overwhelming and vulnerable moments of my life. It all felt strangely transactional — like I was expected to make a lifelong decision for my child based on a few smiling pictures and neatly typed descriptions. How could I possibly know? What if I chose wrong? The weight of entrusting my daughter’s entire life to strangers terrified me.

But then, as I flipped through the profiles, one stood out instantly. I’ve never fully understood when people say, “God spoke to me,” or “I just knew this was His will.” But as I looked at this family’s profile, something deep within me stilled. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, this was her family.

It was as if a light poured over their book — a peace I can’t describe. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t the most “impressive” on paper. But it was right. There was something unmistakably God-ordained about it. When I opened the book to the very first page, there was a letter addressed to birth moms who would read their profile. In that letter, they wrote, “Whether you decide to make an open adoption plan or parent your baby, we are so thankful you chose life.”

How in the world could this family have known? How could this mom have known that I had almost made a different choice? That I had almost aborted my daughter?

There were so many things this family could offer my daughter — things I desperately wanted for her, but knew I couldn’t provide. I could give her love and care, but they could give her something more: two married parents who loved each other deeply with their relationship rooted in Christ, living together in a stable home; two people fully prepared and equipped to raise a child.

After choosing this family, I found myself praying more and more each day. God calmed my nerves and fears, filling me with hope and peace about her future.

The pregnancy was tough — pregnancy itself is one of the most surreal experiences a mother can go through. It’s a time of incredible connection, yet for me, I chose to compartmentalize much of those last months, knowing that eventually, I would be parting with her.

On August 18th, around 1 a.m., I began having contractions. Ten hours later, at 11:15 a.m., I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl. At first, I had decided not to name her — her father and I thought it would be best since she would eventually have a new name given by her forever family.

But as I held her for the very first time, I turned to the nurses and my midwife, half-jokingly asking if anyone had any name suggestions. My midwife suggested Sophia — a name her father and I had talked about before. I was blessed to stay with Sophia in the hospital for the next three days. During that time, I got to love her and hold her close. My parents and siblings got to meet her and hold her, too.

It stung every time the hospital staff asked about the car seat or what pediatrician we chose. I would barely muster up the words and have to say out loud, “She is not going home with me,” and yet God would manifest His peace over and over. The second morning, when the pediatrician came to check on her again, he and his nurses left the room. 

Then they came right back in. They said, “We had a ‘meeting,’ and we decided we wanted to pray for you.” They gathered around my bed, held hands, and prayed for me and Sophia. As I held her, covered in their prayers, I knew God was holding us both, and our days were in His hands.

When we were discharged from the hospital, Sophia went into interim care — a loving couple who would care for her during the three-day revocation period. This period is the legal window I had to change my mind before the adoption process moved forward.

There are truly no words to capture how excruciating those three days were for me as a birth mom. I was caught in a constant back-and-forth. I knew I could be a good mom. I knew our home would be a wonderful place for her to grow up, filled with the laughter of friends and the love of family. But every reason that held me back from choosing open adoption centered on me — it was all about my fears, my doubts, my pride.

During those days, I could see her during the day, but at night, she was taken back to interim care. Those nights were some of the darkest I have ever known. Yet, in the quiet moments, God kept bringing me back to one truth: “You’re not doing this for you. You’re doing this for her.”

The next morning, Sophia was taken to Covenant Care to meet her forever family. This day was full of mixed emotions. There was sadness and grief, but ultimately, there was also excitement. There was a new life and a new chapter starting for my daughter. She was going home.

Through our sins and indulging our selfish desires, Sophia’s father and I put ourselves in a position of heartache. My heart broke that day. But while we suffered a great hardship, another family and my daughter received a great blessing. 

I watched the video as my baby was placed in the arms of her parents for the first time, and I had no more doubt that I had made the right decision. All my uncertainty and worry left, and I was filled with the joy of the Holy Spirit, knowing that God can redeem any situation.

Later that day, ironically, I went to go get Wendy’s to eat, and as we sat in the car, my mom and I looked up what the name Sophia meant. Sophia means “wisdom.” I knew it was no coincidence that during those three excruciating days in my life, I needed wisdom the most — and that was her legal name. 

My daughter will be turning two years old in August, and while my life does not look how I envisioned it at all, I am so thankful for how the Lord came and got me. He truly turned beauty from ashes. Throughout this process, Sophia’s father and I have both been saved by grace through faith. We both get to see her, receive pictures, and watch her grow up. 

I have seen in the last two years the impact that abortion has had on millions of babies. I had all the excuses: I was young, I wasn’t in a relationship with the father, I wasn’t financially stable. I also can relate to all the pro-abortion activists who truly believe the saying “my body/ my choice” because that’s exactly how I felt after my friends confronted me… but I didn’t choose abortion; I chose open adoption. 

Yet despite the challenges — and yes, there have been hard days — I have never once regretted my decision. I am deeply grateful for how God has used adoption in both my life and my daughter’s, reflecting the greater adoption we experience through Him, being welcomed into His kingdom here on earth and in heaven.

Open adoption is a beautiful and courageous choice for mothers facing unexpected pregnancies, offering their babies a chance at a full and loving life. 

My daughter’s and my story is not one of rejection, sadness, or loss — it is a story of redemption.

Gwyn Andrews serves as an intern at Family Research Council.