Mia Robertson, the youngest daughter of Duck Dynasty’s Jase & Missy Robertson, has been born with a condition known as cleft lip and palate, a gap in the upper lip that can involve the gum as well.
The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention shares that about one in every 1,600 babies is born with a cleft lip with a cleft palate in the U.S.
Because of her condition, sweet Mia, who is now 18 years old, has been forced to undergo 13 surgeries, with the 14th taking place just recently. The family truly hopes this would be Mia’s last procedure before her problem is finally solved.
Throughout every surgery, the young girl remains positive. What’s most, she hopes she serves as inspiration for other young children who are born with the same condition. On her own initiative and with the help of her family, Mia established the Mia Moo Fund in order to assist in making certain that each and every child wears a smile on their face.
“One of the functions of the Mia Moo Fund is to spread awareness of the cleft lip and palate journey,” Missy Robertson told Christian Post. “The other one is to help with medical funds for the parents and the families living right here in America.”
On his podcast Unashamed, Jase Robertson shared an update on Mia’s condition and said that his daughter is recovering well.
“She’s doing great. She’s turned a corner,” he said, and then added, “Everything seems great, seems to be fine.”
“Surgery went a little longer than expected, but she is home and recovering,” the loving father told his podcast listeners. “Thank you for praying for her and for our family. She is a champion!”
Before the surgery took place, Missy spoke of her daughter’s condition and explained that she had been constantly asked about the number of procedures Mia would need to undergo in the future. “There is never any other response than ‘We just don’t know,’” Missy said. She then added that they rely on God for assistance. “Since she is 18 now, she is taking the lead in all the discussions and medical forms. It’s been a little strange,” Missy wrote. “But it’s just another reminder to lean on the Lord and that I’m not in control.”
Mia also hopes that she’s at “the finish line.”
“Hopefully the last time I’ll see my doctors in this setting! It’s been a long road but we are at the finish line,” brave Mia said.
The Robertson’s have also been preparing for a new addition to the family as they open the doors to their hearts and home for a child whose mother was unfit to take care of.
We wish Mia speedy recovery.
I Allowed a Homeless Woman to Stay in My Garage—One Day I Walked in Unannounced and Was Shocked by What I Saw
I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
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