Author Archive : Orange Parent

I Am Not a Parent

Thursday, April 17th, 2014


I am not a parent, but I like to think of myself as a parenting expert. I’m 28 years old, married, and totally equipped to raise a child. I have the whole thing figured out and feel confident I can navigate most of the problems parents face.

Okay, I’m just kidding. I work in the family ministries division of a church and have been around the block enough times to know that parenting is a continual journey, full of unexpected adventures. Over the years, I’ve made a point to refrain from uttering the phrase I would never let my child act that way. Chances are someday my child will act that way.

I have no way of knowing the crazy things my kid will do and how I will respond. But then again, I don’t intend to reinvent the wheel either. One of the benefits of volunteering* and being on staff in Family Ministries over the past several years is that I have picked up quite a few tips and tricks from the people I work alongside.

If you are a parent or planning to be a parent in the future, you need to have next-step ahead mentors. You will have problems that will make you hit your head against a wall that they have already solved. They will celebrate milestones in their kids’ lives that you will want to celebrate in your family. They will have practical advice for the simple day to day routine.

My friend Karis is an amazing mom. She is super creative and it spills over into her parenting. I’ll never forget helping her family move into their new home when they moved from Michigan. We were unpacking dishes and I asked Kar which of the upper cupboards she would like me to stack them in. Her response was, “Oh no, if you put them in an upper cupboard, Kohen (who was 5 years old at the time) can’t help set the table when it is his turn. Go ahead and put them in this cupboard below the counter.” She had taken a problem (Kohen was too short to take part in a regular family activity) and found a solution (store the dishes in a lower cupboard).

My friend Danny’s daughter kept getting out of bed far too early in the morning. She was too young to learn time, but old enough to understand and follow instructions. So he and his wife installed a timed night light in her room that would glow in the morning when it was okay for her to get up. If she woke up early, she knew to wait for the light to turn on before she went and pounced on her parents.

My friend Darren has a daughter who is now in college. When she was in high school, Darren noticed that Brynn was chattiest when she came home at night after hanging out with friends. So he would plant himself in the basement around the time of her curfew, and pretend he was there for the purpose of watching tv or reading. When Brynn would come home, he’d ask a few key questions that would make her come alive about what she was thinking and processing. He has a similar trick for his son, but I’d hate to share it and spoil his fun.

Like I said, I really can’t forecast all the things I will or will not do as a parent. But I’d be crazy to start from scratch. To wait and see. During this time in life when I am not a parent, I am going to watch carefully and keep track of the wisdom I observe. When I am a parent, I am going to unashamedly beg, borrow, and steal from the mentors I respect. After all, parenting is hard work and requires a ton of thinking on your feet. Why expend extra energy trying to solve things that someone else already figured out.

Steph_Whitacre_BWSteph is the Family Ministries Coordinator and Family Map Champion at a growing church in Northeast Pennsylvania. She lives with her brilliant husband Tim and their dog Amelie. She loves to read, travel, hike, absorb music, drink (and occasionally try to quit) coffee, and laugh with friends. She is not known for an ability to sit still for long periods of time. You can see more of her blog here.

“Who Me, a Special Needs Parent? I’m the Wrong Person for This Kid!”

Tuesday, April 15th, 2014


By Diane Dokko Kim

My mother often laments how I am such a LOUD girl. When we’re on the phone, she typically asks me to turn down my volume.  Or better yet, speak about a foot away from the mouthpiece. She’s perplexed how such a small person (I stand 4 feet 11 and 3/4 inches) could emit such a big, booming sound. Especially for an Asian daughter, it’s considered unbecoming and uncouth.

Despite my mother’s admonishment, I find myself having to use this Loud Voice often. I’m often shouting across a playground, a mall, sometimes an entire city block. I do so to halt my eloping child from bolting towards the street, completely unaware of oncoming traffic.  He has a tendency to walk far enough ahead of us–oblivious that the rest of us are far behind—to afford a child abductor a gloriously uncontested opportunity.  At other times, it’s as innocuous as stopping him from swiping french fries off another diner’s plate.

Sometimes, my husband (who at six feet is also a booming presence) is doing The Loud Voice. Nevertheless, I often have to chime in. His baritone merely gets absorbed into the mass of people, muffled and unnoticed, as if he’s yelling into a pillow. But my soprano-shriek is much more effective at piercing through a crowd and turning stunned heads. Luckily, my face is as thick as my voice is shrill. My Loud Voice could slice through ocean to let me run through it. All in hot pursuit of my son.

“Who me?  A special Needs parent?!

“I’m not the right person for this. I’m not patient enough. I’m not organized enough. I don’t even like kids. I don’t know anything about disability. I can’t do this! God, pick someone else…!”

After many years gutted by insecurity and inadequacy, wracked by the sinking sense of, ”I’m not the right parent for this kid.  He’s doomed, paired with me…” I finally realized the God-given purpose for this Loud Voice. He gave me this gift for a pre-ordained reason. He knew I was going to need it to call my beloved, oblivious son back to me. To alert him of danger, to jolt his attention to a light that’s gone red, or corral him back when we’ve turned left to his right.

In Chariots of Fire, Olympic runner Eric Liddell says,

Eric Liddell, Chariots of Fire. 

“I know God made me for a purpose. But He also made me fast, and when I run I feel His pleasure.”

It took me a while to get okay with this special needs parenting gig. But I, too, know God made me for a purpose.  And when I am booming at my beloved son to call him home, I feel His pleasure.

The same Creator who custom-made my child, also custom-fit me for him, Loud Voice peculiarities and all. WE are His workmanship.  We are both wonderfully and fearfully made. A heavenly ordained pairing, we’ve been knit unto each other,

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

Psalm 139:13-15

How about you?  

In what unique, “peculiar” ways has God hard-wired you that bless and serve your child well? Come on. Deep down, you know you’ve got something.  It’s not there by accident, so let yourself dance there a little.  I dare you. For He delights over you with singing



Diane leads the special needs ministry at New Beginnings Community Church in the San Francisco Bay Area.  Her book “Faith Rehab:  Spiritual Recovery for the Special Needs Parent” releases this fall.  For more of her writing, follow her blog at


The Humility of Connection

Tuesday, April 1st, 2014

basketball hoop

by Tim Walker

Growing up, I had a hard time connecting with my dad.
As a kid, all I could see were the differences between us.
I liked to read comic books.
I loved to draw.
I would play with action figures for hours.
Or make spaceships out of boxes.
I loved TV, and I would anxiously await the arrival of the TV Guide every week in the mailbox.
When I played outside, it always involved some imagined scenario.
I was a detective chasing a criminal on my bicycle.
Or a superhero leaping over our chain-link fence to escape a super villain’s trap.
Or I would bring my hot wheels out and dig roads in the side of a hill, and build houses made of rocks.

My dad was a gifted athlete, who had a history of sports accomplishments.
Growing up, he played on the church softball team so our week usually included time at the ballpark.
He seemed so foreign to me.

Then something changed. When I was 12, my mother was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. She died a year later.

Suddenly, two foreigners had to learn how to relate.
We stumbled our way through it, but a trust and respect was built.
There’s something about survival that knits people together, and changes their relationship.
I didn’t become more athletic. He didn’t start reading comic books.
But we found more firm common ground than our interests. We found a way to enjoy each other without having to be like each other.
And in the process, we found some ways that we were surprisingly alike.

Now I consider my dad one of my closest friends.

But in a great twist of irony, I am now raising three very athletic boys.
And while I see glimpses of my personality in them, it’s wrapped up in three very different packages.
Two of them love basketball.
One loves lacrosse.

And while I have a basic understanding of both games, the intricacies of each are beyond my comprehension. My brain refuses to get concerned with stats or fouls or penalties, and simply focuses on games won or lost.

My boys know I’m an athletic idiot, so I don’t try to use words I don’t understand.
I say things like, “that was smart how you passed the ball to that other guy,” or “way to score that goal.”

But I try to find ways to get involved in their world.
I could never keep stats, or coach, but I can help set up the gym for a game, send out emails about the weekly schedule, update the team website, or serve my allotted time in the concession stand.

And while I don’t like to watch sports on TV, I love watching my boys play.
I marvel at them. They do things I simply can’t do.
They’re good. But they’re not just good athletes, they are good people on the court or field.
They play well with others.

And while they are not involved in band, or art classes, or drama productions, I’m okay with that.
It’s humbling to be the geek dad in the stands. The one who knows more about comic mythology than lacrosse plays, but I think I am able to discover some of the same things my dad did.

Connection takes humility.
Connection takes work.
And connection takes time, cultivated in many invisible acts.

While it took a catastrophic event in our lives to break down the walls between my dad and me, my hope is that these small efforts on my part will lead to strong ties with my kids.

Even if they don’t realize it right now.


Tim Walker 1Tim Walker works at Orange and is a husband, father of three boys, editor, writer—well, you get the idea. More of Tim’s words can be found at

“A” List Prayers

Thursday, March 27th, 2014

Photo by Reggie Joiner


By Sarah Anderson

A couple of months ago, I attended a beautiful ceremony to celebrate a friend who decided to commit her future to missions. At a certain point in the celebration, my friend’s mom made her way over to where I was sitting. We small-talked for a bit, and then I asked her a loaded question,“How are you doing?” In other words, “Your mid-thirties single daughter is about to pack up her whole world and move to a different continent for the unforeseeable future. Are you okay with that???”

This mom, looked me in the eyes and said confidently, assuredly, beautifully, “Sarah, as a parent, there is nothing you pray for more than for your child to find their passion. Kelly found her passion. I could not be more happy.”

I am a novice at parenting. But when it comes to things I pray for my children, finding their passion and discovering God’s purpose, doesn’t always top my list. I know it’s supposed to, but praying my youngest doesn’t split his head open on our fireplace feels more pressing.

My prayers usually involve … Safety. Health. Protection. I allow those to trump purpose and passion on too regular a basis.

Beth Moore says we pray with a priority list in mind. We ask God all kinds of things on our kid’s behalf. Not bad things, but we pray them as a Priority A list, when God sees them as Priority B. It’s a happy marriage, healthy life, secure job. Great things. But, to God, they are B list items. Priority A consists of something along the lines of what this mom of a friend prayed for her own daughter.

That God get glory in and through the lives our children lead.
That God show Himself clearly and beautifully in the decisions they make.
That God gifts them with a passion and talent they willingly leverage to further His kingdom.

That is priority A. Sometimes, you’re fortunate enough to get both the items on lists A and B met. Other times, God’s A list is met at the expense of the B list.

Sometimes God getting glory in your child and your child fulfilling their purpose means they maneuver out of the imaginary net of safety you have cast around them. It means they move far away, they pursue dreams you didn’t have for them. It means they may not. . .

get married on your timeline,
invest in a 401k,
or be able to drink the water from the tap in the country they choose to live in.

I wasn’t planning on getting emotional at this commissioning service—it was a beautiful celebration of a friend’s long planted hopes being realized by taking up residence in an El Salvadorian girl’s home. What’s not to celebrate?

But then I saw her mom. And I realized as a mom, I wouldn’t be nearly as composed or enthusiastic as this mom was.

I would be terrified.
I would be paralyzed.
I would be selfishly wishing for something different.
And in doing that, I would be missing out on God doing something big.

What this beautiful mother did was embrace what is true for all of us—but which most of us spend a lifetime naively ignoring or fighting against.

Though our humanity protests, though our emotions resist, what we must know, is that though our children are forever bound to us; they are never really ours.

Though the early years find them tethered to us in ways not entirely endearing, the rest of their lives is spent in motion moving away from us. The challenge—and necessity—is to allow them to leave gracefully. To allow God the control that was His all along. To begin acknowledging that truly, we couldn’t ask for anything better for our children than for God to have His way, and to hope we may have the chance to not simply accept it, but to celebrate it when we start to watch it all unfold in a breath-taking masterpiece.

That is an A list prayer worth praying.


Sarah_Anderson_BW_144Sarah Anderson writes for the XP3 student curriculum at Orange. She is married to Rodney Anderson and is mom to two beautiful bouncy boys, Asher and Pace.

Parenting Isn’t For Wimps

Tuesday, March 25th, 2014

wimp real


by Brooklyn Lindsey

Parenting Isn’t For Wimps

We’ve heard people say “parenting isn’t for wimps”.

So, if you happen to be a parent, it’d make sense to believe that you are anything but wimpy.


Then why do we feel like wimps occasionally? As a parent of two little girls, I question the validity of this thought —or maybe more, the fitness of my parenting.

I looked up the word “wimp” and found that it has about 105 synonyms. Not cool—especially when I can identify with 104 of them.

I also noticed that the word “wimp” only has about 15 antonyms. In my mind, that’s just wrong, and somebody just has to fix that.

Has our culture leaned that far into negativity?


But our parenting shouldn’t.

Your Position As A Parent

I want to reach out to you and remind you that you are the most precious person in your kids’ lives. You are in a position to love them and lead them like no one else can.

And even though you may feel like the wimp who is winning at losing (softy, pushover, fragile, killjoy, powerless, inadequate, waverer), you are actually in the lead when it comes to being able to pass on the good stuff to your kids, mainly because you are—well, not a wimp.

Not A Wimp

As you fight for the hearts of your children and lead them to other adults who will do the same, you defy wimp nature. When you are creative and personal and loving and fun, you kill the negativity that wants you to feel powerless.

The way you parent over time becomes the legacy you leave in the future. And I don’t know a single wimp who can handle that sort of calling.

You Are More Than You Think You are.

You are the antithesis of wimp, because at the end of the day (even at the end of your worst day), you are friendly, fun, and a behemoth in influence.

Your love over time will be the mega-hit of your messy and beautiful home. Be who you are. Don’t back down in your response to the most important people in your life.  It’s okay to be gregarious and present and open to change. You are an ambassador of creativity,  compassion, grace and forgiveness. . .

In my opinion, these things (and many more) makes you the most non-wimpy person in the universe.

Take the day back.

One of my goals this year was to make room for self-care, so I’d be healthy and able to be the non-wimp that I know I am. Procrastination is my enemy and being non-productive makes me feel less awesome than I want to be.

So, I’ve been trying something new called the Storyline Productivity Schedule. It’s free and super simple.

I write one page to take back my day.

My favorite part is listing what I would do if I could live today over again (before the day even starts). Incredible.

Most of us can predict when we will surrender in the wimp war and yield all sanity and sense to it’s lies. So this is a pretty sweet thing to do first thing.

Here’s one of my lists:

I would. . .

  • take a true non-working lunch to recharge and recover (self care)
  • before going home, take ten minutes to write a list of the days’ worries and leave them with the One I know who cares for me.
  • run-jump-hug my husband when I see him.
  • enter my kids worlds and imaginations, read books, and not worry so much about food on the floor after dinner (or about the fact that we don’t have a dog to eat the food on the floor, and how I wish we had a dog that we didn’t have to take care of but would take care of us)

The Dare

Think of a non-wimpy word for yourself and fly it like a banner over your life today (superheroes: comment with your word, because I want to add it to my death-to-wimpy-words-list).

Then ask yourself how you’re going to take back your day, one non-wimpy move at a time.


BrooklynBrooklyn has been a youth pastor since 2001. She has authored numerous books and projects, and is a youth pastor at Highland Park Church of the Nazarene, her first priority. Second she is a speaker who loves teaching from the Bible, and leading people to live in response to God’s love. Brooklyn, while named after a city in New York, lives in the sunshine state with her husband, Coy, and their sweet girls, Kirra and Mya.

Forgiveness Rocks

Monday, March 17th, 2014


By Mike Clear

As a child, growing up, I liked rocks. I liked to collect rocks. Not sure why, maybe it was a result of watching too much of  The Flintstones as a child. I had this habit of gathering rocks everywhere I went, which included the school playground, along the unpaved roads near our house, at the ball fields, and near the ocean. One of the games I liked to play was to see how many rocks I could stack on top of each other before they would tumble over. As a child I guess I aspired to be an engineer like Fred Flintstone.

I also enjoyed throwing rocks—not at people mind you. Though there was the one time on the school playground, but I assure you it was in self-defense and no one was hurt; it was more of a warning shot. I especially liked throwing rocks into the ocean. I was actually pretty good at skipping rocks across the waves.

For me, rocks were a great way to pass the time and let my imagination run wild. I would put the rocks I collected in my pockets and carry them around with me wherever I would go. Here’s the thing I discovered though when it came to carrying around all of those rocks in my pockets. Rocks are heavy. All of those rocks in my pockets caused my pants to sag. I guess you could say I was sagging before it became trendy amongst teenagers.

As a child growing up, I also dealt with pain in my life. Some of it was trivial. I had two sisters and I was the middle child. Getting picked on by my sisters was some sort of right of passage that I wasn’t made unaware of.

Some of the pain I dealt with though was much more hurtful. My mother and I were frequently on the receiving end of my fathers’ emotional anger outburst. My mother finally having had enough of the hurt, divorced my father when I was 10 years old. For the next couple of years, I found myself right in the middle of a long and ugly custody battle in which I had to testify against my father. To say I had anger, bitterness, hurt and resentment during this time would have been an understatement.

Fast forward a few decades later and I’m nearing my 40th birthday. I have an amazing wife along with two beautiful kids. I now find myself in the position, as a parent, of trying to teach my kids about the idea and importance of forgiveness. Truth be told, I would do anything to help my kids avoid any semblance of hurt and pain in their lives; however, I know that’s just not possible. My kids will experience pain both inside and outside of my control. For me, the focus instead is on what my kids will do with those hurts when they do happen. To help illustrate forgiveness for them, I decided to reach back into my childhood and pull out my old trusted friends— Rocks.

I want my kids to know that when they’ve been hurt by other people’s words or actions, they have a choice to make. They can hold on to that hurt inside and chose not to forgive the person who has hurt them. However, holding onto that hurt is much like carrying around a big rock with them everywhere they go. The more hurt and anger they hold onto, the bigger the rock they carry around which can really weigh them down and consume their life.

Instead, I try to encourage our kids to let go of their hurt and anger by choosing to forgive. When someone has wronged them, I give them a rock and encourage them to throw it, not at the one who hurt them, but rather as far as they can into the creek behind our house. When they throw their rock, I explain to them that it represents the idea of  letting their anger go and deciding that the person who has wronged them doesn’t have to pay. It’s not always easy for them, or for me for that matter, but it’s a teachable moment and a great reminder for our family of what forgiveness looks like.

My hope for my family and yours is that together we will discover what God can do when we choose to forgive.

In our house, forgiveness rocks!


4839_224421730397_5496668_nMike serves as the Director of Children’s Strategy at The reThink Group. Mike lives in Cumming, Georgia, with his amazing wife Crystal, who thanks to him has the coolest name ever – Crystal Clear! Together they have two amazing children: Nash and Kennedy.


Tuesday, March 11th, 2014


By Gina McClain

“Do you understand what you just read?”

Over Christmas break I was enjoying my favorite past time. . .reading. At one point as I read, my daughter sat down next to me and was quickly engrossed in my book. We read the historical fiction in tandem, turning the pages only when the other was ready. But at one point we came across a complicated moment between two of the characters.

Though the situation was innocent, at 11 years old, her young mind had not encountered the scenario that unfolded in this story. It was a little too ‘mature’ for her age. You could say they were discussing a topic best had behind closed doors. And in the story. . .they were behind closed doors.


My daughter is an avid reader. And at this point in her life, I’m not able to preview every book she reads. And it’s clear that even in my presence, she will be exposed to situations that shape how she views things like love, marriage and intimacy.

As her exposure to the cultural norms increases, it’s my job to shift from being her filter to helping her create her own.

And honesty is my best tool.

When we read that passage in the story, I asked her, “Do you understand what you just read?”
She simply replied, “Not really.”

What held every opportunity for awkwardness became a moment ripe with connection. Knowing that honesty keeps a relationship authentic, I’d decided a long time ago that I would foster an honest relationship with my kids. I’d resolved to lean into conversations, no matter how awkward, and be a source of clarity rather than ambiguity.

Now don’t get me wrong. Every conversation must be tempered and appropriate to the age or stage of your child. Some details are better left unsaid. But as parents, we can create an environment in our home that fosters honesty by being willing to step into the uncomfortable moments and bring clarity.

It’s my hope that my daughter knows she can come to me for safe inquiry… honest explanation… loving guidance. Have you ever considered how your approach to uncomfortable conversations sets the stage for the next?  How your honest response today increases your chances for sincere inquiry later?


Gina_McClain_BW_160Gina McClain is the Children’s Ministry Director at Faith Promise Church in Knoxville, Tennessee. Gina is driven by the idea of equipping parents for the journey of teaching their kids how to follow Christ. Based upon her experience as a mom, she identifies with the everyday challenges parents wade through. Gina and her husband, Kyle, have three kids, Keegan, Josie and Connor.

How Can A Kid See God?

Thursday, March 6th, 2014


How do kids see God?

Have you ever considered that you may be
the best chance your son or daughter has to see God?

I know it’s scary, but it’s true.

Think about it.
You can’t really see God, can you?

Okay. Maybe you think you have. But I’m going to bet it wasn’t actually God.
More than likely, you were staring too long at a cloud formation, or you drank too much Nyquil. The point is there are no tangible, verifiable images you can hold up and say, “This is God.” It’s too bad social media didn’t exist thousands of years ago. It would have settled a lot of issues for most of the skeptics. Chances are every picture would have gone viral.

My experience suggests that most kids who grow up and abandon their faith are really running away from. . .

and religion.

They very seldom run away from caring and authentic relationships.

The fact is, in everyone’s story of faith, there are people who show up and become catalysts for their spiritual growth. Think about it. If you are reading this right now, chances are you believe what you believe, and you do what you do because someone influenced your faith. In some cases, it was a parent. In others, it was a significant adult who showed up at the right time in your life.

You could probably write down a short list of people who have been strategic influences in your life. Just like the people in ancient times developed their view of God as. . .

the God of Abraham
the God of Isaac
or the God of Moses

You have developed a sense of who God is because you have met. .

the God of Susan
the God of Mike
or the God of Mom or Dad.

It doesn’t mean that your faith never became your own. It just means God used people to shape your faith. He always has. Sometimes we forget that the God of the Bible is the God of the people of the Bible. God has always used people to demonstrate His story of redemption. That’s why the idea of family and church is really important.

The essence of our faith is linked to the idea that God actually became human. He became one of us.
So we could. . .

Touch Him.
Hear Him.
See Him.

The narrative of the Bible is anchored to the fact that God became a man so He could prove how much He loves us. And that Jesus literally became human. What happened on the cross and at the resurrection is so significant that maybe we should actually stop here and carefully consider what God did by showing up as a person. He became us.

Not a book.
Not a really cuddly looking animal.
Not a supernatural being from Ezekiel’s vision.
But a real, live, breathing
human being.

Sometimes we forget the character of God was revealed to an ancient culture through an actual person. Turn that one over in your head when you can’t fall asleep at night. (Evidently God saw the need to show people who couldn’t see Him who He is by sending them someone they could see.)

Like a lot of parents, I had a routine tucking my kids in at bedtime when they were young. I remember one specific evening when I was in my oldest daughter’s room, and she told me she didn’t want me to leave. (By the way, that phase is long gone by middle school.) So of course, I explained to her that she didn’t need to be afraid because God loved her, and He was in the room with her even though she couldn’t see him. Her response was classic, she said, “Dad I know all that stuff about God, but right now I just need somebody with skin on!” I think she summed up why God sent Jesus to the planet. He knew we needed someone with skin on.

No. You will never be Jesus.
(I have met a few parents who act like they think they’re God, they were pretty frightening.)

You are just an imperfect human that God has allowed to be a dad or mom to an imperfect kid. You have an opportunity every day to give someone a front row seat to God’s grace and goodness in your life.

God put you in your kids’ lives for a reason.

So when you. . .
talk to them,
play with them,
discipline them,
and love them.

Remember, you may be one of the best chances they ever have to see God!

Unexpected Wounds

Tuesday, March 4th, 2014


“I sorry.” When those words are delivered by the high-pitched voice of a child, they melt you. Of course I’ll forgive you, you think. How could I not?

Even if there is a huge mess behind her.
Bookcases are knocked over.
The dog is barking.
The cat is perched on top of the chandelier.
A team of people are unrolling “condemned tape” across your house.

But when you hear “I sorry” and see those big brown eyes, the anger and frustration lessen a little bit. Sure, they may be staring at a corner for a while or be contained in their room, but you’ll forgive them. There’s a reason God makes them so cute at that age.

But as they grow older, “sorry” gets a little more difficult to digest.
Like when your middle schooler looks you in the face and lies.
Or when she says she’s going one place, and ends up at another.
Or you stumble across a social media account and find your child has been bashing you.
Or your high schooler wrecks the car.
Or in a teenage hormonal rage, he or she took a verbal shot at your most vulnerable point.

There are times when your child’s actions will feel more personal.
There are moments when their words will cut you deeply.

And you’ll find yourself in a unique position.
You may not want to forgive them.
In fact, it will feel as painful, if not more, as the betrayal of a close friend.
You’ll be sad.
You’ll be mad.
You’ll feel like a failure.
You’ll feel like they’ve failed you.
You’ll wonder if you can ever trust them again.
You may find yourself scrambling, wondering where do we go from here?

Forgiveness won’t come so easily.
Those big brown eyes won’t make it all go away.
Your child should have known better.
He or she should have made different choices.
The pangs of guilt, preying on your own parental insecurities, will whisper in the back of your head.

I wish I could offer an easy answer here.
But when you are that hurt, one thing becomes painfully clear, forgiving is a choice.
And so you have to choose to forgive.
It doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences for their actions.
Or that trust isn’t damaged.
But you choose to forgive.
Because if you don’t, it will destroy you.
And it will destroy your relationship with your child.

You choose to forgive the hurt.
You choose to forgive the disappointment.
You choose to extend grace.

And you also choose to be wise. To have perspective on the situation and be the grownup. You try to determine what needs to happen differently to avoid being in that situation again.
You teach.
You guide.
Even when your heart is grieving.

I don’t think there’s ever been a time I identified more with the heart of God than when my child did or said something that wounded me, and I still chose to forgive.

And when I do, I also show my child how to forgive. Because when we have experienced forgiveness, it makes it easier to forgive.

I don’t want to turn this into a place to rant, or even a forum to vent about what your teen did. So I’m going to ask some simple questions that may be helpful to other parents of teens:

What are some ways you personally have chosen to forgive your child? How did you take “the high road” and forgive even when you were hurting?

Tim Walker 1Tim Walker works at Orange and is a husband, father of three boys, editor, writer—well, you get the idea. More of Tim’s words can be found at his blog,

Good Grief

Monday, February 24th, 2014


by Amy Fenton Lee

Grief is a natural part of life. Yet, it’s one of the hardest subjects to address as a parent. We don’t want anxiety-ridden kids, so we avoid topics that spur fear.  And we do want joyful homes, so we redirect conversation when the dialogue goes dark. But grief is healing. Its cleansing effect can be the catalyst for new life. If we want to teach our children how to live well, we have to teach them how to grieve well.

A few years ago, we lost a family friend. They had been ill for some time so it wasn’t a surprise when the end came. I was semi-prepared emotionally, having already wrestled through shock and sadness when the diagnosis was first revealed. But I was unsure how my son would process the loss, since they had shared mutual fondness and memories spanning over six years.

I’ve always been a big fan of telling the truth.  (Lying is a felony in our home.) But for a while, I entertained the idea of just pretending our friend never existed. There seemed no good reason to bring up this sad subject with my child. I thought about discreetly removing a handful of photos displayed throughout our house. And I could come up with a storyline in case my son noticed the absence of our friend or the pictures. But then I realized I was working hard… to create a lie. Even though it seemed counterintuitive, I decided to be honest with my son.

Just before an occasion when our friend would normally join us, I sat my son down for a conversation. Together, we talked about change and loss for the first time. I shared age-appropriate facts related to the illness that took our friend. And I told my son that I felt sad and had even cried when I heard the news. I asked if he had any questions. And I made sure he knew it was okay to feel sad too. He barely responded, then asked if he could go back to what he was doing earlier. It wasn’t until later—months later—that I realized how pivotal this brief dialogue had been.

Over the next two years, my son approached me at unexpected times to ask a question about our friend or to hypothesize about why this bad thing happened. He absorbed more than I had been aware and was wrestling inside. His questions and ideas seemed to prove the notion that the human mind will do it’s best to fill in the gaps for what it doesn’t understand. More than once I was grateful for the opportunity to untangle my son’s latest theory, which usually combined the storyline of a recent movie, his imagination, and pieces of last Sunday’s small group discussion. A few times I sensed he wanted help unpacking uncomfortable emotions or needed assurance he couldn’t have changed the outcome. These conversations gave me a priceless view into my son’s soul. And they laid the groundwork for a relationship full of rich dialogue and some good laughs too.

The decision to introduce my son to grief was a hard one. Right after I initiated that first conversation, I wondered if I had made a big mistake. It just seemed like I’d opened up an unnecessary can of worms. But that wasn’t the case. If I could go back in time and encourage the younger, inexperienced me, I’d tell her:

  • Your son will trust you because you were truthful.
  • Your son will be less anxious because you gave him permission to feel sad.
  • Your son will develop healthy coping skills because you helped shape them.
  • Your son will express his feelings because you gave him the words.
  • Your son will learn the value of grief because you showed him.
  • Your son will know that there is peace and relief in good grief.


Amy_Fenton_Lee_Square_BWAmy Fenton Lee is the Director of Special Needs Initiatives for Orange and author of  ”Leading a Special Needs Ministry: A Practical Guide to Loving Families and Including Children”.  Amy and her husband are the proud parents to a third grade son who keeps them laughing and a French Bulldog that keeps them up at night.  Amy blogs at