“All I ever wanted to be was a dad.” That was one of his last thoughts before making a decision that could end it all.

Shawn and Bonnie McCown’s story began innocently enough. But theirs would prove to be a roller-coaster journey of love, pain, addiction, and heartache.

It was 1994 when Bonnie first caught his eye at their workplace. “I showed up every day at her office just to talk to her,” he recalled.

But Bonnie wasn’t feeling it. “I had just gotten divorced and had three young girls, so I wasn’t really interested.” After all, Shawn was seven years younger, and Bonnie came with plenty of baggage.

Shawn was not deterred, however. If anything he felt challenged and made the daily choice to keep coming back. That’s a phrase that would hold special meaning years later.

Because of his persistence and charm, Bonnie eventually said yes to a date. Their courtship would span three years, on again then off again. On a hot summer day in 1997, the couple made it official.

The birth of twins came 18 months later. It was a joyous occasion, but the luster of their new relationship had already started to dull.

The two would experience their issues, as all couples do. And like most, those struggles had deep roots in the family.

Shawn explained, “I was an alcoholic, but I never really considered myself an alcoholic. I came from a major alcoholic family.” As a young adult he justified his drinking as a ‘social thing’ but now understands that he had a problem.

At first Bonnie didn’t see the alcohol as an issue, perhaps because she had her own long-standing issues with trust. “I probably wasn’t as affectionate and close to him as I should have been,” she admits.

In the middle of it all, they bought a bigger house, Bonnie took a second job, and Shawn found himself home alone with the kids in the evenings. That’s when she started worrying about something happening to one of the kids when he was drinking and home alone with them.

The couple’s differing faith backgrounds didn’t exactly provide the kind of security, stability, and support they needed. Bonnie was a Christian who had grown up going to the Catholic church with her mom. But Shawn didn’t come from a church-going family.

“Any idea I had of church was just for the kids,” he said. “I had a lot of doubts.” And Shawn didn’t really have any safe adults to talk to or spend time with. “I’m a real good isolater.”

Four or five years into the marriage, Shawn’s high school sports career began catching up to him in the form of gout. That little four-letter word would open the door to some of his darkest days.

“That’s when everything changed,” he explained. “I became really dependent on the pain medication they were giving me. It was the most important thing in the world to me. It absolutely took over.”

Bonnie said that her attempts to reason with her addicted husband were futile. Nothing and no one mattered to him as much as those pills.

“He would steal from the kids’ money jars. He’d take money from me and actually blame the kids.” One time Bonnie remembers him actually swapping some pills that were prescribed to her following a dental procedure.

Shawn remembers how out of control he was. “It was the only thing that mattered. When I woke up in the morning, I didn’t worry about going to the bathroom or taking a shower. As soon as my eyes opened, the pills were the only thing on my mind.”

The resulting downward spiral was plain to see. Shawn had been demoted three times, going from a position of significant responsibility to the lowest position in the company.

And his best efforts to quit the pills were hollow. “I’d tell people I was trying to quit, but the longest I ever made it was 12 hours.”

Bonnie said that one of the biggest issues was the ease with which he could find meds.

As Shawn’s ability to contribute to the family began to decrease, Bonnie’s responsibilities became almost unmanageable.

“I finally got to that breaking point,” she said. “That’s when I decided, ‘I’m done.’ I felt like I was raising my kids by myself. It was the alcohol, then it was the pills. You know, I felt like I pretty much had to take care of everything – the bills, the kids, the house.”

In the face of mounting pressure, the couple divorced in 2004, although they continued to keep in close contact, largely because of the kids. Looking back, Bonnie sees some of her behavior as that of a classic codependent.

As Shawn puts it, he came back into the picture sporadically over the next 15 years, but his inability to get his act together eventually pushed Bonnie to her limit.

One morning it all became too much. Bonnie had had enough. With one phone call, Shawn’s world began crashing down as if watching in slow motion.

“By that time I had lost her.” In fact, plagued by a plethora of problems, the couple had now been divorced longer than they’d been married. “But when she told me that the kids never wanted to talk to me, never wanted to see me, and never wanted to have anything to do with me ever again, that was it.”

As much as Shawn loved Bonnie – and as much history as they now shared – it was the fear of losing the kids that drove him to the depth of despair. “I grew up without a dad, so that’s what I always wanted to be,” he explained. “As a kid, when teachers would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d tell them ‘a dad.’ When I got older, people started laughing at me for saying that, so I stopped. But in the back of my mind, that’s still what I really wanted.”

Shawn continued to process the seriousness of his emotional conversation with Bonnie as he drove the half hour to work on that chilly November morning.

“That whole drive, it was just sinking in, sinking in, sinking in. That was my rock bottom,” he said. “I was just sobbing over the thought of losing my children.”

When he exited the highway to go to his office, instead he turned into the parking lot of Academy Sports and stopped on the very back perimeter.

“I had a ton of pain pills on me – a bunch,” he said. “I had taken about 10 that morning. When I pulled into that parking lot, I had decided to end the pain once and for all.”

As the sun appeared over the horizon, Shawn knew that was probably the last sunrise he’d ever see. With that, he took the remaining 39 pain pills – ‘roxies,’ as they’re known on the street. Serious meds.

At that moment Shawn prayed for what he describes as “the first time meaningfully.”

I told God, “Hey, you either take me or save me.”

Nearly an hour passed, and Shawn felt nothing. He was dumbfounded to still be conscious. Recognizing what he believed to be the hand of God on his life, Shawn said, “Let’s do this” and began searching the internet for recovery centers. “The first one that came up on my phone, I called them and told them I was on my way.”

The 37 days Shawn spent in rehab gave his mind a chance to clear up.

“I’m a guy who really wants to understand why. When I was in rehab, it was very rudimentary. They explained how addiction affected the brain, and that was my aha moment.”

Shawn insists that the program worked for him “because I worked it.”

“I did every piece of homework they asked me to do. I went to every meeting they asked me to go to. I did whatever I had to do.”

As part of his rehab, Shawn began attending AA and NA meetings. “We’d have people come in and share their stories, and to be really honest with you, I couldn’t stand that.” Shawn said that after about two weeks, halfway into one of the testimonies, he interrupted with a question.

“Why don’t you share what you’re doing to keep you sober rather than what you were doing as an addict?”

To him, it was crystal clear: “I knew what God had just done for me – literally saved my life. I couldn’t wait to get out of that rehab, because I knew there was something else for me.”

Shawn describes the pattern as “she’d kick me out, and then I’d ease my way back in.”

But after rehab Shawn had a real sense of himself as a believer. “I look at it as God giving me a second chance,” he said.

A few days after being discharged from rehab, Shawn attended a local NA meeting and couldn’t stand it. That’s when Bonnie told him about a recovery meeting at her church, First Assembly in North Little Rock. It was something called Celebrate Recovery. She took him to the church and dropped him off to check it out.

It was a turning point for Shawn. “That was the start of my recovery journey and my faith journey. That’s when I was really introduced to Jesus and began learning. I was really able to soak it in through CR.”

Over time, Bonnie began to see that there was something different about Shawn. “It was obvious he had a real relationship with Christ.”

Like most family members of addicts, Bonnie had built some pretty heavy-duty walls to protect herself from the years of hurt and heartache. But as Shawn continued to grow in his faith and recovery, those walls began to naturally go down.

Of course, the walls didn’t come down as quickly as Shawn would have liked. But his sponsor helped him understand that Bonnie would be ready when she was ready.

“I really had to learn patience,” Shawn said, “and to just do the next right thing.”

After about nine months, Bonnie began attending CR as well.

Bonnie and Shawn continued to be involved in CR. He participated in step studies and surrounded himself with people who would help him keep on the right path.

Then out of nowhere, a new challenge emerged.

On a cool Saturday morning in October 2018, Shawn experienced some chest pain. But he didn’t get too alarmed about it. Three days later, more pain landed him in the hospital where the medical staff determined he had suffered a heart attack. In fact, he had another heart attack while there.

“I was diagnosed with hereditary heart disease,” he said. “My heart looked like that of a 70-year-old chain smoker, and I’d never smoked a day in my life.”

Shawn ended up having a quadruple bypass. And Bonnie was by his side the whole time.

She said the heart attack was a real wake-up call.

“The heart attack helped bring us back together,” she said. “We knew we loved each other, but it helped us understand that life is precious.”

Shawn says he really hasn’t craved drugs since he got clean and sober. But he also doesn’t take any chances. Even in the hospital, Shawn surprised the doctor by refusing pain meds.

“I had to tell my doctor that I was a recovering opiate addict of four years, and he respected my decision.”

In the weeks following Shawn’s surgery, he and Bonnie continued to spend more and more time together.

“We started talking about us,” he said. “Then we started having the marriage conversation. We both wanted to get remarried.”

Despite all they had been through – and all the positive changes that had taken place in Shawn’s life – this wasn’t an easy thing for Bonnie to process.

“I talked to God about getting married,” she said, “and God told me it was McCown. I argued with Him about it, because I didn’t want to have to forgive Shawn again.”

But Shawn was already thinking about popping the question. He even called the church to check for available dates. Shawn acknowledges that he’s more pragmatic than romantic.

Bonnie laughed and recalled the absurdity of how it all went down. “I was cutting coupons. That’s when he proposed. He had the ring and knew one of the kids was getting ready to come over, so he rushed it.”

Shawn told her, “I’ve been carrying this ring around for a little while now, and I’ve been waiting for the right time.”

“And this is it?” she thought to herself. Once Bonnie realized he was serious, she said yes.

Shawn said, “It was our moment. It fits our lifestyle the way it happened.”

The two were married in an evening ceremony on May 17, 2019. It was a joyous celebration that was attended by many of their CR ‘forever family.’ And the couple’s kids were the ones who gave their mother away. In typical CR fashion, the couple exited the altar to the upbeat tune of “Celebrate Good Times” by Kool and the Gang.

The couple honeymooned in Florida. But even there, they were faithful to attend CR meetings.

Reflecting on the influence of CR in his life, Shawn acknowledges that at first his attendance was just ‘blind faith.’

“I just showed up,” he said. “I quickly realized that I needed to do something to keep me showing up, so I decided to serve – setting up chairs, serving as a greeter. That taught me about responsibility because I didn’t really have a base for that.”

For those out there who are considering getting serious about their recovery – in whatever area of life it’s needed – Shawn has some pointed advice.

“If you just show up to CR, you won’t make it. But if you work CR, you’ll make it.”

One of CR’s mantras is ‘keep coming back.’ And Shawn is glad he did just that. He insists that the key to recovery lies in getting involved and being willing to do whatever is asked – to step in and serve.

“You’ve actually got to go to a step study. It keeps you focused first and foremost on God. Then it helps you focus on those character defects that keep you separated from God.”

Shawn says that CR has helped teach him what it means to have character and integrity.

“I’ve proven you can’t do it without God,” he says. “All of that started with CR. That’s why I keep showing up, because I want to give that to somebody else.”

Shawn credits CR for giving him a life-changing relationship with Jesus. “Serving at CR was a catalyst for me serving at the church.” He currently serves as the assimilation coach for CR at Brockington Road Church of the Nazarene in Sherwood, AR.

The McCowns acknowledge that their story is unique. And they admit that it hasn’t all been easy. But it has been worth it.

This Thanksgiving they’ll celebrate around the table as a family, now six months into a marriage that is brand new because both husband and wife are very different people than the first time around.

Celebrate Recovery has more than 30,000 groups that meet all over the world. Find a CR ministry near you.

Blue lights are alarming to most adults, especially when they’re in the rearview mirror. But blue signals hope for children who have been abused. That was the message sent earlier this year when the Arkansas Governor’s Mansion lit up in blue.

The State Police’s child abuse hotline received more than 30,000 calls in 2018, but that number is likely nowhere close to the whole story.

This past spring, all 100 Arkansas House members, and all 35 Senate members sponsored a resolution to make April 11 Children’s Advocacy Center Day in the state. Elizabeth Pulley, Executive Director of Children’s Advocacy Centers of Arkansas, welcomes the attention and appreciation for the tireless work of the 17 regional centers which comprise the state chapter. But in her heart, she knows there remains much work to do.

From her administrative offices in downtown Little Rock, an unassuming Pulley downplays her title and authority, instead expressing admiration and respect for the many employees who do the lion’s share of burden-bearing for children and families of abuse.

The regional offices provide a unique collaborative setting in which interdisciplinary teams focus on helping children who have been identified as likely victims of abuse. These teams include mental health counselors, forensic investigators, nurses, law enforcement personnel, and child advocates.

Last year the 17 centers served some 5,000 children. Still, Pulley is quick to point out that “what is reported within Arkansas is not 100 percent of what’s happening in the state.” She believes that many people simply don’t feel comfortable coming forward with information about known or suspected abuse, despite the toll-free hotline where calls are confidential.

Pulley says this is especially true in smaller, more rural communities, where connections are close and where loyalty and privacy are the bedrock of family values.

While ‘stranger danger’ has become something of a mantra, especially in school settings, Pulley reminds that “90 percent of the time abuse happens at the hands of people the kids know.”

Where abuse is concerned, the lines are not always clearly defined – especially from a child’s perspective. Pulley says, “The ‘not normal’ is the normal for a lot of kids. They often don’t know something is wrong until someone tells them.”

Child Abuse Part of a Larger Issue

Angela McGraw directs Women and Children First, a domestic violence shelter and social services program that has served the greater Little Rock area in some capacity for more than 40 years. In its present situation, individuals and families can stay for 45-60 days, “as long as they’re working the program.”

McGraw has a front-row seat to the growing problem of families in crisis. And she brings her own personal experience as a survivor of domestic violence to bear on her work.

“Our numbers are close to 600 people – women and children – per year,” she says. “I anticipate that this year will be high too. We rarely have any beds open.”

McGraw sees bullying and dating violence as ongoing expressions of the same problem – a cycle that perpetuates the confluence of several key aspects: anger, power, and shame. And as she suggests, most abusers come from abusive backgrounds.

While McGraw’s team works mainly with women, increasingly the organization is intentionally focusing on children.

“Over the last three years, we’ve taken major steps forward in concentrating on children and growing our program,” McGraw says. “We have to break the cycle somehow, and it’s important for kids to have hope.”

But hope is not always easy to find, especially for children who only know despair. “Many of them really doubt they’ll even live to see adulthood, because they’re so used to bad family situations,” she says. “Giving them hope that they can get to college is a big deal.”

The cycle of violence takes a toll on victims as well as social workers. McGraw says it’s hard to watch people go right back into the same environment that inflicted the pain.

McGraw encourages and trains her staff to model healthy behaviors, in hopes that the adults they serve will come to experience the freedom that flows from relationships built on dignity and respect.

“We operate from a place of empowerment,” she states with an upbeat tone.

Meeting in a somewhat musty room that serves as both the building manager’s office and a staff breakroom, McGraw seems comfortable with chaos. It just goes with the territory. The odds and ends that clutter the metal shelving units seem somehow symbolic of the social services field — and probably the lives of many who pass through the shelter’s doors.

Boxes here. Cables there. It’s no doubt the same story for the individuals striving to break free from abuse. They’re not picky, after all. They just want a safe place to land, if only for a little while.

Chaos, of course, can manifest itself in any number of ways. There’s family chaos, work chaos, and cultural chaos. It’s the latter that seems most concerning to McGraw on this particular day.

She leans back, sighs softly, and states matter-of-factly, “Little Rock has been deemed one of the most violent cities in the US. And that includes domestic violence.”

She pauses to gather her thoughts.

“Everybody who’s dealing with violence, it almost always goes back to domestic violence during their growing-up years.”

There it is again. That cycle.

Among McGraw’s most urgent worries is the prevalence of domestic violence among the city’s African-American and Latino populations. She speculates that Caucasians likely just don’t report it as much.

But her heart breaks for the Latino families, who in today’s political climate, are reluctant to report due to fears of being deported. McGraw employs a full-time Hispanic worker whose primary responsibility is building relationships with the city’s Latinos.

“We’re not interested in reporting people,” she says. “We just want to provide a safe place for them to get help.”

As she adjusts her glasses and leans forward, McGraw mentions one more segment of the population that is experiencing an uptick in abuse reporting. That would be men.

“Among men, the numbers are increasing a lot,” she says. “They can experience domestic abuse as well. But there’s a lot of shame in acknowledging it as a man. A lot of times we see men staying in abusive relationships because they feel they’re needed in order to protect the children.”

McGraw says the board of Women and Children First has actually discussed changing the agency’s name to one that is more inclusive of the population served, but those kinds of changes take considerable time and effort. Name recognition is invaluable to a non-profit organization.

Regardless of the name, McGraw and her team do their best to serve whoever comes through their doors — women, children, AND men. That covers a lot of ground, as communities go.

Cultural Shifts Compound the Problem

As Pulley begins downloading her thoughts about current culture, I notice that between the two of us, there are five gadgets of one kind or another. A couple smartphones, a couple laptops, and a digital camera – all reminders that things aren’t like they used to be when she and I were growing up.

“Kids have more access to everything these days,” she insists. “What they know now at the age of 10 or 11, compared with what I knew at the same age, is really, really different.”

It’s an undeniable fact. With today’s technology, kids are exposed to so much more, for better or worse.

Pulley acknowledges the difficulty of parents staying on top of the latest social media platforms, gaming devices, and internet sensations. But she stops short of absolving the adults of responsibility.

“Parents need to be constantly checking their kids’ technology.”

She urges parents and grandparents to educate themselves about technology. “Engaging in conversations with other parents is important – what they know, what they should look for.” She says that many schools are offering training seminars about technology and how to monitor and manage it.

“Being hands-off shouldn’t be an option for parents,” Pulley notes.

Of course, even the most conscientious parents can’t catch everything. There are times when children whose phones are policed religiously are going to be exposed to something objectionable – or even illegal.

Parents can’t control what another kid shows their kid at school, at the soccer field, or at a sleepover.

That’s why Pulley emphasizes the importance of ‘tech-free’ times or even ‘tech-free’ days. “Kids shouldn’t have access to that stuff all the time.” She encourages parents to be intentional about creating space for conversations. It may not happen over family dinner, but it could happen in the car.

Looking for Answers to a Complex Problem

For McGraw, who has seen seniors in high school who have zero – yes, zero – academic credits, she believes domestic violence has a considerable ripple effect on children and teens.

She thinks most kids are incapable of performing well in school or in life, if their basic needs for safety and security – emotional and physical – are not being met.

Children in McGraw’s program have access to support groups, and many participate in something called Camp Hope, which allows for ongoing follow-up with them and their families.

McGraw sees far too many children who by necessity function like little adults. “In so many cases the children feel like it’s their responsibility to step up and help their moms.”

Among her top tips for parents, McGraw suggests that children “need to have their own personal safety plan” – which includes knowing who their ‘safe people’ are (family members, neighbors, teachers, etc.), as well as how to call 911.

McGraw understands far more than most that it can be disheartening to see people go back into abusive situations.

“I often have parents call and ask what they can do. They may have bought her a car or gotten her an apartment twice,” she said. “I just tell them ‘stop saving her.’ Help her, but don’t save her. Sometimes we have to hit rock bottom to begin crawling back up again.”

She admits quietly, “I was one of those people.”

The Future of Children’s Advocacy Centers

In the CAC offices throughout the state, children’s colorful handprints on walls bear evidence of the thousands who have been served in some way. But for Pulley, each set of handprints – some of them tiny — reminds her of the thousands of cases in which abuse goes unreported.

It’s a thought that evokes both sadness and resolve.

The CAC currently operates seven satellite centers, which are smaller centers in rural communities that probably don’t need a full-time staff there every single day. “We’re looking at adding more of them,” she says.

The need is one of simple pragmatism, especially in outlying areas.

“Sometimes people can’t get to our centers based on lack of transportation or money for gas. We’re looking for places that would allow us space to come in and set up once a week or once a month.”

But that’s not the only innovative idea Pulley has for the centers.

“We’re also looking at having mobile units that can go into some of these rural communities and provide services for kids and families,” she says. “We’re trying to think out of the box for these rural communities, because they make up such a huge part of our state.”

Pulley sees the need for more programs, more counselors, more mentors, and more volunteers. The agency’s newest advocacy center is in Batesville. She says that some rural areas, like the one served by the new facility, don’t even have enough counselors to see kids. And the few counselors who are there are so overworked that it’s difficult for them to take on new cases.

In Searcy, the Child Safety Center of White County (part of the state’s CAC) was the first to add a facility dog to its team. This dog, a two-year-old black lab named Jake, has just one job – to help the children feel comfortable while they talk about some of the darkest experiences of their young lives.

Pulley becomes teary-eyed as she reflects on what she’s heard from the team there. “You can’t even imagine the stories and seeing how that dog has helped that kid through a horrible day. But they love it. The thank-you notes they write that dog are just incredible.”

This month, the center in Searcy added a second facility dog, a female named Nike. And take note, CAC staffers. Pulley thinks every center should have a facility dog.

The reality is that dogs and mobile units are fun to think about, but what’s most important is the vision that keeps Pulley thinking forward, day and night.

“We want to reach every single kid who has suffered abuse,” she says. “We don’t want any child to not have access to services.”

 If you know or suspect abuse of a child, please call the Arkansas Child Abuse Hotline at 1-844-SAVE-A-CHILD. If you are in a violent or abusive relationship and need help, call the emergency hotline at 1-800-332-4443. All calls are confidential.

If you’re like most people, finding and keeping balance in life can be an ongoing struggle. Click to read this piece I wrote for FamilyLife Ministries.

This is the day we’ve spent the last 18 years preparing for. It’s the day we move my son, Jackson, in at the college of his choice — the University of Oklahoma. Which brings me to a rather pressing question: If I’ve known for so long that this day was coming, why do I feel so surprised by it all?

I mean, I’m a licensed counselor, so it couldn’t be denial . . . could it?

We just spent an entire school year checking off milestones to this very day. And while my wife has struggled with waves of sadness that whole time, I’ve been the tough one who has always reminded her, “This is what we’ve been planning for. There’d be something wrong if he didn’t grow up.”

I was steadfast. Consistent. Unwavering.

Why then did I just now notice that the hourglass was flipped, and the few grains of sand that remain are making their way through the neck with ever-increasing speed?

I still remember the emotion I felt the first time I held him as a baby. All day long the tears were just beneath the surface — not unlike today. I was so proud to be a dad — his dad — and so grateful that he was mine. We’ve had our share of ups and downs through the years, with both of us demonstrating our stubbornness and strong wills more times than I can count.

For several months now I’ve noticed as more and more new items were added to the collection of ‘college stuff’ in our dining room. I’m pretty sure we should’ve bought stock in the Container Store before the shopping frenzy began!

But that was just a bunch of new stuff. It wasn’t until I ventured upstairs on Sunday evening and saw him packing up his stuff that I suddenly felt this lump in my throat, and my eyes began to water.

The over-arching thought seems silly to even put in writing: “He’s taking his stuff?!”

As I looked at the various piles strewn about his bedroom — piles that I’m sure made perfect sense to him — I couldn’t help noticing that his stuffed Steamboat Willie Mickey Mouse, a prized souvenir from our Disney vacation years earlier, would be left behind. And I get it. Those college dorm rooms aren’t that spacious. And he’ll be sharing that space with a roommate — someone I’ve never met.

My protective instinct is triggered, but this is how it goes. Jackson is an adult now, even though that’s a status I’m still processing.

Among the personal items that made the cut for dorm decor were a blue coin bank that I bought Jackson for Christmas a couple years ago — and a mosaic camel that I brought back from Israel in 2011. He told me it’s going with him because that’s his “favorite thing.” I never knew that.

Then my eyes fixed on the many Lego sets, now disassembled, labeled, and stored in large Ziploc bags. They are true relics of an earlier time when it wasn’t at all uncommon to hear the kind of sound effects that only boys can make. Jackson has always been a creative mind. His bedroom walls have been lined with those colorful Lego creations for years.

So many hours of tedious work had gone into the construction process. For a moment, I felt my heart skip a beat, as the parenting parallel came into view. How many family dinners? How many heartfelt prayers? How many bedtime stories, carpool hours, vacations, and sleepless nights have been invested in this child of mine?

Then part of a Bible verse darted through my mind with no warning whatsoever: “The old has passed away. Behold, the new has come.”

Indeed, we’re moving into a new season of life. And while Jackson’s 13-year-old sister remains at home (she’s incredibly excited about getting the bathroom to herself), there’s no denying that the dynamics of our family will never be quite the same. I’ve been around long enough to know how these things go.

While our influence as parents has been waning for quite a while, the inescapable reality is that in many ways Jackson is now on his own. It’s a truth that stokes both pride and fear in the heart of this dad.

In recent days I’ve found myself over-analyzing, re-thinking, and second-guessing 18 years of parenting. When I held that baby in my arms for the very first time, I promised God I would do my very best. But if I’m honest, I haven’t always followed through on that promise, despite the best of intentions.

There have been plenty of times when I’ve been too distracted, too exhausted, or too consumed with the problems of other people. I know that’s a normal part of life — especially in ministry — but it feels particularly unpleasant on this day.

There have been times when I’ve talked too much and listened too little. There have been times when I tried to fix a problem that only existed in my head. There have been mistakes, missteps, and misunderstandings.

Have I given him all the tools he needs to make wise decisions? Have I effectively taught him right from wrong? Have I set the kind of godly example that’s worth following? Does he know that he can come to me with any issue big or small, no matter what time of day or night?

Jackson is a good kid, but even good kids can make bad choices. I’m a textbook example of that. It’s times like this that I must remember another powerful truth: life isn’t all about making right choices; it’s also about learning and growing from the wrong choices and continuing to move forward one step at a time, knowing there’s nothing — absolutely nothing — that God can’t redeem.

Preparing to leave home hasn’t been easy for Jackson either. Over the last several days I’ve watched him say goodbye to his high school friends. Those relationships too will experience change. And yesterday as we prepared to get into our loaded vehicles, I saw him kiss MaggieDog on the head and tell her, “I love you,” his voice slightly cracking, “and I’ll see you later.”

I know that little dog well. She loves her boy. And I think she somehow knows how many times as a little boy Jackson begged for a puppy. I wonder how many nights Maggie will lay camped out in the kitchen, listening for the tell-tale grind of the garage door, waiting patiently for him to come inside and pat her on the head. What I really wonder is, how many nights before she loses hope?

It’s almost too much to bear — the harsh juxtaposing of Jackson’s enthusiasm and my sadness. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for him too. And there would be something amiss if I weren’t excited to see him launch. But unlike bird parents who can keep an eye on their babies when they leave the nest, I feel a bit like we’re saying, “Good luck, kiddo. We’re outta here.” And with five hours between us, he’s going to get a real taste of independence — and the responsibility that comes with it.

As we help get the man-child settled here in Norman, I’m keenly aware that today is our turn for sweet words, long embraces, lots of love — and laughter too. And I’m reminded that this is what a healthy family does. Despite our numerous faults and failures along the way, we’ve gotten a lot of things right. One of those things is the practice and power of forgiveness. For all the other stuff, God’s grace is sufficient to fill in the gaps. I’m counting on that.

It’s going to be a long drive home tonight. And I’m the designated driver, because Michelle has already issued a Flash Flood Warning due to tears. There will be tears of sadness and tears of joy, and we won’t always be able to make the distinction. But you can bet that visibility will be impacted for a significant portion of the trip.

As a pastor, I do my fair share of hospital visits. And I always remind people that even ‘routine surgeries’ can be scary — because they’re not routine to them. In the same vein, even though millions of parents have experienced the very same thing we’re going through right now, this is new to us. And it’s a little unnerving.

So let me ask you to say a prayer — not just for us but also for all the other families who are embarking on a new journey and entering a new season of life — whatever that season may be. We need the prayers, wisdom, encouragement, and support of friends who care — and friends who can remind us that what we’re feeling is both normal and necessary. Letting go and starting over are hard to do.

Even though I know our family will never be the same, I’m strangely comforted in knowing that neither will the University of Oklahoma. After all, a six-foot-four red-head in size 14 cowboy boots can’t go unnoticed. I expect he’ll leave an imprint that extends well beyond the ubiquitous red clay soil.

Jackson, if you’re reading this, know that I love you, I’m incredibly proud of you, and I’ll always be your dad. Boomer Sooner!

If there’s one thing you should NOT do, it’s avoid a friend who is going through a divorce. They are hurting deeply. And they need you. Check out this article I wrote for FamilyLife Ministries. Feel free to share it with others.

Last night my son graduated from high school. The past months have been filled with anticipation of this momentous occasion, but nothing about this was surprising. As I sat in a crowd of thousands, I was reminded that as a highly educated man, I take a lot of things for granted.

The reality is that from the time my children were born, I’ve never really even considered the possibility that they wouldn’t finish high school. It was always a given. It was merely the next in a series of accomplishments I expected to see fulfilled.

Consequently, I wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as many others gathered at North Little Rock’s Verizon Arena. Sure, I took some pictures. And I applauded when appropriate. But for our family, this ceremony was simply a formality — something that has to happen in order to move to the next rung on the social ladder.

When Jackson started high school as a ninth-grader, there were around 700 in his class. Last night’s commencement was for around 500 graduates. You do the math. Was the ceremony a little rowdier than I’m accustomed to? Yes. Were there expletives shouted here and there? Yes. Did some of the attendees behave as though they’d never been to such an event before? Again, yes. And in the moment it frustrated me greatly.

Just 24 hours later though, I’m frustrated that I was frustrated. I’m sad that I somehow took a special occasion and made it about me — my values, my story, my preferences.

More than that, I’m heartbroken for the nearly 200 students we lost over the course of four years — many in their senior year. Why couldn’t they finish what they started? The easy narrative is to say they just didn’t care. But I don’t believe that, not for a minute.

I believe that what happened to them is the same thing that happens to thousands upon thousands of urban high school students all over America: poverty, unemployment, pregnancy, physical sickness, addiction, and mental illness. And maybe it wasn’t even something that happened to the students themselves. Just one of these issues in any given family can wreak havoc on the whole family system. How many families struggle with more than one of these issues at any given point in time?

More importantly, how many of us really care? Not in a ‘bless their hearts’ way but in a way that encourages them, empowers them, partners with them, and speaks life into them? Those who serve in inner city social services programs and ministries will be quick to answer: “Not enough.”

So while I’m proud of my honors graduate and his many well-earned cords, it’s important to be just as proud of those who barely made the cut — because so many didn’t. And as in Jesus’ story of the woman and her few measly coins, maybe they too were giving all they had. Here’s an inconvenient truth: Our best efforts are not all equal. To believe anything else is to live in a fairytale world.

I take so many things for granted — like the love and support of Jackson’s grandparents who drove hundreds of miles from different states to celebrate him. How I wish every student could have that kind of faithful, generous, and unconditional love from their own parents and extended families.

So to those who were at graduation wearing their matching “her grandma,” “her aunt,” and “her step-mom” shirts — thank you for caring enough to encourage and support your graduate in such a visible way. To those who shouted out their graduate’s name, thank you for letting them know you were in their corner cheering loudly. To those who made special arrangements to take off work for the occasion, thank you for making the effort.

For those who lack such support, I call on members of the Church and community to step up and be those people. In the words of a famous former First Lady, “It takes a village.” As a responsible, over-achieving, self-confident kid, it was easy for me to minimize that statement way back then. But the older I get, the more merit it has. And supporting our communities is not an issue of politics but an issue of humanity.

I believe the adage “to whom much is given, much is required.”

What does that mean for me in this situation?

• Humility
  It means accepting responsibility for my own attitude of entitlement and pride. It’s much easier to be cavalier about it and pretend that the world is a bed of roses.
  
• Responsibility
  It means standing in the gap and making a difference for at-risk students and families. It means helping them navigate systems and processes that are confusing and resources that are difficult to access. It’s much easier to blame them for the problems in their lives.
  
• Engagement
  It means showing up to the next high school graduation in enthusiastic support of those who have no one to cheer for them. It’s much easier to declare that I’m done, now that my son has finished school.
  
• Gratitude
  It means being grateful — truly grateful — for all those things I take for granted on a daily basis — things like food, shelter, faith, family, friendship, financial resources, opportunities for personal and professional growth, and even my primary language and the color of my skin. I’m reluctant to add those last two things because it sounds prideful. But the reality is that those two attributes — which I had absolutely nothing to do with — open far more doors than most of us would ever comprehend.

If we truly want our communities to be better, then we must collectively be better at doing whatever it takes to facilitate the success of our youngest members. In a few short years they will be the ones providing leadership, direction, and support. Let’s show them the way by our example.

So . . . my son received his high school diploma. And I have learned one of the greatest lessons of my life. Not bad for a single day, is it?

Several days ago as I was driving to a meeting, a segment on NPR caught my attention. It was a thought-provoking piece, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. They were discussing the prevalence of pornography and its impact on individuals and on our culture as a whole.

In the intro, All Things Considered host Ailsa Chang reported that PornHub, the largest free porn site, has over 100,000,000 visits a day, mostly from Americans under the age of 34 — people who have always had easy access to porn.

As a longtime pastor and counselor, I’ve seen the destructive nature of pornography up close. I’ve had friends and colleagues lose their families and their ministries because of their own personal struggles with porn. I’ve struggled with temptation myself, more often than I’d like to admit. And I know I’m not alone. Pornography is a daily temptation for millions of men and women of all ages and backgrounds.

People get involved with pornography for all kinds of reasons: curiosity, comparison, fantasy, escape, shame, compulsive thoughts, and sexual abuse, just to name a few. According to Webroot Cybersecurity, some 40 million Americans regularly visit porn sites. And they watch a lot of internet porn. Consider these stats:

• 28,258 users are watching pornography every second.
• $3,075.64 is spent on porn every second on the internet.
• 35% of all internet downloads are related to pornography.

Indeed, even when reporting the latest news website ratings, Drudge Report often finishes the headline with ‘Porn Dominates.’

PornHub reports that in 2017, there were:

• 28.5 billion annual visits to the website
• 81 million daily average visits
• 25 billion searches performed
• 50,000 searches per minute
• 4,052,542 videos uploaded
• 68 years worth of content uploaded
• 3,732 pentabytes of information transferred (enough to fill the memory of every iPhone on Earth)

You can read the latest (2018) 43-page report from Covenant Eyes by clicking here. It’s truly eye-opening and would be worth your time to at least scan.

I have long known that pornography is a major problem in our society. In fact, my doctoral dissertation was based on a project that focused on developing ministry for those addicted to porn.

As NPR reporter/producer Kat Lonsdorf talked with a couple of porn actors, it became crystal clear just how pervasive the problem is — and just how deeply it has impacted not just individuals but the culture at large.

In thinking about the issue, I’ve identified four major areas of impact that are somewhat interrelated:

Porn misleads us about what is natural and normal. Porn director Jacky St. James told NPR, “A lot of people that are growing up on porn somehow feel that what they’re seeing is what they should be doing instead of really discovering what they want.” She adds that what viewers see on their screens is ‘not real’ in the sense of true connections. “These are two sometimes strangers having sex and doing what usually a man told them to do.” Essentially, porn changes our expectations about sex — so much so that many people, especially young men, actually prefer porn over sex with another person. Think about the implications of this for marriage.

Porn affects our self-esteem. Let’s face it: from the sensual covers of romance novels to steamy on-camera actors, the people portrayed in porn are almost always incredibly attractive. Repeated exposure to such perfect-looking people can deepen our insecurities, harm our body image, and magnify our own perceived physical flaws. I’ve listened to many women tearfully explain how they feel inadequate and unable to measure up to the people their partners see in porn. Men increasingly experience similar hang-ups and self-doubts as well.

Porn causes us to objectify people. Pornography is designed to be an escape or fantasy for those watching it. In many cases, it’s ultimately created to generate clicks and revenue. But not all porn is created by consenting adults. It often involves under-aged children and teens who are victims of human trafficking. In these cases, people created in the image of God become little more than a cheap thrill for those who gawk at photos or watch and re-watch videos.

Porn complicates or destroys opportunities for true intimacy. God designed sex as something to be enjoyed by a man and woman within the context of marriage. For many people, sex is not about intimacy and connection but about fulfillment of selfish desires. Author Ed Wheat, on the opening page of his book Intended for Pleasure, writes of men often having ‘misconceptions of God’s view of sex’ which result in a ‘hurried physical act without tenderness or pleasure.’

Pornography is not going away; it’s here to stay. So are its devastating effects on individuals, marriages, families, churches, and communities. If you’re a parent who has not had frank, age-appropriate discussions about porn with your kids, then what are you waiting for? With the average age of exposure steadily decreasing, we must be proactive in educating, communicating, and monitoring our kids’ devices and online activities.

Don’t make the mistake of thinking porn doesn’t affect you. Even if you don’t personally view porn, there are people in your life who do. And the way it changes them invariably impacts their relationship with you.

You can read or listen to the eight-minute NPR report here.

Well, for listeners of NPR’s long-standing morning show, it was a change in the program’s theme music that caused some disorientation for many on Monday morning.

Since its inception in 1979, this theme had been part of the morning routine:

But this week listeners were greeted with this instead:

While producers and anchors had teased the change last week, most listeners didn’t take note until, well, the first notes were played.

“It’s so generic. The old music was distinctive,” one listener tweeted.

“Don’t fix what ain’t broke,” another chimed in.

One person required more characters to express his dismay: “It is just terrible. Simply awful. Gross even. Please…..Please. As much as I love Morning Edition, it’s going to make it very difficult to listen.”

Other listeners had positive things to say, but as with most such situations, the negatives seem louder and more numerous.

Now, I’ll admit that I love to start my day with Morning Edition. Even when I disagree with the hosts or guests, I still walk away feeling smarter — like I learned something. That just doesn’t happen for me with most other newscasts.

The funny thing about this issue with the new music is that NPR listeners are, generally speaking, a little more progressive or even liberal in their political views and life philosophies. Therefore, it would make sense that such people would be ready to openly embrace such a bold change.

However, many of the tweets and other online comments have sounded a lot like church members who are grouchy about their preferences being disregarded or cast aside.

And church people can turn almost anything into an opportunity to grumble and complain — just like the Israelites who grumbled their way, reluctantly following Moses toward the Promised Land.

I’ve heard people fuss about pews vs. chairs, carpet vs. tile, blue vs. beige, hymns vs. choruses, choirs vs. praise teams, organs vs. drums, hymnals vs. screens. And even more than that.

So many of the changes we encounter throughout the course of our lives are changes over which we have little, if any, control. Sure, we can speak our truth to power, but even that doesn’t necessarily guarantee that minds will be changed and order restored.

And technology has only facilitated a faster pace of change in our world. Our ages could once be gauged fairly well by whether we grew up with 8-tracks, cassette tapes, or CDs. Now it can be gauged by what size our first cell phone was.

Perhaps Kathy Troccoli’s song “Everything Changes” best sums it up. In every area of life, change comes. Whether change is actually progress is left to each person to judge for himself.

But I suppose that for many listeners of Morning Edition, the familiar comfort of the old theme song — a track that had been a staple of the broadcast for 40 years — will not easily be replaced by the more upbeat and busy-sounding one.

Maybe this is a case of traditional vs. trendy.

I still contend that if NPR loses listeners due to the change in music, then they really weren’t there for the news at all. Could it be that NPR has waded into the same kind of territory that has threatened the happiness and job security of Worship Pastors all over the nation for the last 20 years?

Music is powerful. Change is hard. Changing music is apparently particularly hard, whether in the church or on the news. The fact of the matter is that we could all probably find more significant things to stress out about. Maybe we should.

Is there anyone in your life who is pretty serious in a dating relationship — or perhaps even engaged — who you think would do well to slow it down a little and think things through? There are some common red flags or warning signs that couples should pay attention to.

Check out this article I wrote for FamilyLife Ministries. Feel free to share it with others.

If you’re interested in finding a competent counselor, I can help get you connected. Just drop me a line.

Something is gravely amiss in our culture today. Every day there’s a new headline that, no matter how carefully crafted, simply cries out, “HELP!”

The public was stunned and outraged last year when David and Louise Turpin of Perris, California, were arrested for the longterm abuse and neglect of the majority of their 13 children, ranging in age from two to 29.

It’s the kind of abuse that is frankly unconscionable to most people in modern-day America. To think that anyone of sane mental status could torture their own children in such a cruel and grotesque way is impossible to comprehend. The couple was recently sentenced to 25 years to life, after their children read prepared statements that were a curious cocktail of shame, forgiveness, resolve, and resilience.

Now another California couple is in the news for keeping their 22-month-old twin boys locked in stacked cages (actually, modified cribs) that were secured to the wall. The couple, Ramon Zendejas and Mercadies Williams, were arrested last Friday on weapons charges, in addition to charges of child endangerment, drug possession, and manufacturing a controlled substance. Authorities later dropped the child endangerment charges, reportedly because they believe the the couple was actually trying to protect their 22-month-old twin boys from the dangerous items all over the house.

Both these cases are alarming in their own right. But one must wonder how many similar situations are never discovered. Which brings up the obvious question: how can this happen?

Granted, these two cases are different in many ways. But they are alike in that they should drive us to carefully consider what we can do to help prevent these kinds of egregious offenses.

But before we do that, we must think critically about what we’ve lost in contemporary culture, notably the sense of true community in which neighbors know one another on a personal level.

I’ll be the first to admit that things are different today. One must be intentional to really know your neighbors. And unfortunately, even in my charming suburban neighborhood — after living here for almost 10 years — there are still neighbors I don’t know. (I’ve even had a neighor run away from me when we attempted to deliver homemade cookies. What’s up with that?)

We are all busy people — way too busy, most will readily admit. Yet we’ve pretty much resigned ourselves to the fact that we’re way too busy, and that’s just how it is. Gone are the days of sipping hot coffee or tea on the front porch with neighbors until the crickets begin their nightly serenade, and the fireflies start to glow.

Instead we have garage doors that essentially function as vault doors, quickly letting us in and just as quickly closing us in, all with the touch of a button from the convenience of our vehicles.

Long work hours and hectic schedules of family activities though are no excuse for not knowing our neighbors. Sometimes I think we just convince ourselves that the people around us don’t want to be bothered. But what if our neighbors are thinking the very same thing about us?

Indeed, what if this epidemic of loneliness that is often explained in weighty research-laden reports, what if it’s largely a product of faulty assumptions?

What if everybody simply assumes that no one wants to be bothered, interrupted, or inconvenienced by a good old-fashioned conversation?

What if we all began to make an effort to connect with people in our own corners of our own neighborhoods? Would this make a difference? I think so.

I have often bemoaned the loss of true community that was so palpable in my formative years. Yes, I know that was 30+ years ago in rural Mississippi. But there was much more space between neighbors than exists in most cities and towns today. It stands to reason that physical proximity alone is no indicator of relational intimacy.

What was it about my neighborhood? Let’s see. There were the Christophers next door and the Peacocks and the Williamsons across the road. When we first moved to the country, we actually had a ‘party line.’ That’s just a fancy way to say that several houses shared a phone line. Each home had its own unique ring pattern. I remember being frustrated on numerous occasions when I’d pick up the phone to call a friend, only to hear Mrs. Peggy laughing and chattin’ up a storm with someone.

Our little circle of friends was tight. We dropped in on each other, just to visit — or to bring a homemade dessert or a box of fresh-picked veggies from the backyard garden. We played games together and had dinner together. Those were the days.

But my point is this: It would’ve been incredibly difficult for the Christophers, the Peacocks, or the Williamsons to keep children under lock and key in deplorable conditions for any length of time — because we were all up in each other’s business. We knew each other — I mean, really knew each other. Somebody would’ve heard something eventually, because our interactions were frequent and often unplanned.

And yes, we were all church-going Christians — although we attended different churches. In some ways our little pod of people functioned like the early church. Here’s how the Apostle Paul described them in Acts 2:44-45:

“And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need.”

Selling their possessions?! Actually, I remember several times when we did combined yard sales. (‘Garage’ sales were an up-town term; none of our carports were enclosed.) These events rarely brought any big bucks, but they provided us with one more opportunity to know our neighbors and others nearby.

Were people busy back then? I think they were. But they weren’t always out of breath and out of time and out of energy. They had ‘margin’ in their lives before that kind of margin was even a concept. The whole pace of life was a little slower.

Will a greater emphasis on intentionally building relationships and fostering community prevent every case of child abuse and neglect? Hardly. But I’m convinced that just giving in to an over-busy, self-centered way of life is creating a whole lot of collateral damage.

No matter what, I’m sticking to my mantra: One person can make a difference. Let’s make a difference together all over our country. Whether you live in a house or an apartment, in the city or in the country, you can be a catalyst for community right where you are.

As is the case in the old starfish tale, we won’t be able to save everyone, but we can make a difference — one person at a time.