Category: Issues of Faith

Why I’m Thankful for Winter

~ ejmcewan ~ 2 Comments

What is it about winter that makes me feel so reminiscent?

Everything slows down. The nights are longer. And there seems to be more – s p a c e – for quiet and contemplation. Now, with three kids, space is generally pretty limited. (As is the quiet.) But the past few weeks have found me trapped inside my mind more than usual, thinking about the past.

On February 21, 2004, I stepped foot in Cincinnati for the first time. It’s an easy date to remember because it was the day after my brother’s wedding. And I’m glad I can remember it gives me a timestamp for that monumental day.

You see, at the time, February 21 didn’t seem so monumental. It was cold and I was visiting a good friend who was to become my boyfriend and I thought Cincinnati was pretty cool. But nothing about that weekend could have prepared me for all that would happen in the next few weeks, the next few months, and the next ten years.

It was winter. And, in winter, everything feels slow and quiet. So slow and quiet that you’d never know what’s actually happening under the surface.

The truth is that winter is alive, even if it looks like it’s sleeping.

Winter is like the calm before the storm
or the silent, early stage of labor
or the kettle of steaming water just before the whistle.

We cycle through the seasons every year but, for some of us, “winter” (in the proverbial sense) can last much longer. When I first arrived in Cincinnati, I was deeply imbedded in one of those winter-y seasons of my life. At the time, the cold, dark, and quiet of February 21st were apropos. And that cold, dark quiet stuck around for quite some time.

But, speaking literally, I’ve always loved winter.
I love winter because, even though the ground is frozen solid, there is magic underneath it all. It’s the kind of magic you can’t see, hear, or smell because it’s hidden until the ground thaws.

Why am I thankful for winter?
I’m thankful for winter because winter ends. And, when it ends, I’m reminded that every winter ends.

There is a storm brewing,
that baby is about to be born,
and you will hear the steam whistle.

We know this because storms and babies and hot cups of tea have all happened before and we can trust that they will happen again.

Lately, I’ve spent a lot of time looking back on my first few years in Cincinnati. At the time, I could have never known how monumental those years would be and what I would find at the other end. But, looking back, there were markers along the way that I simply didn’t have eyes to see.

If reminiscing involves looking back for the subtle hints we missed the first time around, then faith involves looking forward to what we have every reason to believe lies ahead.

After the ground thaws.
When the lightning crashes.
When our baby lets out that first cry.
When we finally warm our hands on that piping hot cup of tea.

Winter is a lot like the still railroad track the moment before it starts to rattle.
Maybe faith is something like holding your ear to the rail.

Are you listening?

In Defense of the Radical

~ ejmcewan ~ Leave a comment

In an effort to clear my head and offer a different perspective for some of my Christian friends on the issue of “Radical Christianity” and whether or not it is required of us:

A few months ago, some friends started circulating an article online that critiqued contemporary social manifestations of Christianity. It claimed that these new Christian leaders are wrong in their assumption that Christ has called all of us to “radical,” or “missional” living, that these people are narcissistic and legalistic, and that most of us are called to live much more ordinary, simple lives. Since then, I’ve seen about a dozen similar articles and blog posts, critiquing everything from individual people to specific ideologies and practices.

A friend sent me a link to the original article and cued me into the conversation with a few very simple words: You will hate this article.

She was right.

My first brush with a real Radical was when I was in elementary school.
Our Sunday school class at church did a series on international missionaries and I heard, for the first time, the stories of Jim Elliot and of Amy Carmichael. Those two missionaries became the standard in my mind, the archetypal Radical who gives their life to serve God. My interest in their lives and missions led me to discover dozens of other missionaries throughout history who have given their lives (both literally and figuratively) in radical ways, both here and abroad. I was drawn to them as if they were rock stars–if they sold t-shirts, I would have worn them–and their stories planted seeds in me that took root and sprouted a commitment to do something BIG in the future for God.

In high school and college, I devoured books by and stories of all different types of Radical people–both within the Church and without. I started college convinced that God had called me to full-time, radical commitment to ministry and then, by the time I was 21 (oh, gosh, that was ten years ago), I had just graduated from college and was searching for the path that would lead me to that radical future. In those four years, I had dipped my toes in a million different ministry pools, worked in churches and out of churches, been overseas to do ministry, spent time with the homeless folks who lived behind my building, and had begun writing music in the hope that I had something significant to share with the world.

Those next few years didn’t pan out the way I’d intended. I had a severe crisis of faith toward the end of college that poured over into my “young adult years” and muddled my early 20’s. I followed my boyfriend to a different city, joined AmeriCorps, took an environmental educator job (and one as a bartender to make ends meet), and spent some time sorting things out. It was a messy but monumental few years, both spiritually and emotionally, but by the time my 25th birthday rolled around a lot had changed. I’ll spare you the details here, but suffice to say that my world was slowly rebuilt–piece by piece. Faith, relationships, family, ministry, etc.

I guess I never got to live out my Radical fantasy. Instead, I wasted “my best years” (i.e. my 20’s) in a journey of self-discovery and spiritual development. In a tangible way, I have a lot to show for it–a wonderful husband and (nearly) 3 beautiful children, a nice home in a great neighborhood, a solid group of friends, a few decent songs under my belt. But, in terms of the radical existence I’d hoped for, it’s not quite what I intended.

When some of my peers started circulating these articles about how Radicals are out to make us feel bad about our average Christian lives, on a base level, I agreed with some of the critiques. I worry, often, that I can never live up to the standard of “radical” that I once prescribed to. And many of the critiques I’ve read–especially those written by moms like me–have really gripped me and said aloud things that I’ve felt many, many times in the past 5 years since I got married and settled deeper and deeper into “normal life:”

“I’m afraid I’m not doing enough.”
“My work is not important enough.”
“My lifestyle is not radical enough.”

But, after a few months of thinking it over, I’m willing to reconsider.

I still believe–wholeheartedly–that every Christian is called to be a Radical.
What I mean by “radical” is what Jesus mentioned in Matthew 24. You know, that business about “taking up your cross” to follow Him? Yes, I still believe that Jesus meant what He said and that it is exactly what his disciples are called to do.

But, as I said, I’m sympathetic to the critiques of modern Radicals for a few reasons.

First of all, none of us like being called into question. Not by our pastors, not by our peers, and definitely not by some skinny-pants-wearing guy across the country writing a blog about his innovative ministry.

Also, the world of the internet has created a culture of instant celebrity and fake community. In the world of social networking, we can be inspired by strangers who have found their niche in the Church and world, but we can never know their whole story or be in a relationship with them that offers the accountability and mentorship we’d need to actually learn from them. The capacity for spreading news about other people is immense, considering how quickly a single blog post can be spread between hundreds of friends. But it can lead to a confusing and dangerous sense of importance–both on their side and ours.

These inspirational stories can also confuse us into believing that some random blogger’s particular calling is magically transferable to our situation and our context. But it’s simply not the case. The way we live out the mission of the Church was never meant to be homogeneous. I can almost guarantee that many of these modern-day Radicals already understand this. It’s those of us on the other end that get confused and defensive.

Add to that, we mistakenly equate “radical” with “eccentric.” Those of us who live and look like normal people are extra sensitive about this (as tend to be older folks who have “outgrown” their youthful eccentricities), and it makes us extra defensive when any eccentric personality questions our lifestyle. But the truth is that many of the most radically mission-focused people I’ve known were pretty lame by pop culture standards. They live in normal houses and eat normal food; they get normal haircuts and shop at Target. What makes them radical is their mission, not their appearance.

The eccentricity issue is true for the nature of their mission, as well. Just because some Radicals have been called to ministry in wild places or in wild ways, it doesn’t negate the ordinary, every day work that every person has to do on an average day. Radicals need clean underwear, too, and if you are a woman raising a Godly family as a part of your ministry, you should expect that much of your time will be spent doing things like laundry instead of the more exciting things that 22 year-old single and childless women and men have time to do.

That said, there will always be eccentric people in the Church. This is especially true in an era when so many young people are a part of what is sometimes called the Creative Class–a demographic of people who are creating culture rather than consuming it. Creative people will naturally decorate their lives with more color and it’s really not their fault that I’m sensitive about my own lame taste.

Also, before assuming that a particular eccentric aesthetic is just a matter of taste, we should consider what it calls into question about your own choice in purchased goods, fashion, and lifestyle. Sure, there are plenty of self-appointed prophets who point fingers at the rest of us, but they are the minority. Most eccentric folks are really just trying to live by example. In fact, someone once explained their personal style to me as being “a walking hyperbole.” Maybe the judgement I feel is actually more akin to insecurity or (gasp!) Godly conviction. I’m sure that, after seeing John the Baptist, some of his contemporaries questioned their hairstyles, too. And rightfully so.

Basically, I think it’s important that those of us who struggle with feeling “normal” don’t blame the Radicals for our struggle. If radical discipleship should be the standard–as I believe it should–then the Radicals are not the enemy. The Church would actually benefit from more of them, not fewer.

I would like to quickly (ha! quickly?) offer a few things that I think all radical disciples have in common so we can see through the faux celebrities and pure eccentrics and help define what we, as individuals called to discipleship, might look like as Radicals.

1. Radicals are motivated by ideology. They believe they’ve been called to a particular mission and are willing to put the mission before more common motivations like self-preservation, comfort, and practicality. In certain personalities, this can come across as being judgmental or proud, but it is more likely conviction–something that, if we’re honest, we don’t see enough of these days to really know how to recognize it.

2. Radicals work humbly, with or without recognition. They are not self-made celebrities. But, by sharing their stories and encouraging others to follow their example, they are often made examples by those who they inspire. Very few Radicals would welcome a following. Most would probably prefer a faithful group of co-laborers to help with the mission.

3. Radicals are willing to take chances. Because of their strong faith and ideology, they are willing to do things that others are not. This includes wild and crazy things like selling everything to open an orphanage in the Sudan and simple, wonderful things like having an awkward conversation with that extra difficult visitor at church. They have nothing to lose and so are willing to go places that are difficult and uncomfortable.

4. Radicals are dependent on God’s provision. Pursuing their calling means relying on God’s providence over their future, their family, their income, and safety. They have put it all in His hands. This is the part of radical-living that makes most of us very uncomfortable. The concept of “daily bread” is scary, especially for those of us with spouses and children dependent upon the same daily provision. No matter what their mission and calling, a Radical’s daily bread will be enough to sustain them and fulfill their mission. (Just to be clear, those who receive a larger allotment of this proverbial bread are supposed to be using it to fulfill the mission of the Church, not simply build their stock portfolios.)

5. Radicals live intentionally as missionaries. They do not just float through life. Their heart for ministry has brought them to a particular people or place and they have invested their lives there and they are intentional about what that life looks like. The Church is called to preach the Gospel in the urban core and suburban community of every city, the heart of every farming community, every corner of industry and business and culture, and every tribe across the globe. We should be thankful that other people are called to places where we have no urgency to go, and can never excuse ourselves from finding a similar calling elsewhere. Some call it “mission”; I tend to call it “vocation.” It’s the same thing, really.

6. Radicals love other disciples. They love sharing stories, encouraging those engaged in ministry, promoting each other’s ministries, and learning from each other. They are the iron sharpening iron. They give generously to each other. They share their provision and resources. They push buttons and challenge each other and are willing to learn.

And, perhaps, most significant is this:

7. Radicals boldly pursue the Kingdom of God. Their mission is not borne of compulsion, fear, or the emotional need to please God. They are pursuing a deeper need and desire–participation in the grand scheme of God’s redemption of the world. They have seen a vision of the Kingdom and they are running toward it. It is a difficult, but joyful pursuit; it is an easy yoke and light burden, but a yoke nonetheless. It requires everything and offers something altogether different in return. They know that it is bigger than themselves and the role they play, but they are happy to play that role, regardless.

This is where the author of that original article really missed the mark. His main point was that “there are no little people or insignificant callings in the Kingdom.” I obviously agree, but I believe he is missing the point. The bigger issue–the one addressed by Radicals–is that there is a difference between living “a simple life” because you feel called to nothing in particular and living out your simple life as a part of a greater calling and mission. The problem is not the nature of our calling, but our complete lack of a commitment to our calling. If we would begin to live our lives in terms of vocation and mission, we would see value in all work for which the Kingdom is the intended end.

To give a personal example: my problem is not that motherhood is made of too ordinary a life to be considered “radical,” but that we’ve stripped it of its rightful place as a God-given vocation. Doing this renders the day-to-day work of motherhood meaningless and, therefore, ourselves and other mothers as simply “ordinary.”

I guess, in short, I could have summed this all up by saying that it’s not the hipster sunglasses that make someone a Radical, it’s their ability to see the Kingdom of God and step in to be a part of it. And once they’ve seen it, like the merchant in pursuit of the costliest of pearls that Jesus talked about (Matthew 13) , they are willing to give everything for the sake of attaining it.

When faced with the call to become a Radical, let us stop defending ourselves and the parts of our lives that feel ordinary and “normal,” as if those somehow disqualify us from the task. Let us, instead, let the lives of Radicals inspire us and challenge us to find our particular calling in the Kingdom, be it through wild and crazy or simple and ordinary lives.

Don’t cheapen the grace that allows you to participate in the Kingdom of God by thinking that it will cost you nothing. If you believe that Jesus was joking when he described the life of discipleship as denying ourselves, giving up everything, and following him, you have misunderstood the sacrificial nature of discipleship. Disciples pursue the Kingdom, regardless of cost. The Person standing at the end of the pursuit (Jesus) is the one who redeems the sacrifice. And the pursuit itself is what counts us among His disciples.

The Hardest Part of Motherhood

~ ejmcewan ~ 6 Comments

Some women hate pregnancy.
Some women dread childbirth.
Some women can’t bear to lose sleep while caring for a restless newborn or doing laundry or changing diapers.

Parenting young children (and old, I can imagine) is hard, on multiple levels, and we could list the reasons.

But, the hardest part of motherhood?
It’s the moment a mother (or mother to-be or mother in-waiting) realizes the fragility of a child’s life and their own powerlessness to protect it.

Today marks 26 weeks into my third pregnancy.

Unlike many of my peers, getting pregnant has been easy for me and my pregnancies have been relatively drama-free. And childbirth, though excruciating, has left me unscathed and willing to go another round. I was not naive about the difficulties of pregnancy and childbirth. And, as I entered those awkward first few months of motherhood, I was not surprised by the difficulties I encountered. And now these wild and crazy first few years? I’ve never been surprised by how difficult this work truly is.

But, six weeks ago, I was surprised by a phone call from my OBGYN.

The short version of my story is that our baby–our little girl–has a Single Umbilical Artery (SUA). The doctor called me that day to tell me that a Perinatologist had spotted this abnormality on the photos of our otherwise-normal ultrasound and wanted to follow-up with another, more detailed ultrasound to rule out other possible abnormalities. She assured me that, given the otherwise normal ultrasound images, the SUA was probably an isolated abnormality. But, I should be aware that SUA is often present with other congenital defects and further testing would need to be done.

Since it was a Friday afternoon, I had all weekend to play internet detective and find out what terrible things could be happening to my baby.

What I found out: First of all, SUA is fairly common (somewhere between 1 in 100 and 1 in 500 live births). And, like my doctor said, the most common, majority-case scenario was that the SUA was isolated and there would be no other abnormalities. But, if our situation was like the minority of SUA cases, we could be dealing with much more difficult implications. The possibilities range from slight and manageable challenges (things like low birth weight, premature birth, or Trisomy 21–aka Down Syndrome) to much more severe abnormalities (things like renal and cardiac anomalies, Intrauterine Growth Restriction, and Trisomy 18–aka Edwards Syndrome). The more severe abnormalities could lead to miscarriage, stillbirth, and early infant death.

As you can imagine, it was a rough weekend.

The good news for us is that when we saw the Perinatologist early that next week, the only other issue he detected in our Level II ultrasound is a small placenta tear. There don’t seem to be any other congenital defects. I have now been elevated to “high risk” but, as long as the placenta tear does not grow or develop into a clot, we should not expect any serious complications with the rest of the pregnancy or our daughter’s health.

How’s that for good news?

But I’m not writing this to tell you the good news.

As much as I’m thankful a million times over that our baby appears healthy, our SUA scare has reminded me of all the mothers who don’t hear good news.

It made me feel real, physical, tangible pain for all the women I know who simply cannot get pregnant at all,
and those who can’t imagine paying for an adoption or aren’t approved for an adoption or whose almost-adopted babies are taken away,
and those who miscarry once or twice or five times,
and those whose babies are born already dead,
and those whose babies are born with broken bodies that never heal,
and those whose healthy children grow sick and die,
or whose children get hurt and die,
or whose children are victimized or brutalized or hurt themselves,
and the list goes on and on and on.

And it made me feel scared and helpless and powerless.

I always knew–cognitively, like the way I know “how gravity works”–that something like this could happen to me or to my children. But, now I was faced with the reality of it.

Maybe it’s my turn.
Maybe this time it’s my baby.

I don’t want to be overly dramatic about this because, as I’ve said, my story ends with good news and the fear of losing a child is nothing compared to the reality of losing a child. But I also don’t want to minimize the lesson learned here, the important and sobering lesson that every mother will learn eventually:
The hardest part of motherhood is the fragility of a child’s life and the knowledge that we are powerlessness to protect it.

The big question, I guess, is how we deal with this knowledge.
How do we continue having more children and loving them fully and deeply when we know that, at any moment, we could lose them? How can we have the faith to even let them out the front door or in a car or down the slide at the park without fearing for their lives?

In addition to not over-dramatizing this story, I also don’t want to over-theologize it because I know that many of the people who read my blog are not Christians and don’t have the same context for understanding the way the Maker of the Universe orchestrates the lives of small children. But, I don’t know how I could process these thoughts without my faith. I’m sure there are other coping mechanisms that I could enlist to help, but I’m not sure any other system of belief would offer the same consolation.

A few years ago, a friend told me she had just lost her third pregnancy–two to miscarriage and one to stillbirth. The news was difficult to process, but it was even more difficult to find a proper response. I’m not sure I ever found one.

The picture that came to mind, when I considered her situation, was the concept of painful expectation that Paul talks about in the book of Romans.

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. (Ch.8, v. 18-23)

I don’t want to stretch this meaning too far, but I think its application might be appropriate.

Basically, I believe this:

We are broken people. We live in a broken world with broken bodies. We give birth, in pain, to broken children. This brokenness should not surprise us. But we are suffering through this painful, corrupted world, in expectation of complete and total redemption–of not just our souls but also our bodies. And, to this hope and for this hope, we persevere. We do not believe that the loss of a child is good or welcome or any less tragic. But, if we believe this story, we believe that every breath breathed by that child–or heartbeat, or year lived–is a miracle and a gift because it gives us a glimpse of redemption. This might not make loss any easier, but it does make the hope of redemption all the more poignant.

 

Mothering is hard.
Physically, emotionally, and mentally, it requires constant labor and commitment.

But the joys of mothering can not be understated.

And, though the fear of losing a child can steal the joy of mothering, it doesn’t need to. Instead, it could free us to embrace each moment with our children–unborn, newborn, long-ago born–as the miracle it truly is.

I wonder if it’s even possible to embrace the sacredness of the life of a child without first understanding how miraculous their very existence is in the first place.

On that note, what should we name her?

Photo 510

The "F" Word.

~ ejmcewan ~ 1 Comment

Here in the Twenty-first Century, there are still a few taboos that our enlightened society can’t seem to rise above. One of them: Faith.

This seems particularly true in areas like architecture and urban planning, where it’s presumed that all “people of faith” have bad taste, are afraid of progress, hate cities, and want to live in McMansions in the suburbs. These stereotypes are not completely unwarranted; there are factions of the Christian faith that are in opposition to contemporary voices in culture and urban life. But this small percentage does not speak for the whole.

Faith is particularly taboo in the academic realm where students are told to check their religious lives at the door and, consequently, never have a chance to develop the relationship between their private faith and their career. (Check out Ben Stein’s Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed for his perspective on how this plays out in the realm of science.) This produces a lot of young people who believe they have to choose between two things they are passionate about: their faith and changing the world.

Is it possible to have both?
Some of us believe so.

A friend of mine, an urban planner in a moderately large city, recently asked me how I navigate my work in the public realm as it relates to my faith. Her experience is that Christians (especially of the conservative vein) are, at best, a joke in the city planning world. Now, my work in community improvement is not nearly as “public” as her position with the city. But, she has heard me speak (and write) quite a bit about how my faith informs my views on politics, community development, and urban life. And she was curious how I manage being an “eco-friendly, urban, transit-loving, libertarian Christian” (her words–not mine) without feeling emotionally crushed while working with my peers.

A blog I frequent–Urbanophile–recently posted a link to an interesting podcast on this issue. You can access it here.

The basic gist of the podcast is this: historically speaking, faith has always been a prime motivator in public life, for progress and justice. So, why do we ignore this connection when training those to whom we entrust our public life?

There is a lot of discussion in Christian circles these days about urbanism and how the Church should address issues related to city life and urban culture. But, the secular arena doesn’t seem very educated about the contemporary Christian perspective–and they definitely ignore the historic one.

I’m fairly new to the conversation and definitely don’t claim to have all the answers for how faith and public life are supposed to intersect, but, I am convinced that I need not “check my faith at the door” in order to have something to contribute to the broader conversation.

And I would encourage any young, passionate “people of faith” to pursue the health of their faith and the welfare of their city.

Maybe we can have both.

“But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.” – the prophet Jeremiah, Old Testament.

They Did Everything Right

~ ejmcewan ~ Leave a comment

Last week, news broke in New York City that an 8 year-old boy had been abducted, then killed and dismembered, after getting lost only blocks away from the place he was to meet his parents that afternoon. His error: he asked the wrong person for directions. That man took advantage of the situation and it ended tragically.

I’d rather not recount all of the details. You can read them for yourself.

As a parent raising children in an urban area, I am already well-aware of the perceived dangers of city life. I know that many of my peers, with children of the same age, think I’m nuts for planting our family here. And I will admit that I sometimes question this decision, as well, counting the cost of all the extra work my husband I and I have to do to keep our family safe and healthy in the city.

But the more time I spend here (we’ve lived in Over-the-Rhine for over three years now and I worked here for the three years before then), the more I am convinced that although there are certain dangers inherent to urban life, many of the dangers inherent to childhood transcend location. No matter where you plant your family, you run the risk of encountering danger. The likelihood of my children being abducted, breaking an arm, drowning in a neighbor’s pool, or getting hit by a car does not significantly decrease the further we are from the city. In fact, depending on where you live, some dangers will increase while others decrease.

On the issue of child abductions, some basic statistics:

  • Family members account for the majority of these reported cases (82 percent)
  • Non-family abductions account for 12,000 of these reported cases (18 percent)
  • Of non-family abductions, 37 percent are by a stranger

Link: http://kidsfightingchance.com/stats.php

In more tangible terms, for every 100 children abducted, 82 are taken by a family member. 18 are taken by a non-family member. And, of those 18, only 6-7 of them are taken by a stranger. Call me crazy, but this says to me that, if your child is ever the victim of abduction, there is 93% chance they are abducted by someone you already know. And, the people you know will be the people you know no matter where you live.

And this is just one example.

As an aside, consider this: as soon as summer hits, the news is littered with tragic stories of children drowning in a neighbor’s pool. I don’t know about you, but I can’t think of a single property within two miles of my home that has a backyard pool. And the two public pools within those two miles are surrounded by high security fences and manned by lifeguards when open for business. So, this childhood danger is actually greatly reduced by living in the city.

The most tragic thing about the boy killed in Brooklyn was not that he was abducted, or that he was killed, or that it happened only blocks away from his intended meeting place. The most tragic thing for me, as a parent, is knowing that his parents did everything right and it happened anyway.

The family lived in an insular Orthodox Jewish community, a community where you’d assume residents were safe and adults were trustworthy. The boy was a month shy of 9 years old and had been begging his parents to allow him to walk home from summer camp alone. This was the first time they’d allowed it and they even walked the route with him, to insure he knew exactly where to go. Somehow, he got lost anyway. And when he stopped to ask for directions, the man he asked happened to be the one person within who knows how many miles who would take advantage of the situation.

I think about my hometown, in the SW suburbs of Chicago. And I think about the twelve or so blocks between my childhood home and my middle school. I think about the millions of times I must have walked that mile when I was eleven years old. And I think about how “safe” it seemed, even though it involved crossing multiple lanes of traffic in a pedestrian un-friendly area.

And then I think about my friend Karen’s home, in Blue Island, IL, which was a far cry from my suburban neighborhood only seven miles away. And I think about riding our bikes around her neighborhood when we were probably no older than ten years old. I think about the first drug deal I ever witnessed. And I think about the stories she told. And I think about the first time I drove through Blue Island as an adult and thought: I can’t believe her parents let us wander around this neighborhood alone!

But now I think I understand.

I think about my neighborhood. I think about the ten blocks between my home and the public library and I think: My son already knows this route and he’s not even three years old. Of course, by the time he’s ten years old, I would assume he’s competent to take this walk alone, even if I wouldn’t yet allow it at that point.

The truth is, a good parent knows their child well enough to know when they are ready to “face the world alone.” And the best they can do is trust that they’ve given their child every tool necessary to take care of themselves on that walk down the block, then the walk around the corner, then eventually the walk down to the library. And when something goes wrong, if something goes wrong, chances are that it was nothing the parents could have foreseen and that they did everything right.

This is why it’s tragic when something terrible happens to a child. Regardless of what normal, natural, everyday thing they were doing when the tragedy happened, there is only so much we can do to protect them. And it doesn’t matter where they live. At a certain point, we need to allow them the freedom to take steps out the door alone.

I fear for my son’s life at least a dozen times a day. And my daughter, who is still about three weeks away from being born, is already stressing me out. But I know that, as they grow, the best thing I can do is provide the tools they’ll need to navigate this city without me. And the tools they’ll need here are different than the tools they’d need if we lived in the suburbs, but they are no more or less important. And my neighborhood is no more or less “safe.” It’s just different. The dangers are different. The people are different. The streets and houses and stores are different. And my children will be different because of it. (Heck, that’s part of the reason we’re here.)

The sentiment spoken at the boy’s funeral is perfect for the situation:

“He got lost, he got lost,” he said… “There’s nothing to say, he got lost. God wanted it.”

As a person of faith myself, I can understand what he means. For others, it’s a difficult thing to take in. But the sentiment is something we can all appreciate because it’s true: when something like this happens, there is often a simple explanation for how it happened. In this case, “he got lost.” I’ve been lost before. And you probably have, too. And it happens in the city and in the suburbs and on the hiking trail and in a foreign city. And sometimes you stop to ask the wrong person for directions and you end up more lost than you were before. Or sometimes it ends in tragedy.

Often times, there’s simply nothing you should have done differently.

I hope that little boy’s parents know that.