My son is in internal medicine practice now. He's financially secure. His fiance is also well-employed in engineering. They'll be married soon. But when I brought up those grandchildren I would love to have, he almost snapped my head off.

Why? Why would my loving son respond that way? Because the idea of bringing a child into "this ugly, burning world" terrifies him.

His Dad and I never thought about that when we were practicing procreation as a form of youthful recreation. (We were care-free about it! I wasn't supposed to be able to have a child, but that's another story, one I like to tell at women's retreats.)

We were able to afford a little house, the price of food was reasonable. Sure there was crime, but only in certain neighborhoods. School shootings hadn't started, no dark web internet was providing the motivation or instructions for that yet.

Once my sweet, caring son explained his fears about fatherhood, I couldn't forget it.

Every time I see a baby now the conversation flies back in my face. I can't help but wonder if the parents are "together" or if they can afford their child's future. I can't help but fear for the day that child starts kindergarten with a live shooter drill. I know two teenagers who peed their pants during their first one.

Sure, there have always been problems in our world. Yes, there was always a dark side. When Jesus was a baby, things were really bad, too. A king put a bounty on his head and killed all the boys even close to his age. That was obviously not a good future either.

I guess each generation faces their own challenges but the challenges of this time seem terminal. If we can't do something about climate catastrophe, we'll all burn up. If truces can't be signed in the wars raging around us, nuclear war is upon us. My son is right. What kind of future is that for a child?

But as a person of faith, I refuse to give up hope and my hope is that those of us who care about the future of children (and life itself!) will begin to claim our power. I am convinced each one of us is much more powerful than we think we are or are told we are.

If we can overcome our fear and our inertia, and bring pressure to bear on the places we can create change as we apply that pressure, I think people like us can make big things happen.

I'm the Christian who holds these words of Jesus tightly in my heart:

"Truly I say to you: if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed,

you will say to this mountain,

'Move from here to there,' and it will move,

and nothing will be impossible for you."

(Matthew 17:20-21)

Yes, I think we can move the mountains of climate change, divisive politics, and greedy oligarchs! But we better hurry, because the next generation is coming, and it needs us to talk truth to power, push where we can push, and make the world a little safer for each new baby that's coming soon to a backpack near you.

I was searching for quiet amidst all the noise: Yet another tariff, more school violence, inflation, wars.

The scorching heat of our record-breaking summer had broken. A shy coolness was in the air.

I’d washed the sheets, and since I love the smell of sunshine, I took them outside to dry on the line.

And that’s when I saw her. A butterfly as big as a bird.

Each time she floated into view, I began savoring my own precious time.

Hanging up the sheets, I smiled at the thought of lying down that night and smelling the sunshine again.

In the whisper of butterfly wings, I found quiet amidst all the noise

I was in the beautiful land of Canada this past week where I learned the power of friendship, and the price we pay for broken relationships.