A Gentle Life and a Restless Son: Remembering a Mother’s Faith and Presence

“I don’t need therapy,” she said. “I’m only here so I don’t lose my kids.” She didn’t say it with anger or defiance. It was simply the truth. If she did not attend therapy, she risked losing custody. And if she lost custody, she would lose the income that sustained her life. She was a single mother of eight children. There was no husband or father in the home, and there never had been. She had never worked. She was well known within the welfare system—her case was familiar to housing authorities, Medicaid staff, CPS workers, and every agency tasked with “supporting” families in difficulty. And she freely admitted that she had more children because each additional birth increased her benefits. This does not mean she was cruel or inherently selfish. She had a history of trauma, abandonment, and adversity. She had endured pain and developed survival patterns that made sense in the world she had come to know. The real tragedy was not that she lacked love, but that the system had trained her to see relationships—especially with her own children—not as bonds of meaning and mutual affection, but as the foundation of her economic survival. She had not learned to attach; she had learned to manage. The welfare system had shaped not just her circumstances but her identity. Over the course of 18.5 years as a therapist and professor of counseling, including nearly a decade inside homes like hers, I came to see that welfare does not simply aid the poor. It forms the poor. It teaches a worldview. In that worldview, the government functions as provider, the mother functions as administrator, the children function as the income stream, and the father becomes a liability whose presence threatens the stability of the benefits. Whether anyone intends this or not, the architecture of the system teaches these lessons. The scale of this system matters. In fiscal year 2024, 41.7 million Americans received SNAP benefits, totaling $99.8 billion, representing 12.3% of the U.S. population (U.S. Department of Agriculture Economic Research Service, 2024b). In some states, such as New Mexico, eligibility reaches 21.2% of residents (USDA ERS, 2024a). While SNAP can and does provide needed short-term support to many, the more concerning trend is that 61.6% of able-bodied adult SNAP recipients had no employment during the year (Pew Research Center, 2023). Welfare has shifted from a temporary bridge to a long-term pattern of economic and psychological dependence. This dependency has reshaped the American family. In 1964, roughly 7% of children were born outside of marriage. Today, the number is about 40% nationally, and 68% among Black Americans (Institute for Family Studies, n.d.). These changes did not happen because society suddenly abandoned the value of marriage. They happened because welfare programs, particularly Aid to Families with Dependent Children (AFDC) and later Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF), effectively paid households more when the father was absent and less when the father was present (Heritage Foundation, n.d.). The system did not discourage fathers explicitly—it simply made the household less economically stable when a father lived in the home. The logic became clear: if the father stays, the household loses resources; if the father leaves, the household survives. Research confirms this relationship: for every $100 increase in benefits, the likelihood of a single mother marrying decreases by 2.5 to 5 percentage points (Bitler et al., 2004). Horn (2001) notes that 80% of single parents who enter welfare programs remain single, not because they did not value marriage, but because marriage became economically irrational. Welfare changed the economic structure of the household (Moffitt, 1998). And the structure of the household forms the structure of identity. This systemic shift also affects the psychological and spiritual core of the individual. Dixon and Frolova (2011) describe a state called existential poverty, where a person becomes unable to imagine the future as shaped by their own choices. Their life feels like something happening to them rather than something they are actively participating in. Thomas Insel (2022), former Director of the National Institute of Mental Health, argues that human flourishing requires people (relationships), place (stability), and purpose (belonging through contribution). Welfare may provide place, and occasionally the scaffolding of community services, but it removes purpose, and when purpose erodes, identity fractures. Work is not merely economic—it is existential. Genesis describes work as humanity’s original calling: to cultivate, steward, and participate in ordering creation (Genesis 2:15). Work provides meaning, structure, identity, and relationship. When work is removed—not for those who cannot work, but for those who have been taught not to work—the self collapses. Depression rises, anxiety increases, and the capacity for relational attachment weakens. I once worked with a family who received a $4,000 tax refund despite having no taxable income. They spent the entire amount on a large television and sound system. Days later, they faced having their electricity shut off. They were not unintelligent. They had simply never learned to consider the future. The system had absorbed consequences for so long that consequences no longer formed character. Responsibility only develops where choices produce outcomes. When outcomes are removed, maturity cannot grow. This does not mean everyone receiving welfare lacks character or responsibility. It means the system does not cultivate them. Welfare quietly teaches that survival does not require planning, partnership, or contribution—and what is rewarded is learned. Now, we must say with equal clarity: people with long-term, medically determinable disabilities deserve permanent, stable support. Disability benefits exist to protect those who cannot support themselves due to severe, life-limiting conditions, as defined by federal disability standards (Social Security Administration, 2025a; SSA, n.d.-a). These individuals should not be subjected to benefit cliffs, marriage penalties, or recurring threats to their stability (Social Security Administration, 2003; Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services [CMS], n.d.-a). Permanent disability support is not welfare—it is justice rooted in dignity. But for the able-bodied, the therapeutic and pastoral task is restoration of agency. Christ does not heal people into passivity. He heals them into responsibility: “Take up your mat and walk” (John 5:8). Healing restores will, responsibility, and participation in the good. Therapy must do the same. True compassion is not the removal of expectation—it is the restoration of capacity. Welfare as currently structured does not help people flourish; it quietly teaches them that flourishing is not something expected of them. To reform the system, we must remove marriage penalties, integrate purpose and work into recovery, expand community-based belonging, and ensure permanent disability support remains secure and unconditional for those who truly cannot work. The mother I sat with that day was not beyond hope. She had simply never been shown that she was capable of love, purpose, or contribution. Her dignity had not been nurtured. And dignity is what we are called to restore. Human beings are made for more than survival. They are made for flourishing. References (APA 7) (Paste directly below the blog in your site — formatting is already correct.) American Enterprise Institute. (2019, August 28). Welfare reform and marriage. https://www.aei.org/articles/welfare-reform-and-marriage/ Bitler, M. P., Gelbach, J. B., Hoynes, H. W., & Zavodny, M. (2004). The impact of welfare reform on marriage and divorce. Demography, 41(2), 213–236. https://doi.org/10.1353/dem.2004.0018 Boschman, S., Maas, I., Vrooman, J. C., & Kristiansen, M. H. (2021). From social assistance to self-sufficiency: Low-income work as a stepping stone. European Sociological Review, 37(5), 766–782. https://doi.org/10.1093/esr/jcab013 Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services. (n.d.-a). Home & Community-Based Services (HCBS). https://www.medicaid.gov/medicaid/home-community-based-services Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services. (2024, September 10). National overview of 1915(c) HCBS waivers. https://www.cms.gov/outreach-and-education/american-indian-alaska-native/aian/ltss-ta-center/info/national-overview-1915-c-waivers Davidson, I. J. (2025). Well-being at the cost of welfare: Learned helplessness and responsibility in positive psychology and American policy. History of the Human Sciences. Advance online publication. https://doi.org/10.1177/09526951251336898 Dixon, K., & Frolova, Y. (2011). Existential poverty: Welfare dependency, learned helplessness and psychological capital. Poverty & Public Policy, 3(2), 1–20. https://doi.org/10.2202/1944-2858.1114 Heritage Foundation. (n.d.). The collapse of marriage and the rise of welfare dependence. https://www.heritage.org/poverty-and-inequality/report/the-collapse-marriage-and-the-rise-welfare-dependence Horn, W. F. (2001). Wedding bell blues: Marriage and welfare reform. The Brookings Review, 19(3), 36–39. https://www.brookings.edu/articles/wedding-bell-blues-marriage-and-welfare-reform/ Insel, T. (2022). Healing: Our path from mental illness to mental health. Penguin Press. Institute for Family Studies. (n.d.). Family breakdown and America's welfare system. https://ifstudies.org/blog/family-breakdown-and-americas-welfare-system Internal Revenue Service. (2025, July 22). ABLE accounts—Tax benefit for people with disabilities. https://www.irs.gov/government-entities/federal-state-local-governments/able-accounts-tax-benefit-for-people-with-disabilities Mead, L. M. (1986). Beyond entitlement: The social obligations of citizenship. Free Press. Moffitt, R. A. (Ed.). (1998). Welfare, the family, and reproductive behavior: Research perspectives. National Academies Press. https://doi.org/10.17226/6023 Pew Research Center. (2023, July 19). What the data says about food stamps in the U.S. https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2023/07/19/what-the-data-says-about-food-stamps-in-the-u-s/ Social Security Administration. (2003). Research: Treatment of married couples in the SSI program. https://www.ssa.gov/policy/docs/issuepapers/ip2003-01.html Social Security Administration. (n.d.-a). Definition of disability (Blue Book). https://www.ssa.gov/disability/professionals/bluebook/general-info.htm Social Security Administration. (n.d.-b). The Red Book: A guide to work incentives. https://www.ssa.gov/redbook/ Social Security Administration. (n.d.-c). Supplemental Security Income (SSI) work incentives. https://www.ssa.gov/ssi/text-work-ussi.htm Social Security Administration. (2025a). How we define disability. https://www.ssa.gov/redbook/eng/definedisability.htm Social Security Administration. (2025b). What’s new in 2025? (SGA amounts & work incentives). https://www.ssa.gov/redbook/newfor2025.htm Social Security Administration. (2025c, July 8). POMS SI 01130.740—Achieving a Better Life Experience (ABLE) accounts. https://secure.ssa.gov/apps10/poms.nsf/lnx/0501130740 U.S. Department of Agriculture, Economic Research Service. (2024a). Percent of population receiving SNAP benefits in fiscal year 2024. https://www.ers.usda.gov/data-products/chart-gallery/chart-detail/?chartId=55416 U.S. Department of Agriculture, Economic Research Service. (2024b). Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP): Key statistics & trends. https://www.ers.usda.gov/topics/food-nutrition-assistance/supplemental-nutrition-assistance-program-snap/key-statistics-and-research/ AI DISCLOSURE  This article was drafted with the assistance of AI technology to support organization, clarity, and research integration. All clinical interpretations, personal experiences, conclusions, and final wording reflect the author’s own professional judgment and voice. All sources were independently verified for accuracy.  

  My dad died last week. I had been anticipating it for a while. His body had been slowly failing for years—Parkinson’s disease, congestive heart failure, and perhaps things we never fully understood. His death wasn’t a shock, but it still shattered something inside me. Because outside of my wife, my best friend died. He was more than a father. He was a steady presence, a quiet protector, a man who helped me steer clear of destructive patterns common to many young men—not by shame or force, but by showing up. He used to lean against my bedroom doorframe at night and just ask what was on my mind. No pressure, no preaching. Just presence. We’d talk about what I was afraid of. What I didn’t understand. What I hoped for. He played catch with me almost every evening the weather allowed. He came to every basketball game and every baseball game. I can still see him sitting in the stands—arms crossed, calm smile on his face—rarely yelling, just there. I never had to wonder if he was proud of me. I knew. He carried himself with a kindness and gentleness that made me feel steady. He didn’t draw attention to himself. He didn’t try to be impressive. But there was a quiet strength in him—a calm that helped anchor me when I needed it. He wasn’t loud or forceful, but he was consistent, present, and kind. He was strong in the ways that mattered most. He lead me as I learned to live into who God made me to be. They say a heart attack took him. But it was years of sickness that prepared me for it. Still, when he went, he went quickly and without pain. For that, I’m deeply grateful. My dad grew up on a small dairy farm. He’d tell stories of a fast-running stream, of rolling hills, of a slingshot mishap that earned him more trouble than he planned. He talked about a legalistic church that pushed him away from the Lord in his youth—and about the wandering that followed. He had a slightly hippie-ish streak, a rebellious edge softened by curiosity and kindness. And then came a near-death experience—one that turned his heart back to God. That moment changed the course of his life. It led to a 55-year marriage with my mom, and a life marked by faithfulness, loyalty, quiet dedication, and deep love—for both creation and the Creator. He also loved children’s literature. He read me E.B. White, Charles Schulz, and Donald Duck comics. He wrote magazine stories, and even a book where I was the main character. He delighted in those stories, not just because they were fun, but because they held beauty, humor, and truth. That love of words was one of the many ways he poured himself into my life. He didn’t just tell stories. He lived one—a good one. And I got to be part of it. The Kindness of Others—and the Limits of Words Since his passing, people have been incredibly kind. Friends and colleagues—many of them counselors, as I’m at a residency training other therapists—have offered their support. They’ve told me they’re sorry. They’ve asked what they can do. They’ve told me they’re praying. They’ve sat beside me in the quiet. It’s all well-meant, and I am deeply thankful. But there’s a strange truth about grief: I don’t need people to be sorry. They haven’t done anything wrong. And honestly, I don’t want to tell the story of what happened another fifty times. I don’t want to narrate his death. I want someone to sit with me in the weight of it. What I need most is something no words can give. I need presence. When my strength falters, I need others to be strong beside me—not to talk me out of my pain, but to stand in it with me. To point me quietly back to Jesus. Not with advice or even encouragement. But with silence, compassion, and presence. And honestly? Many of the people around me have done this well. They didn’t rush in with sermons or platitudes. They didn’t minimize the pain. They didn’t fix it. They stayed. Their kindness taught me what we often forget—even as counselors. What Mourning People Really Need Grief doesn’t ask for answers. It doesn’t require theology. It demands witness—someone to acknowledge the depth of loss and not turn away. And yet, many of us, even those trained to sit with sorrow, still rush in to make things better. We offer clichés. We fumble with tasks. We do something to avoid doing nothing. But here’s the truth: in grief, nothing is often the most powerful thing you can offer. What to Do When Someone Is Mourning Grief is not something to be solved. It’s something to be witnessed, honored, and carried. When someone you love is mourning, your job is not to fix it. It’s to show up and stay. Here’s what that actually looks like: 1. Be Present—Not Performative Don’t try to be profound. Don’t force conversation. Just be present. Sit down. Stay longer than is comfortable. When you don’t know what to say, don’t say anything. 2. Offer Simple, Specific Help “Let me know if you need anything” puts the burden back on the grieving. Instead, offer something tangible: “Can I bring you a meal? Would Tuesday work?” “Can I watch the kids for two hours?” “Would a walk together help?” 3. Acknowledge the Loss—Then Let Silence Do the Work You can say “I’m so sorry.” You don’t need to ask for details. Retelling a loved one’s death can retraumatize. Let the grieving person offer what they want, when they want. 4. Avoid Platitudes and Preaching Don’t say “He’s in a better place” or “Everything happens for a reason.” Even quoting Scripture can feel like a dismissal when not invited. The truth of God is not the same as the timing of God. Be sensitive. 5. Be the One Who Remembers Grief doesn’t follow a calendar. The day of the funeral isn’t the end—it’s the beginning. Text them one month later. Say their loved one’s name. Show up again. And again. 6. Pray Without Preaching Yes, pray. But don’t pray the pain away. Sit with it. Welcome God into it. Let your prayer be, “Lord, be near.” Why Presence Matters: Because That’s What Jesus Gave Why does it matter that we offer presence instead of platitudes? Why resist the urge to fill silence with words or offer help only when asked? Because this is exactly how Jesus met those in mourning. His actions weren’t reactive. They were incarnational. Jesus didn’t just perform miracles—He entered sorrow. He saw people in their pain, understood what that pain cost them, and moved toward them with compassion before they even knew what to ask. One of the most powerful examples of this is found in Luke 7, when Jesus encounters a widow whose only son has died. She didn’t plead. She didn’t have to. Her grief was enough. Biblical Reflection: Jesus and the Widow of Nain Luke 7:11–17 – Compassion That Restores a Life Jesus is walking into the small village of Nain when He sees a funeral procession. A widow is burying her only son. She says nothing. She doesn’t even know He’s coming. But Jesus sees her—and everything that her son’s death represents. In first-century Jewish society, widows were some of the most vulnerable people. Without a husband or son, a woman had no legal standing, no source of provision, no social safety net. This woman wasn’t just grieving her child. She was facing total collapse—financial, relational, communal. Darrell Bock notes: “The son’s death meant more than personal grief. It meant social death. It meant poverty, marginalization, and abandonment” (Bock, 1994, p. 213). Jesus doesn’t wait for her to call out. He moves first. He sees her, and Luke tells us He is “moved with compassion” (v. 13). The Greek word used is splagchnizomai—a gut-wrenching, deeply felt compassion. Jesus isn’t just noticing. He is feeling with her. He touches the bier—an unclean act under Jewish law—because grief never kept Him at a distance. He enters it. And when He raises the son, Luke records: “Jesus gave him to his mother” (v. 15). He restores her—not just her son, but her future. R. Kent Hughes writes: “Jesus not only raised her son, He raised her future” (Hughes, 1998, p. 249). This is the model: Jesus saw the depth of loss, and He entered it. He didn’t rush to fix. He didn’t avoid the mess. He stood in it, touched it, and restored from within it. That is our call too. For the Christian Counseling Community This is where we can grow—not just in theory, but in practice. In the presence of real grief, people don’t need advice. They need presence. Not polished words. Not clever insight. Not strategic support. They need us to stay. To sit in sacred silence. To bring Jesus not by explaining Him—but by embodying His nearness. This is how we reflect Him. This is how we become safe places for the mourning. So the next time you sit with someone who has lost what they loved, resist the urge to say more than you should. Stay. And trust that your quiet presence may be the most Christlike thing you ever offer. References (APA 7th Edition) Bock, D. L. (1994). Luke 1:1–9:50 (Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament). Baker Academic. Hughes, R. K. (1998). Luke: That You May Know the Truth (Preaching the Word Commentary Series). Crossway.