Youth At Risk Services - YARS

03/12/2026

Children do not just imitate behavior.

They absorb identity.

If they constantly observe:

• Emotional volatility
• Self-criticism
• Fear-based reactions
• Avoidance of accountability

They internalize that as normal.

Parents must ask:

What identity am I modeling daily?

Because identity formation begins long before adulthood.

Healing is generational work.

03/06/2026

Children do not need perfect parents.

They need regulated ones.

When a child never knows:

• If dad will be explosive
• If mom will be withdrawn
• If conflict will turn loud
• If tension will linger

Their nervous system adapts.

They become:

• Hyper-aware
• People-pleasing
• Aggressive
• Emotionally shut down

And then we label them “behavior problems.”

No.

They are adapting to instability.

Emotional safety at home builds emotional stability in children.

If you want regulated kids —
model regulated adulthood.

02/13/2026

🚨 YOUTH AT RISK SERVICES (YARS) | “DON’T LOOK AWAY” 🚨

A story is circulating about a teenage girl being “auctioned” at a gas station in the middle of the night—and a biker who refused to look away.

Whether you’ve seen this exact story before or not, the reality behind it is not fiction: human trafficking can happen in ordinary places—gas stations, truck stops, hotels, rest areas, malls, online.

The part that matters most is the decision point:
When someone silently says “Help me,” do we look away… or do we act?

⚠️ SIGNS THAT SHOULD STOP YOU IN YOUR TRACKS
• A minor with an older “controller” who answers for them
• Fearful, coached, confused about where they are
• Visible injuries, malnourishment, poor hygiene, extreme fatigue
• No ID, no phone, or someone holding their documents
• Sudden changes in behavior, “boyfriend” who won’t let them speak
• Branding tattoos, expensive items with no explanation, multiple hotel keys

✅ WHAT TO DO (SAFELY)
• Don’t confront traffickers. Your safety matters.
• Get details discreetly: location, vehicle description, plate/VIN if possible, clothing, direction of travel.
• Call for help immediately.

📞 If someone is in immediate danger: call 911.
☎️ National Human Trafficking Hotline (24/7): 1-888-373-7888 
💬 Text: 233733 (BEFREE / HELP) 

🧡 WHY YARS IS POSTING THIS

Because the most targeted youth are often:
runaways, foster kids, teens in unstable housing, kids carrying trauma, kids who think nobody will notice.

At YARS, we exist to make sure they are noticed—and protected.

✅ Share this. Save this. Teach it.
Drop a 🛡️ in the comments if you’re committing today to be the person who doesn’t look away.

Biker Bought Teenage Girl At Gas Station Human Trafficking Auction For 10000

My name is William "Hammer" Davidson. I'm sixty-nine years old. Vietnam vet. Been riding for forty-four years.

I've seen evil. Real evil. The kind that wakes you up screaming fifty years later.

But nothing prepared me for what I heard through a bathroom wall at a gas station outside Kansas City at 3 AM.

I'd been riding for twelve hours straight. Coming back from my brother's funeral in Colorado. Cancer took him at sixty-five. Too young. I was running from grief, needed coffee and a bathroom break.

The men's room shared a thin wall with the women's room. That's why I heard them so clearly.

"Fifteen hundred. She's damaged goods. Tracks on her arms."

I froze.

"Two grand. She's young. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. Still profitable."

My blood turned to ice.

Then I heard her voice. Young. Terrified. "Please. My mom's looking for me. Just let me call her."

They laughed. One slapped her. The sound echoed through the wall.

"Five thousand. Final offer. I'll have her working in Denver by sunrise."

I stood at that sink with my hands shaking. This was human trafficking. Right here. Right now.

The door opened. Three men walked out. Behind them, a teenage girl. Thin. Bruised face. Dirty clothes. Her hands were zip-tied.

She looked right at me. Mouthed two words: "Help me."

They were heading to a white van in the parking lot. I had maybe ten seconds before they'd be gone forever.

I pulled out my wallet and stepped in front of them.

"How much for the girl?"

They turned. Hands moving toward weapons. Sizing me up. Six-foot-two biker in leather.

"Ten grand," one said. "Cash. Right now."

I showed them the money. Fifteen thousand I'd withdrawn for my brother's burial expenses. "I've got it. She's mine."

The girl's face crumbled. She thought I was another monster. Another buyer.

They took the cash. Walked away. Got in their van and drove off.

I turned to her. She backed away.

"Don't touch me."

"I won't. I'm calling the police."

"No!" She lunged for my phone. "They'll send me back! To the group home where this started!"

I lowered the phone. "Tell me."

Her name was Macy Rodriguez. Sixteen. Foster kid since age eight. The woman running her group home had been selling the girls for years. The ones nobody cared about. The runaways. The addicts.

"She got me hooked," Macy said, showing me the track marks. "Said it would make it easier. I've been clean three days. Since I ran. But they caught me in Topeka. Been passing me around since."

Three days. This child had been trafficked across state lines for three days and nobody noticed.

"Your mom—"

"Dead. OD'd when I was seven. I don't have anyone."

Of course. That's how they chose victims.

I looked at this broken sixteen-year-old with dead eyes and track marks and bruises. The system had failed her at every single turn.

"Macy, I'm going to help you. But you have to trust me."

She laughed bitterly. "Trust the biker who just bought me?"

I pulled out my knife. She flinched hard.

"I'm cutting the zip ties." I did. Then handed her my phone. "Call whoever you want. Run if you want. I won't stop you."

She stared at the phone. "I don't have anyone to call."

"Then let me call someone who can actually help."

I called Luther, our club's lawyer. Woke him at 3 AM. "I need help. Trafficking situation. Sixteen-year-old victim. Need safe placement."

Thirty minutes later, two cars arrived. A woman from a trafficking victim's advocacy group. A social worker Luther trusted personally.

Macy panicked. "You said you'd help!"

"I am. These people specialize in this. They know what you've been through."

Jennifer, the advocacy director, approached slowly. Rolled up her own sleeve. Track marks, faded but visible. "Fifteen years ago, I was you. Someone helped me. Now I help others."

Macy broke down sobbing. Jennifer held her.

The social worker pulled me aside. "You know you committed a felony tonight? Participating in a trafficking transaction?"

"Yeah."

"The police will have questions."

"Let them ask."

I gave my statement. Described everything. The men. The van. My bike's dashcam had captured footage. Partial VIN visible.

"This might crack open a case we've been working for six months," the detective said. "What about you? You paid ten thousand dollars."

"I don't want it back. Use it for her. Whatever she needs."

Macy went to the safe house that night. Started the long road of detox and healing.

I visited three days later. She was in withdrawal. Shaking. Sick. But alive.

"Why'd you help me?" she asked.

"Because you asked me to."

"That's it?"

"That's everything."

"Other men saw me that night. At different truck stops. They looked away. Or they—" She couldn't finish.

"I know."

"Why didn't you?"

I thought about Vietnam. About times I'd looked away. Times I'd known something was wrong and chosen silence. It had haunted me for fifty years.

"Because I've looked away before. Different war. Different evil. I wasn't doing it again."

The police arrested Mrs. Patterson and two other group home staff members. Seventeen girls testified. Seventeen children she'd sold.

The trafficking ring fell apart. Five men arrested, including the three from the gas station. My dashcam footage helped identify them. They're all serving twenty-plus years.

Macy's recovery was slow. Painful. Detox. Therapy. Learning to trust again.

I visited once a month. Brought books. Helped with homework. Just showed up.

On her seventeenth birthday, she asked, "Why do you ride?"

"Freedom. You're in control. You decide where to go. Nobody owns you."

She understood that immediately. "Can you teach me?"

"When you're ready."

On her nineteenth birthday, she called. "I'm ready."

I taught her on a small Honda. She was terrified, then determined, then joyful.

"I'm flying," she said after her first solo ride, tears streaming down her face. "I'm actually flying."

She got her license. Bought her own bike. Started riding everywhere. To campus. To therapy. To the safe house where she now volunteered.

"I'm going to be a social worker," she told me. "The right kind. The kind who actually protects kids."

"You'll be great at it."

"Because I know what it's like to need saving?"

"Because you know what it's like to be saved by someone who didn't look away."

Macy's twenty-three now. Has her social work degree. Works with trafficking victims full-time. Testifies at trials. Saves girls who were her six years ago.

She still rides. Purple Harley Sportster covered in trafficking awareness stickers.

Last month we organized "Macy's Run for Freedom." Two hundred bikers. Raised fifty thousand dollars.

At the end, Macy gave a speech.

"Seven years ago, I was sold in a gas station bathroom. Three men bidding on me like livestock. I'd given up. Accepted I'd die young in some hotel room and nobody would care."

She looked at me. Her eyes full.

"Then a biker overheard. He could have walked away. Called police and let them handle it. Instead, he stepped in. Put himself at risk. Bought me so he could set me free."

"People ask why I trust bikers. Why I call them family. It's because when everyone else—the system, the police, regular people at truck stops—when everyone looked away, a biker didn't."

"He saw a sixteen-year-old mouth 'help me' and he helped."

Two hundred bikers were crying.

"So when people tell me bikers are dangerous, I tell them they're right. Dangerous to traffickers. Dangerous to abusers. Dangerous to anyone who hurts the innocent. Because bikers don't look away."

She's right. We don't.

That night changed me. Changed our whole club. We started training. Learning signs of trafficking. How to spot victims. Who to call.

We've helped four more girls since Macy. Four more times we noticed something wrong and acted.

Each one is alive. Free. Healing.

The ten thousand dollars? I never wanted it back. Used it for Macy's first apartment. Security deposit. Books. Whatever she needed.

"I'll pay you back," she said once.

"You already did. By surviving. By helping others."

Macy has a photo in her apartment. Me and my bike outside that gas station. We went back years later so she could take it.

"Why come back?" I asked.

"To remember. This is where I died and got reborn. Where someone saw me as human instead of property."

The caption reads: "My hero. My savior. My dad."

That last word destroys me every time.

I never had kids. Couldn't. Medical reasons. It haunted my marriage. Part of why I rode so much. Running from that emptiness.

Then a sixteen-year-old mouthed "help me" at 3 AM.

And I became a father.

Not through blood. Through choice. Through showing up when it mattered most.

Macy Rodriguez is my daughter. She calls me Dad. I call her my kid. We're family.

It started because I refused to ignore evil. Because I heard trafficking through a bathroom wall and wouldn't look away.

Because sometimes the most important thing you can do is stop at the right gas station at the right moment.

And pay attention.

Macy starts her master's program next fall. Specialized trafficking victim advocacy. She's going to change the system that failed her.

"I'm going to make sure no other girl is sold by the person meant to protect her," she says.

She will. I believe that completely.

Because Macy survived hell. Escaped. Healed. And now she's becoming the person she needed seven years ago.

The person who doesn't look away.

The person who acts.

The person who saves.

Just like a biker at a gas station taught her.

I keep that moment close. The moment she mouthed "help me" and I had to choose.

Look away or act.

Run or stand.

Ignore or intervene.

I chose intervention. And it gave me a daughter. Gave Macy a life. Gave four other girls freedom.

All because I was too stubborn to let evil win in a gas station bathroom at 3 AM.

People ask what makes someone a hero. I don't have a good answer.

I just know that when a child asks for help, you help.

When you hear evil, you fight it.

When someone mouths "help me," you don't look away.

You never look away.

That's not heroism. That's just being human.

But in a gas station at 3 AM, being human was enough to save a life.

To start a family.

To change everything.

Macy's free now. Flying on her purple Harley. Saving others. Living the life those men tried to steal.

And I get to call her my daughter.

Best ten thousand dollars I ever spent.

(Share this story to spread kindness and let's make this world a better place)

01/24/2026

Y’all want your kids to have a spouse and a family one day…

But you’re raising them like they’ll always have YOU.

No structure.
No accountability.
No responsibility.
No discipline.

Then you wonder why they can’t handle real life.

That first booth is what happens when one person carries everything.
That second booth is what happens when life hits somebody who was never prepared.

What you excuse in childhood becomes a burden in adulthood.

Train them now.
Because the world is not going to baby them.
And a spouse shouldn’t have to suffer for what you refused to teach.

01/24/2026

When we fail to prepare our children for real life, we don’t just raise kids who can’t clean up behind themselves…

We raise adults who don’t know how to carry life.

And the world is not gentle to adults who were never trained.

Because one day, that child who was never required to contribute becomes the grown man or grown woman who expects everything to be done for them—without understanding the weight it puts on everybody else.

And that’s where the real damage shows up.

Not in childhood…

But in adulthood.

When we don’t teach responsibility, we raise entitlement

If a child grows up always being served, always being rescued, always being excused, always being catered to…

They don’t automatically grow into gratitude.

They grow into expectation.

They start thinking:
• “Somebody else will handle it.”
• “That’s not my job.”
• “I shouldn’t have to.”
• “If it’s hard, I quit.”
• “If I don’t feel like it, I won’t do it.”

And that mindset doesn’t just affect their home life…

It affects their future marriage.

Because a marriage is not a daycare for grown people

A spouse is not a second parent.

Your future husband is not supposed to “raise you.”
Your future wife is not supposed to “finish you.”
Your partner is not meant to carry the full weight of your immaturity because you were never trained to be accountable.

Marriage is built on partnership, not performance.
And when responsibility is missing, love starts to feel like labor.

Unprepared children become overwhelmed adults

When life gets real—bills, schedules, kids, stress, jobs, conflict, deadlines, pressure…

People who were never trained to manage simple responsibilities often collapse under adult ones.

Because they don’t have the muscle for it.

They don’t know how to:
• regulate emotions when they’re tired
• stay consistent when nobody is clapping
• do things they don’t feel like doing
• finish what they start
• sacrifice for the greater good
• prioritize the needs of the home

So what happens?

They avoid.
They procrastinate.
They escape.
They blame.
They shut down.
They leave.

And then they wonder why life feels heavy and relationships don’t last.

This is how it affects them when they pursue a spouse and family

If they don’t learn responsibility early, the spouse becomes the one paying for it later.

Because now the spouse becomes:
• the only one cleaning
• the only one planning
• the only one remembering
• the only one parenting
• the only one keeping the home together
• the only one carrying the mental load

And what starts as “helping them adjust” turns into resentment.

Because nothing will drain a good partner faster than realizing they didn’t marry a teammate…

They married a dependent.

And that’s why so many marriages break down—not because there was no love…

But because there was no maturity.

We don’t teach chores to make kids suffer…

We teach it to make them stable.

Because when a child learns how to handle small things early, they build life skills that become survival skills later:

✅ discipline
✅ follow-through
✅ pride in their environment
✅ initiative
✅ respect for shared space
✅ understanding that life requires contribution
✅ the ability to function without being babied

And those are the exact qualities that make somebody a solid spouse.

If you can’t manage you… you can’t manage a family

A lot of people want marriage…
but they don’t want responsibility.

They want a wedding…
but they don’t want work ethic.

They want children…
but they don’t want structure.

They want partnership…
but they don’t want accountability.

But the truth is:

If you can’t be trusted to clean what you dirty…
manage what you touch…
and take care of what you’re assigned…

You are not ready to lead a home.

Because a family isn’t built on feelings.

It’s built on consistent habits.

A spouse doesn’t want perfection — they want dependability

Not money.
Not looks.
Not charm.

Dependability.

Someone who shows up.
Someone who contributes.
Someone who understands “this is our home, our life, our responsibility.”

Because love feels safe when you’re not carrying it alone.

This is why preparation matters

So yes—teach your kids how to:
• clean
• cook basic meals
• do laundry
• manage time
• pick up behind themselves
• respect their environment
• contribute to the house
• keep commitments
• do what needs to be done even when they don’t feel like it

Not because you’re being “strict.”

But because you’re building adults who won’t crumble under life…
and won’t destroy good relationships because they were never taught how to be a partner.

Because the goal isn’t just to raise kids…

The goal is to raise functioning adults who can build healthy homes, healthy marriages, and healthy futures.

And that starts with what we require…
not what we excuse.

01/24/2026

If a child can master a tablet, a phone, or a game controller—navigating menus, remembering passwords, learning new levels, building worlds, and figuring things out without anybody holding their hand—then that same child can absolutely learn how to hold a broom, mop a floor, wipe a counter, and wash a few dishes.

Because let’s be honest…
Kids don’t struggle with “ability.”
Most of the time, they struggle with expectation.

They learn what we normalize.
They grow into what we consistently require.

And helping around the house isn’t cruelty. It isn’t “too much.” It isn’t taking away their childhood.

It’s preparation.

It teaches them that a home isn’t something you live in while other people serve you—
it’s something you help maintain because you’re part of the family.

Chores quietly teach lessons that kids won’t always learn from a screen:
• Responsibility: “I have a role here.”
• Consistency: “Things don’t stay clean on their own.”
• Accountability: “What I don’t do, someone else has to carry.”
• Respect: “This space matters, and the people who care for it matter too.”
• Ownership: “This is my home too, so I treat it like it’s worth something.”

And one of the biggest things chores do—especially for children who struggle with confidence—is this:

They build competence.

That’s why chores matter.

Not because it makes your house look perfect…
but because it puts something powerful in their mind:

“I can take care of things.”
“I can contribute.”
“I can do hard things.”
“I can help.”
“I’m capable.”

And that kind of confidence doesn’t come from likes, levels, or followers.
It comes from doing something real with your hands and seeing the result.

We didn’t learn how to clean, organize, and take care of responsibilities because we loved it.
We learned because it was a part of everyday life.

Nobody asked us, “Do you feel like it?”
We didn’t negotiate chores like they were optional.

It was simple:

“This is what we do in this house.”

And those little responsibilities—small as they seemed back then—did something deep:

They shaped our work ethic.
They built independence.
They taught gratitude.
They taught us not to expect the world to serve us.

Because one day, that child is going to be an adult.

And the world is not going to clap because they can swipe, scroll, and click.
But the world will absolutely require them to know how to:
• clean up after themselves
• manage their time
• handle responsibilities without being reminded
• contribute to shared spaces
• live with other people without becoming a burden
• take initiative without being forced

Screens can sharpen reflexes, yes…
but real-life skills shape character.

And character is what carries them through life.

So no—teaching kids to clean up, help out, and take responsibility isn’t harsh.

It’s love.

It’s you saying:

“I’m not raising someone who can only be entertained.
I’m raising someone who can function.”

And those lessons?

They last a lifetime.

01/24/2026

Someone asked me, “How long are you going to keep looking after your children… worrying about them?”

And I didn’t even have to think.

I said, “Until the very day my heart stops.”

Because being a mother isn’t a shift I clock in and out of.
It isn’t something I grow out of once they reach a certain age.
It’s not a phase.
It’s not a season.
It’s not a job I can resign from when life gets heavy.

It’s a covenant in me.

I will always look after them—whether they’re five or fifty.
Whether they’re down the street or across the country.
Whether they’re strong and thriving or silently struggling.

Because the truth is… a mother doesn’t stop worrying when her child grows up.
She just worries differently.

When they’re little, you worry about fevers, scraped knees, and who’s watching them.
When they get older, you worry about what they’re carrying that they don’t talk about.
You worry about who has access to them.
You worry about what they’re learning, what they’re believing, what they’re becoming.

You worry about the days when they smile in public but fight battles in private.
You worry about whether they know their worth.
You worry about whether they’ll settle for love that hurts them.
You worry about whether they’ll survive the pressures of this world with their mind intact and their spirit still soft.

And some people call that “worry.”

But a real mother knows…
it’s not worry the way the world means it.

It’s watchfulness.
It’s covering.
It’s intercession.
It’s the kind of love that stays alert.

Because when you’ve carried somebody in your body…
when you’ve stayed up nights praying through sickness and tears…
when you’ve had to be strong so they could be safe…
you don’t just shut that off.

I don’t care how old they get—
they will always be my babies.

Not because I’m trying to control them…
but because love doesn’t stop being love when the child becomes grown.

I’m going to keep checking on them.
Keep praying over them.
Keep paying attention to their tone and their silence.
Keep standing in the gap when life hits them hard.
Keep being the place they can come back to when the world gets too loud.

Because even when they’re adults…
they still need somebody who loves them without needing anything in return.

So yes… I will always care.
I will always be concerned.
I will always be invested.
I will always want to know they’re okay.

And if that bothers anyone, that’s fine.

But the love I have for my children isn’t up for debate.

I will love them in prayer.
I will love them in protection.
I will love them in wisdom.
I will love them in patience.
I will love them with boundaries.
I will love them with truth.
I will love them with tenderness.
And I will love them with strength.

Until the very day my heart stops.

Because motherhood doesn’t end when they grow up…
it ends when I do.

01/24/2026

Your child only gets one childhood.

Not two. Not a redo. Not a “we’ll fix it later when life calms down.”
One.

And I need us to sit with that, because childhood isn’t just a season of cute pictures and birthdays. It’s the foundation. It’s where confidence is built or broken. It’s where safety is learned or questioned. It’s where a child decides what love feels like… and whether they can trust it.

So when we say, “Make sure it’s something they don’t have to recover from,” we’re not talking about giving them a perfect life. We’re talking about not making them carry wounds that never belonged to them in the first place.

Because the truth is… children don’t recover from lack the way adults do.
They recover from chaos.
They recover from inconsistency.
They recover from being parented with pressure instead of patience.
They recover from being loved conditionally.
They recover from watching grown-ups fight like their peace doesn’t matter.
They recover from being blamed for emotions they’re too young to regulate.
They recover from always walking on eggshells and calling it “normal.”

And a child shouldn’t have to grow up just to heal from the way they grew up.

A healthy childhood looks like more than clothes on their back and food on the table. It looks like emotional shelter.
It looks like a home where they can make mistakes without being shamed.
It looks like discipline that corrects without crushing them.
It looks like accountability without humiliation.
It looks like love that doesn’t disappear when they disappoint you.

It’s when they can come to you with the hard stuff and not fear your reaction more than the problem.

It’s when they don’t have to earn attention.
They don’t have to compete for affection.
They don’t have to perform to be valued.
They don’t have to stay quiet to keep the house calm.

Because childhood should be where they learn:
• I am safe.
• I am seen.
• I am worth listening to.
• My feelings matter.
• I can trust the people who raised me.

Not:
• “Love is unpredictable.”
• “I have to be perfect to be accepted.”
• “My emotions are a problem.”
• “I’m only valuable when I’m useful.”
• “If I speak up, I’ll get punished.”

The goal is not to raise a child who looks good to other people.
The goal is to raise a child who feels secure when nobody is watching.

So yes—work hard. Provide. Teach structure. Teach respect. Teach discipline.
But don’t let success on the outside cost them stability on the inside.

Because what good is a clean outfit if they’re drowning emotionally?
What good is a nice house if they’re terrified to come home?
What good is “I did my best” if your best still left them learning how to survive you?

Your child only gets one childhood.
Make it soft enough that they can rest.
Stable enough that they can breathe.
Loving enough that they can grow.

Make it something they remember with gratitude…
not something they spend adulthood trying to unlearn.

Charlotte Davis Robinson
YOUnified to Advance

01/06/2025

🌟 Did you know that every child has an incredible capacity for resilience? 🌟

At times, the journey of healing and growth may feel daunting, both for children and families. However, we firmly believe that with the right support, everyone has the potential to flourish. It’s our mission to help children and families recognize their unique strengths and empower them to harness these skills and resources for lasting change. 💪❤️

Each family possesses a treasure trove of strengths, whether it's their unwavering love, creativity, problem-solving abilities, or the support they offer one another. Our role is to shine a light on these strengths, reminding families of their inherent capabilities and encouraging them to leverage these qualities as they navigate challenges. Together, we can cultivate an environment where healing isn't just a possibility, but an ongoing journey filled with hope and growth.

✨ We invite you to share your thoughts! What strengths have you seen in your family or community that help in the healing process? Has there been a particular experience that made you realize the power of resilience? Let’s celebrate the strength in our stories! 💖

Tune in, engage, and together let’s inspire hope in one another. If you believe in the transformative power of support and positivity, like this post and share it with your network! 🌍💬



Remember, every conversation we start can lead to meaningful change. What are some resources or strategies that have helped you support a child or family member in their journey to healing? Drop your thoughts in the comments! 🗨️ Your words could inspire someone else to take the next step toward recovery! 💖✨

06/21/2022

Our mission is to advocate for the victims of child abuse and neglect victims to secure safety, justice, well-being, and a permanent, nurturing environment for every child.

We aim to raise awareness of child abuse, teen dating abuse, and domestic violence. Our goal is to build shelters to support victims of abuse worldwide and offer hope that no matter how challenging, you can still turn it around and go for your dreams.

Support YARS at the link below:

https://square.link/u/tSBaU2k1

05/09/2022

Child abuse is real, and it is evil!

Let us all do the best we can to support the fight against child abuse. One way to help with this fight is to start from your home. Start communicating with your children. Give them room to share and discuss with you. Putting on the face of a disciplinarian is excellent, but beyond that, make yourself approachable to listen and communicate with the children God has brought in your care. You’d be surprised what you’ll hear and learn from them.

If your child can talk to anyone it should be you!!!