Kerygmatic Parenting

You don’t have to worry if you’ll miss it someday

Angie Windnagle — Mon, 20 Apr 2026 18:55:12 GMT

The sacrament of the present moment. An ordinary phrase a college professor would slowly linger over and say with heightened emotion. But it was the one phrase that has changed my life over and over again.

The sacraments confer real grace “by the very fact of the action’s being performed” (CCC 1128). They do real stuff in our souls and Christ is really there with real live grace to heal, save, and transform us.

So when he said it, “the sacrament of the present”, people shifted in their seats questioning the mildly scandalous phrase. Surely he was mistaken? There are only 7 Sacraments and that’s what we stick to. And wasn’t it wrong to stretch the meaning into the realm of poetry? Weren’t we veering away from the Catechism?

But he stuck with it. A renowned professor known for his rock solid theology and philosophy, teaching a class on the Sacraments, and choosing to not list a single one of them but to put us squarely in touch with the sacrament of the moment. Scandalous indeed.

And yet, and yet…..

Does God give us the Sacraments as a one time done deal to push some grace on us and then leave us? Or do the Sacraments prime us for something more beautiful and mysterious than we could ever imagine on our own? We become children of God through Baptism, but what happens after that? Is His breath static? Or do we now have the grace to feel it, even the slightest sigh, at all times because of Baptism?

The person seriously in love understands that love is alive. It isn’t a one time event, but it becomes the life force for all other decisions and movements. I say I love you, and then that love also shows up as quiet hand holds and sweeping your crumbs with prayers. Baptism says I’m a daughter of God, but that grace and love keep going. It’s living. Because God is living and we are his.

I think this is what he was getting at. The sacrament of the present moment doesn’t take anything away from the Seven. Rather it reminds us that His love, His breathe, is everywhere because of that grace. As Christians, we can experience everywhere at every moment if we are in love enough. The Eucharist is the definitive “I love you” of a God chasing after his beloved people. We get to become one with Him every Communion, but we are also supposed to hear that “I love you” after leaving the banquet and invite others to it.

Anyway, this is a long and poetic way of coming to my main thought: you know when parents say “someday we’ll remember our kid asking us to play and we will give anything to go back and have just five more minutes there”? I’ve said it and felt it. But I don’t think the solution is to what we think it is.

Fearing that I may feel some sort of loss or painful nostalgia as an 85 year old doesn’t make me savor this moment today with my kids better. It doesn’t really make me a better parent. It makes me preoccupied with a future that may never come and obsessed with curating the present moment to fit my narrative of how I think I’ll feel in the future.

If I’m afraid of the day my kid no longer asks me to push him on the swing, I’m not going to enjoy pushing him more. I’m going to be mildly depressed as I push him and consider how many more times I have of this before it’s over for good. Same with the “we only get 18 summers with them.” When I’m constantly assessing loss, I’m missing out on the grace and poverry of living life with open hands to what God wants to give without asking me. Most of my specialist memories with my kids were the ones that surprised me - they weren’t under my control, they were dripping with the Spirit and alive with something not of this world. Instead of my movement and control, it became His movement and grace.

“Ever ancient, ever new.” He does this when we let Him.

God wants me to parent the child in front of me. And he will give me the grace to parent the child in front of me in 20 years if we are both still here. But not a moment sooner.

When we focus on the here and now, something amazing shifts and we end up living in a way that our future selves do not fear. Living like that produces memories that make us feel alive, grateful, and satisfied. Because God’s grace always satisfies us. Beyond our deepest imaginings.

It’s not bad to consider the future to help change a bad attitude. I mean, we should do this when we consider the future state of our souls. But when we orient our entire parenting toward this future anxious self, we miss out on the grace from the sacrament of the moment God wants to give us right now today and that’s actually the antidote to this fear - not more worrying.

“Someday we’ll wish we could hear them as one more time to play.” Maybe, but if we seek to be in sync with the “love that never ends” and feel His breathe in everything, we’ll be able to look back and instead think “man, those were some sweet days and I am so proud of myself for how I lived them. I gave all and received all and I am satisfied.”

We don’t heal future worry by micromanaging the present. We heal it by giving it to the Healer and being with Him and His grace as it comes to us moment by moment. The sacrament of the present moment, it turns out, is real.

The story you haven’t heard yet

Angie Windnagle — Thu, 16 Apr 2026 18:15:29 GMT

A long time ago there lived a little girl who often had tummy aches. When she ate the wrong foods, her belly would protest and she’d spend her time in discomfort or on the potty. She sometimes complained about foods served, but an adult visiting once shamed her for that, so she stopped. Another time, she complained it hurt to walk, but wasn’t believed, so she learned to walk with stomach pain. By college, she learned it helped to be near a bathroom when eating certain foods. And by adulthood, learned those were called “intolerances” and if she didn’t eat the foods, she didn’t feel bad.

The end.

jk.

The story is me. I’m the little girl. I really lived that and though my parents loved me and cared for me, I somehow didn’t communicate well enough what my gut was doing so I grew up with tummy aches sometimes. It’s not a big deal in the great drama of a life, but it makes me think a lot about how we assume stories of others because of proximity, especially our children.

From my parents’ perspective, I was growing, strong, healthy, and enjoyed most foods. The doctors had no concerns so neither did they. To them, my story was “a healthy girl with no allergies who could eat what she wanted.” And while technically true based on the information they had, my lived reality was different. For me, it was a healthy girl who had bowel issues occasionally and had to learn late in life certain foods were causing discomfort. My story included the freedom of learning I didn’t have to endure discomfort eating certain foods. I could just not eat it and feel better.

So often (and I’m positive I am guilty of this) I hear parents sharing the stories of their children without really knowing the child’s side of the story. These stories are sometimes just fair assessments of the information they have. Like “my child has dyslexia” or “my kids have never had a broken arm.” But sometimes, I think it veers into something different. Like “my kids are so happy with not being in sports” or “my daughter would never wear fake nails.”

I don’t think it’s harmful to say those things, but I think there’s an aspect of long term parenting we are missing when we write little stories like that in our minds about our growing kids. And it’s an aspect of parenting I’m trying to grow in to.

Maybe our kids are smiling and laughing not in sports because they are really good at not complaining and making the best of a situation. Maybe they really want to be on a team but they are fearful of being bullied so it comes across as not caring for sports. Maybe they are afraid to fail but don’t know how to say that and ask for the encouragement they need. Like I said, it’s not always a huge deal, but just what if…. What if we don’t know the full story?

I think when it comes to parenting older children, these little nuanced things matter more than we realize. As adults looking back, how many of us have these small moments that feel bigger than they should? Usually their connected to a bigger feeling of being unseen or unheard, but the moments we felt unnoticed or sought after still pull something in us as adults. Many are still healing from these moments 10, 20, 30 years later.

I know the FAFO genre of parents may roll their eyes here, but I can bet in the quiet moments of their lives they have the hurts too. They just got good at stuffing it down and ignoring it because they knew their needs wouldn’t be met anyway.

See how it can impact us? To be deeply seen is the very gift of God because that is holiness. To stand before the Father in my poverty and hide nothing and to receive everything.

Nothing is overlooked by God. No, not even the time your ice cream fell at the ice cream shop and your dad told you to let it go as you fought back hot tears in your eyes. God saw that and yeah, maybe ice cream on the floor isn’t a big deal compared to the main thing in life, but the only way we can get to the purifying and healing reality that “God is on my side and he is worth giving up everything for”, we have to first go through the purifying and healing reality that “God cares about the little stupid things in my life that no one else does.”

How do I know this?

Because he tells us so.

I mean listen, if God knows how many insignificant hairs sit on your greasy head, and that fact was important enough to put into Scripture even though John says there was so much more that the books couldn’t fit in the world, do you really think he doesn’t care that when you were little that bad thing happened to you and really hurt your heart and still makes you want to cry?

It’s time to start really believing that God is really in love with us, even the small stories in us.

And once we get there, I think and speculate, that we’ll see how fragile it is when we hold the stories and help shape them for other human beings that have a unique and unrepeatable relationship with that same loving God. Awe inspiring and terrifying, too. Our kids’ salvation and journey to God is directly impacted by the way we parent and the stories we tell about them. Gut check.

We think we know our kids, but if our kids are not yet adults, we probably have never heard the stories of what it was like to grow up in our homes. And those are really sacred stories that deserve listening to and not overwriting.

I hope my kids come to me someday and change the stories I knew about them. So I can tell them I’m so honored to hear what it was like for them and get to know them even better. It’s a messy thing, this vocation. But we only really get it wrong when we think we are always right and aren’t willing to learn from those the kingdom belongs to. Our children, HIS children, have a real journey and story that is entirely theirs. We are humbly asked to take a big part in it, but it’s their story at the end of the day. Our real job isn’t to ignore that or downplay it, it’s to help them make sense of it in light of the bigger story, Our Story, the story of salvation. That’s where we make sense of it all.

So yeah, that’s my thought for today I wanted to type out messily. Learning how to care less about how my kids are acting, and more about the stories being written in the hidden crevices of their hearts and working to make sure they taste the love of God there in how I treat them.

Pray for me and I’ll pray for you. We got this.

Your kids won't love Jesus if you're a jerk...

Angie Windnagle — Sat, 28 Mar 2026 21:35:47 GMT

Reader note: I have the option for paid subscriber active on my Substack, but I don’t feel like putting up paywalls at this moment in my writing. If you love what you see and you want to support my work, I’d be honored if you became a paid subscriber anyway!

I grew up nominally Catholic. Baptized, Catholic school fed, weekly Mass going, bible in the home and all. I even had a great aunt that was a nun. But it was mostly just one of many backdrops in my life. It wasn’t the thing in my life. It was like how Aunt Sherry had green wallpaper but we had cream. One of many options out there as believers in God.

(Now, I know you’re reading the title and probably connecting some dots. No, I am not calling my family jerks. But the story of how I came to know and love Jesus is really important to my greater point. Stick with me, we’ll get to the jerk part.)

By the time I was in high school, I was deep into sin and a life on the wide road. Despite the popularity, the excitement, and the fun, I had an ache deep in my soul for something greater. It didn’t have a name (yet), but when I was quiet enough, I could hear it in the form of unease and discontentment in my current way of living. I vividly remember sitting on the edge of my bed one day, feeling bored and unfulfilled by life as it was and thought, “there has to be more than this.” Right around that time, God would mercifully ordain that an adult I trusted and looked up to would invite me to a youth conference. Under the guise of “you get a weekend away from home, with tons of pizza, and time with friends on a coach bus. Oh, and a water park after” I was sold. (Pauline, if you ever read this, thank you for saving my soul by inviting me in a way I understood. I truly mean it.)

The youth conference was a gradual unveiling, but the definitive moment of no return was the next summer at the same conference during Eucharistic adoration when during a procession, the monstrance stopped directly in front of me for several moments. Something happened there that I will never be able to put earthly words to. It wasn’t emotion, it wasn’t the music, it was Him. It was the one I had been searching for without realizing it and He penetrated my soul with a Love so powerful and strong it physically manifested as a feeling that my heart might actually burst. And I was totally fine with that, if it meant being filled with Him.

My life was never the same after that and it was the start of a beautiful and deeper turning back to the Lord in the years to come.

But here’s the thing I want to point out - NONE of that would have been possible if my youth leader would have tried to scare me into going to the youth conference. If she had told me how grievous my sins were and how valuable an hour in front of the Eucharist can be, I wouldn’t have signed up. If she started with guilt, I would have thought it wasn’t for me and stayed home. Worse, if she’d been inauthentic, I would have never even heard her. Her authenticity in loving Jesus unquestionably, but also knowing where I was on my journey, was the perfect combination to help me drop my guard and give it a chance.

I thought I was getting free pizza, she knew she was offering me life.

And this is how it goes in pre-evangelization. Before we can even offer the water, a person needs to know they’re thirsty.

So what does this have to do with parenting?

A lot actually.

Our kids won’t find Jesus or trust he loves them deeply, individually, and unconditionally if we are not first witnesses to that love in an authentic and genuine way that respects their personhood. Pope Paul IV prophetically said that "Modern man listens more willingly to witnesses than to teachers, and if he does listen to teachers, it is because they are witnesses” (Evangelii Nuntiandi 41).

Simply put, our kids are more likely to listen to us about the things of God because we live them and are true to them, than if we just talk about them. I can yell at my kid that patience is a virtue, or I can, you know, actually be patient with him. Then after they witness that virtue in action, when I explicitly teach about it, they now have a name for what’s always been true.

Our goal isn’t to scare our kids into acting holy. Our goal is to actually get our kids to be holy. And the only way to holiness is to freely love and follow Jesus. This is why the Church condemns forced marriage and declares any confession invalid if the person was forced to confess without true sorrow for sin. It turns out we can’t force our children into heaven.

Mass and kids and becoming little

Angie Windnagle — Sun, 08 Mar 2026 19:49:40 GMT

Faith isn’t meant to be performative.

Our kids can be the best behaved at Mass, look the most out together, have the loudest responses, and the best singing, but if they are faking it because they know they’ll be shamed, spanked, yelled at, or threatened otherwise, it’s all for nought.

You can’t fake piousness. God sees through it.

God sees when we sharply threaten our 10 year old to “stand up straight or you’ll get the belt later.” He sees when we pull our 4 year old to the back of the church and pinch her arm because “we don’t talk at Mass, do you understand?” God sees the rage we let consume our hearts when we misplace our own insecurities onto our children without seeing them as God does. Precious. Wanted. Welcome.

What would it look like if the pews were empty and the Mass was just our kids and Jesus? Would we worry so much if they moved too much? Would we act angry when they giggle? Would we yell at them in the van after for embarrassing us? I doubt it.

Because if Jesus was standing in front of our kids and us at Mass, they’d want to stay. They’d feel like it’s the happiest place on earth. They’d see his tender eyes and gentle words saying “come to me.” We might be like the disciples at first, apologizing for their play dough hands on his floor, but then we’d understand the kingdom is theirs. We have something to learn from their dependency and unfiltered emotion. I think we’d finally understand that Jesus is here for all of us, especially the weakest and most broken and little. I think we’d finally understand we are little children too that can come to him broken, a little loud, really messy, and he won’t push us away. He says “come to me” to us too.

My hunch is we sometimes struggle with kids at Mass because we forget what’s normal for kids and want to hide behind appearances to conceal our own wounds. It’s easier to blame my kid for misbehaving than to admit I’m wound up because I still haven’t figured out how to not care what strangers think of me. It’s easier to yell at my kid than admit my parish needs a cry room.

Anyway, we ought to teach our young children the beauty of the Mass and why we are so reverent there, but we can’t teach that well if we are making them afraid to come to Jesus as they are.

Kids that don’t feel welcome at Mass become teens that don’t feel welcome at Mass that become adults that don’t feel welcome at Mass.

Do we have a Faith crisis with dropping Mass attendance or do we just have adults that learned somewhere along the way “if I’m broken, struggling, imperfect, a little messy, and unsure when to sit or stand, then maybe I don’t belong here.”

Building a lifelong foundation of deeply loving the Eucharist starts in the pews with little hands coloring while mom or dad whisper “the red candle is lit - Jesus is with us and loves we are here.”

Mass and Little Kids (Part 2)

Angie Windnagle — Mon, 23 Feb 2026 23:57:07 GMT

If you haven’t read part one, head on over to catch up about Barny the Owl and why I didn’t lecture or punish my 3 year old when he ran into Mass loudly squealing.

For the rest of you, we left off where I shared that I do, in fact, avoid all sorts of strange threats or punishments at Mass but with the lingering question: what do you do then when they act, well, feral? (Said in whispers because we are refined at Mass - there will be no sense of truth in our children’s messes here! (Double parentheses: said with sarcasm)).

So let’s break it down….

In my experience, there are two groups of children we need to discuss and two groups within that - four total. When I say “this thing here works well for a squirmy kid at Mass” there’s always at least one voice reminding me “well, but my kid……” so hopefully this clears that up.

Group 1: kids (babies) under 3. These children still often nurse, they are attached to their caregiver, and generally are not emotionally or physically capable of going too far without their adult. (It’s a spectrum, though, so there’s always a story about that one really wild 2 year old, but for the general conversation here we are.)

Within this group, another group: infants. Those babies that can’t walk yet.

Group 2: kids above 3. These children want to test boundaries, are thinking more on their own, and can respond to thoughtful requests on our part. Again, a spectrum, but these are the generalizations.

Within this group, another group: those around the age of reason. These kids are mostly self sufficient compared to their younger counterparts in the group.

Okay. With me still?

Good.

Let’s chat about what to do when either group misbehaves, won’t listen, or is generally difficult to handle at Mass.

With group 1 and the first part of group 2, the best rule of thumb is to loosely hold that they can pay attention in minutes the number of years old they are. So I am prepared with a 4 year old to have to help them engage about every 5 minutes or less. Sometimes it’s longer or shorter, but the rule isn’t to check your watch. It’s to give you permission as a parent to not freak out when your two year old throws the busy book you gave her after two minutes.

This looks like:

Letting them naturally see if the ups/downs and music shifts in Mass are enough to capture that need to shift focus every few minutes. Don’t come with arsenal signaling this is a boring place. Let God do his work first!
But also? Be realistic. Don’t come empty handed. Little kids need tangible stuff. (Do you see how God condescends and loves us so dearly as his little children? “Eat my Body”….). Books, quiet toys, non-messy snack, etc are all fair game in my opinion. I know people who try to teach their kids to white knuckle it at a young age and I say “for what?” They all end up sitting through Mass around the same age anyway, and those books can help them learn about the Mass and engage them in what’s happening around them. Use the books!
And finally, it looks like actually being with the child in front of you and engaging with them during Mass. Parenting is an active ministry. If you need a completely silent Mass for yourself, you need to get a babysitter. Our kids need us to teach them what’s the big deal. If they need a shift every few minutes, we can teach a lot just by noticing that and grabbing their attention before it turns to misbehavior. A fidgety 5 year old might just need a whisper “I wonder how many candles are in this church…” while you enjoy the next 5-8 minutes of Mass in silence.

When we wait for our children to force us to listen to their needs, it often looks like acting out. Knowing what their little brains can actually do and actively parenting before they make the need known, we satisfy their needs and our wants.

We also need to remember that kids don’t know what they don’t know. There’s a lot of big, abstract stuff about Mass a 2 year old just cannot appreciate or comprehend. Punishing them for not listening or for running is like yelling at my washing machine for not making ice. It can only do what it can do.

And for the subgroup of group 1, the infants? They need absolutely nothing but love and snuggles at Mass and to point out when Jesus is near and whisper his name with joy in their ears. If they are particularly vocal, it’s a mercy to others to step out, but a few babbles or chatter? I never worry. I speak stuff I want them to learn like “soft voices in Mass”, but that’s it. Mass in the hallway with a baby is Mass well spent on this earth as a parent.

On to group 2, older kids.

These kids are hopefully preparing for First Communion. So they should be good all the time right?

WRONG.

Their brains are barely online in a way that they can think through right/wrong and be held accountable for it. (Hence the age for reception of Confession.) Because of this very weak prefrontal cortex and lack of strong executive functioning skills, they still very much act like… little kids. The attention span rule still helps, and they sometimes need a little book or something to do during the homily. An hour is a long go for them still and they need patience as they start to consider bigger things like God, sin, grace, and where they fit within all that.

This age needs to experience the sacred with gentleness and awe. They are naturally inclined to sit with wonder before mystery, so instead of focusing on externals like sitting perfectly straight or kneeling without squirming, it works a lot better to do the following:

Point out parts of the Mass as they happen (“this is called the homily…this is when the Holy Spirit is called down…this is when the bread becomes Jesus’ Body….”)
ask before Mass who they will pray for and offer to Jesus when the Eucharist is elevated
Give them a pen and paper and have them draw a picture about what they heard in the gospel during the homily
Whisper little reminders throughout like “Jesus is always in the tabernacle in every church” or “in a little while you’ll get to go up to receive Jesus too!”

If an older child is continually struggling, it may be they have something deeper going on. In that case, addressing the deeper need is going to teach and help more than arbitrarily punishing to teach them how to mask and pretend to be ok at Mass when they are not. Things like anxiety, autism, OCD, sensory integration disorders, visual or auditory processing issues, and more can make something like sitting through Mass a sensory hell. If we want our kids in these situations to love and want to be at Mass, we need to teach them Jesus loves them as they are and we will be there to help give them the tools they need to get attend Mass well.

So what about the really bad kids? Well, my honest thoughts?

There are none.

There are simply kids that need a little help, and kids that need more help. That doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy or without trouble. If your kid is really struggling at Mass and you want to be there, you might need help or need a babysitter or need to get a temporary dispensation to attend if there are bigger issues at play. But this is life. Life is messy and hard sometimes.

We can do this. Our kids belong at Mass - not everyone will agree with us, but we can do this. It’s just one minute, one Mass at a time.

In closing, I’ll share this personal story.

One time, long ago, that feels like just yesterday, I brought my undiagnosed autistic/ADHD 5 year old, my hyper 2 year old, and my newborn baby to Mass alone while my husband and my almost 3 year old were at the hospital after his appendix ruptured. I knew we belonged and we needed Jesus so badly that week. I walked in and there were graciously a row of chairs in the back against a wall near the door. However, there was a group of older moms all sitting in them, kid free, chatting. I stood for a second because I thought they’d jump up to offer the seats to us or perhaps help with the stroller.

They ignored us.

I went and sat on the floor just past them. I was sleep deprived, scared for my 3 year old, and physically healing from birth still while chasing a 2 year old and assisting a sensory melting down 5 year old. I felt unseen, unwelcome, and had no idea how I would get to the communion line.

But I knew they were wrong, not me. My kids weren’t bad, they just were kids. I wasn’t unwelcome, I was just needing support. We could have missed Mass without sin, I’m sure. But I didn’t want to.

I think when we expect kids to not act like kids ever at Mass and we see mothers spanking kids outside the door, we are creating a culture where when we see a little bit of a messy family come in, we end up avoiding them instead of leaning in to help them because we are used to seeing the humanness in others at Mass.

Don’t read what I’m not saying - we should absolutely be reverent at Mass and explicitly teach our kids how to do this and about what is happening. But never to the point they are made to feel bad for being who they are and ashamed for even trying to show up. I’ve been there and I know many others who have too and stopped coming to Mass because of it.

Jesus is for us. All of us. Let’s teach it in how we attend to our kids at the most important part of our lives as Christians.

Mass and Little Kids (Part I)

Angie Windnagle — Thu, 19 Feb 2026 00:21:52 GMT

Last week I took my kids to Mass. Not out of the norm, but this particular day my 3 year old wanted to run wild like the wind. So I stepped out with him when he got a little loud, where we visited the side chapel and gently walked around to get the wiggles out. At one point, he walked on ahead of me just a little ways (and here is where we all shake our heads - had I only listened to my 16 years of parenting experience that moment.)

Once he was just far enough away to evade my quick walk and snatch, he started running. Straight into the church. While absolutely SQUEALING in delight. And what were my options other than to literally run after him, giving the entire church a loud show (praise the good Lord this remained in the back area and he never made it to the altar)?

Once I got him out of the church, I promptly let him know how bad he was, using my stern angry voice, and made sure he said sorry, and forced him to…..

JUST KIDDING.

You know me. I did none of that. And I’ll tell you why and how you can make changes too if you’re sick of disciplining your little kids at Mass.

What I actually did is calmly brought him outside, respectfully, and not as a punishment. I brought him outside because he showed me that his 3 year old brain wasn’t capable of the situation I put him in that day, even with my help and breaks. And that is 100% ok! And since it was daily Mass and I had no obligation to be there, I went for a walk with him around the parking lot.

On that walk, I was shown something beautiful that we miss when we hyper-focus on forced compliance out of babies who don’t have a fully formed brain or self control. It wasn’t that he couldn’t pay attention or sit still, it’s that the church building is sometimes a hard place to practice those things for little kids. It’s just that simple. My boy is good, and he knows how to pay attention and listen. He just didn’t have the capacity to that day

Outside he quietly walked with me and noticed every little detail around him. “What’s that?” “It’s a statue of the Holy Family.” “Where dis?” “This is a prayer garden where people can pray.” We found a big owl up in a rafter, which he named Barny (in case it was a barn owl), gathered acorns, and learned not to step on animal poo.

Then we waited on the curb and listened. The doves were popping around looking for food and I said softly “if we stay quiet and still for a long time, they won’t be afraid and will come close for us to see.” He listened and sat still and only whispered his thoughts to me. I added “this is why we are quiet in church too, so we can hear Jesus and come close to him.”

Then a big grackle came and scared the birds away and Mass was over.

And I was totally fine with how everything went. Here’s why…

He is not required to be at Mass. So while I am a firm believer that everyone should be welcome and go to Mass as often as possible from the youngest age so they feel safe and welcome there, there is no legal requirement for a child under the age of reason/First Communion to be there. In some cultures and ages, young children would stay with family while adults and older children attended Mass. God himself doesn’t even punish our young children for not being at Mass or participating, so why should we?
He learned the lessons I wanted him to learn anyway. I take him to Mass to encounter God, learn sacred silence, and gradually learn how to act appropriately there so later catechesis around the Eucharist can build off this. I want him to know it’s a place of safety and God is always happy he’s there. Respecting his developmental capacities taught exactly that. He showed me he couldn’t handle it, so I adjusted my expectations. And he showed me he does know how to listen to God (in nature) and how to sit still and be silent (while watching birds). This is perfectly good and fine for a 3 year old still learning.
He will never equate going to Mass with shame. Sure, he disrupted Mass and didn’t listen at first and couldn’t stay still. But little kids don’t deserve punishment and shame for being little kids. Jesus said “let the little children come to me.” He wasn’t embarrassed by them, why are we? He knows they cry, why do we act like they should never? He wants them there, why do we tell them they aren’t welcome if they act like children? I want my kids to feel the invitation of Jesus deep in their hearts. They’ll only understand when I treat them with that same dignity and respect at Mass. This leaves no room for shaming, punishing, or otherwise making my child feel bad for being a child.

Kids belong at Mass. They don’t always stay quiet enough so it’s important we step out to teach them it’s a quiet place and to respect others. However, what we do when we step out is eternally important.

Our kids won’t learn Jesus loves them, Jesus wants them at Mass, and Jesus comes to heal them and be with them at Mass if from their youngest memories Mass equals being spanked, sternly talked down to, pulled out angrily, and otherwise shown they are most certainly not welcome or wanted.

Clearly Sunday Mass or churches with different set ups will make the specifics look different than my story. If I had to remain for my obligation, we would have stood in the back, me holding him, and observing all the unique things in the back and chatting about them. There are options without resorting to punitive measures.

But the core remains the same: how we treat our children at Mass directly impacts how they grow and learn about God and the faith. In the brain, what fires together wires together. Meaning my kid will have some sort of implicit connection with bad feelings and the church or God if every time he goes he is yelled at, punished, threatened, or otherwise. It’s just how the brain works. (How do you feel about showing up for a job each day where you’re belittled, criticized, and talked down to?)

Our kids are beautiful. Their little hearts have an immense capacity for awe and wonder (read the works of Sofia Cavalletti). They are made to soak up all the mystery and smells and bells and beauty of our Faith. As parents, it’s our job to work with that immense gift, not against it.

I’ll talk more specifics how in Part I of this series (coming soon). Be sure to subscribe below. 👇🏻

Crying Babies Get Held

Angie Windnagle — Mon, 19 May 2025 03:46:23 GMT

I‘m about to possibly stir some feathers, so hold on tight.

I was reminded of a parenting philosophy recently that quips “crying babies go to bed.” The essence is that to teach our babies (and toddlers and preschoolers) not to fuss, we simply put them to bed when they cry.

It’s not the worst advice on the surface simply because sometimes babies really do cry when they are tired. In that case, it is an act of mercy (to the baby and those in the room) to help get them to sleep. From my understanding, however, this situation is only one of many reasons why you might put a crying baby to bed with this philosophy.

Crying at dinner? Off to bed. Crying at noon? Off to bed. Crying during family movie? Off to bed.

Here we have a new problem. Babies don’t just cry when they are tired.

Sometimes babies cry at dinner because they bit their tongue and can’t explain it. Sometimes babies cry at noon because they wanted the blue cup and couldn’t say the word blue when you handed them the yellow. Sometimes babies cry during family movie because the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang car scares them.

When we put babies to bed all the time for crying, we end up punishing them all the time for being a human being with an underdeveloped sense of communication. (Tongue hurts? Go cry alone in bed.)

Until around 3, most babies don’t describe abstract things a whole lot. Even after they have the words for those things, they don’t often have the mental capacity to put it together to explain it. They won’t say “Mother, I bit my tongue quite hard and it sent a shock up my spine and reminded me of the time I felt that way stepping on the sharp rock at the park where I was scared by a dog and I’m now feeling quite scared and in pain.”

But they will cry. Sometimes a lot.

And crying isn’t a bad way of communicating if you don’t have a whole lot of other ways to do so.

Our default as parents raising human beings that are not fully formed must necessarily be with compassion and a spirit of helping them. Even when they do stuff that bothers. Getting little kids and babies to just not cry all the time doesn’t really hit that mark.

The bigger picture is that human emotions are neutral. Learning how to process and handle emotions and orient them to the good is what makes them virtuous or not. It’s okay to cry. Sometimes crying can be good (grieving), sometimes it can be bad (manipulating someone). But tears aren’t a curse that need to be fought against at every turn. And I fear isolating babies in bed alone every time they cry might teach that.

So… what do I do instead?

Crying babies get held. They get my attention and I see what the cries are actually communicating. I remind myself even if they are verbal, they don’t always have the depth of nuance and understanding to explain what’s really deeper and it’s my job to find out. If they are truly tired, I do put them to bed but I don’t leave them to cry alone. If they are crying from exhaustion or frustration, I stay with them as they let a good cry out and help them transition to the next activity. If they are just in a bad mood, I talk with them or go on a walk with them.

To wrap up this possibly controversial post and answer the question: do crying babies go to bed in my house?

Only when they are actually tired.

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My sweet toddler’s hand. Sometimes when he cries, we paint.

On Being an Old Mom

Angie Windnagle — Sat, 29 Mar 2025 18:13:44 GMT

I was a first time mom at 24 and welcomed four beautiful babies in close succession after. Then, an almost 6 year gap between the youngest of the four and my current youngest who is 2.

I’m 39 now, and it’s a whole new world to see toddlerhood through the eyes of almost being 40 instead of a mom in my 20s. It feels like if I got a second chance at high school or college (you feel me, Drew Berrymore?). The awkward moments would be permeated with more wisdom and the painful sufferings of just not knowing how the world works would feel lighter knowing it all works out somehow and nothing lasts forever.

The first time of anything is new and exciting, but a repeat years later feels like a hidden gift I didn’t ask for and not everyone gets. I hold it carefully and soak in all I can from this vantage point.

Today, my toddler came and sat with me in our hammock outside and I knew this time to slow down. He didn’t want anything other than to be near me. We swung back and forth a little and where 26 year old me would have tried to make it fun or felt eager to move on to the next activity, 39 year old me knew to just be.

I sat with the moment and my toddler and let it be what it was. Hot sun, sweaty baby, blue hammock, and time. I have time and I don’t want to wish it away anymore.

We sang the itsy bitsy spider several times and ended with him on the grass trying to be a spider.

As quick as he came over to me, it was over. Like how fast newborns grow, and kids learn, and teens voices change. And we walked inside. Instead of feeling rushed or agitated or worried I’d miss this when it’s gone, I was able to just love it for what it was and how good it was and continue on with the next moment God has for me.

Aging is beautiful and helpful. And I don’t regret for a second having lots of kids, especially not having one when my other kids were older and I’m older. 10/10 highly recommend.

If you’ve said it once, you’ve said it once.

Angie Windnagle — Wed, 19 Mar 2025 10:33:16 GMT

A little blurb on chess, the Saints, and why saying things once is woefully insufficient in Christian parenting.

I have a son who plays chess. And not just as a hobby, but as his sport. He has a coach, goes to tournaments, and attends weekly chess meet ups as often as he can. His room is filled with trophies and has at least 5 different chess boards. Chess is the magical word to get him to listen or hear anything.

A couple of years ago, we were looking through a book on St Maximilian Kolbe and saw that the Saint also played chess. It was such a fun moment since he’s also a patron of ours. My son loved the fact that a special friend in heaven had the same interest as him. This was a genuinely special moment and something we talked about for a while upon discovering.

Fast forward to yesterday, and you can imagine my surprise when I said to a friend “did you know Maximilian Kolbe played chess?” and my chess champ son walked by and said “wait what?!” This was, apparently, news to him. I reminded him of our findings and what book and all of it. And he was incredulous. It was like he was hearing it for the first time.

What does this have to do with Christian parenting? A lot actually.

I was reminded yesterday how easily as humans we can either retain or forget things. We hope to remember everything, but depending on the day, what else is going on, or newer events that overshadow it, we all know things are forgotten sometimes. Salvation history shows us that tragically, we also forget the Really Important Things, too.

The people of Israel knew God was on their side after seeing the plagues and the Red Sea part. They were shown magnificent signs and wonders of God’s presence and care. And yet, after a time, they forgot. They acted as if God were a myth. They slid into idolatry without much of a fight. How? They forgot. They forgot his love and care and signs and wonders. The Really Important Things faded when they weren’t right in front of them.

So what did God do? Clearly, came down and shook his finger and said “I told you once, and I’m not telling you again! You are my people, I am your God! If I have to repeat myself, you’re on your own. You should know better!”

(Ahem. The uncomfortable shift of those living in the New Covenant who’ve read Scripture and know how the story ends.)

Actually, he didn’t. He just kept showing up. Despite Israel playing the harlot. Despite Israel looking for a better king and ruler than God himself. Despite the mess ups and brokenness, God kept showing up and repeating himself: “do not be afraid. I am with you. You are my people. I am your God.” To the point of madness. To the point of bleeding on the cross with you and me and all of humanity, not just Israel, etched upon his Heart.

And he keeps saying it again at every Mass. In remembrance of the Last Supper, to remind us. “I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Sadly, we still forget. Miraculously, he gave us the sacraments to make it right. Mercies new every morning. A never ending supply of grace, free for our taking if we will just cooperate with it, until our last breath.

So the question is: do we parent with this divine pedagogy in mind? Do we have the attitude of: “I told you once, now I expect you, a child with an underdeveloped brain, to retain it perfectly forever, and the minute you don’t, I’ll be ready to punish you.” Or “I told you I love you yesterday, but once is not enough. I will tell you again every day forever so you never forget.”

We forget sometimes. It can be tragic and have consequences. Forgetting where I live can’t get me home. The generation of Isrealites to worship a false god never made it to the promised land. But it should never make us feel hopeless. Even in the difficulties, our God does not abandon us. He is on our side.

Our parenting needs to reflect this hope. If my child forgets to clean his room because I asked him once, maybe I just need to ask if he needs help or say it again or remind him to finish before bed. He rarely needs me to escalate the situation with arbitrary force because my patience is running thin. If I said it once, I said it once. That doesn’t mean his brain got it all.

So when my chess boy forgot our special memory of discovering his favorite Saint also played chess? Just a reminder for me that if I’ve taught him about how to clean dishes, how much he is important to our family, how amazing he is, how to do a math problem, etc etc etc. that I probably will need to keep saying it before it really sticks. God does the same with us.

Is it ADHD or just bad parenting?

Angie Windnagle — Sat, 08 Mar 2025 12:12:32 GMT

I’ve been wanting to write this down for a while, but keep stopping because I have just SO much to say and want to be as truthful but also as charitable as possible.

A few weeks ago, I encountered an opinion on social that said something like: “unpopular opinion: parents hide behind their kids ADHD diagnosis to cover up bad/lazy parenting.”

So many thoughts. (Read to the end because I also do empathize and want to share a note for those who might agree with the unpopular opinion.) But overall, I felt annoyed. Here’s a few reasons why:

ADHD/ASD/OCD/PDA/etc are not just labels. They actually mean something. They are names for a brain that is systematically wired differently than the normal population. Amen Clinics does phenomenal work in this and has shown the difference in actual brain scans and the physiological changes in a brain when someone has ADHD. Our own neuropsychologist we used for our son was able to do brain mapping and pinpoint exactly what area of my son’s brain is not firing at the right time causing ADHD symptoms. Google changes to the brain with someone suffering from OCD. Research the mechanics behind Pathological Demand Avoidance. It’s all there.
Assuming someone is hiding behind a label is awfully close to assuming the labels are made up. “If we just stopped pretending they are real, then maybe they wouldn’t act so strange!” Or “hmm I bet if they did this parenting trick for neurotypical kids, they’d stop acting so weird.” Ahhhh, the collective polite laugh from all those living with someone with these labels and wondering why we didn’t think of such an easy fix! (But honestly, I think having this opinion just reveals a lack of genuine knowledge in the area of parenting a child with neuro/developmental labels.)
Very simple math. Would any sane person spend thousands of dollars to seek a diagnosis that makes, in general, life a lot more complicated? Anyone who has pursued a diagnosis for their child would know that most of those decisions come after YEARS of heartache, confusion, deeply invested parenting, hundreds of hours of research, thousands of dollars of specialists, time off for OT/speech/neurofeedback/doctors/etc, frustrating meetings with local schools, papers and papers of IEPs, and more. It seems very unplausible we’ve all gone through that so we can sit back while parenting, wipe our hands clean, and blame it on the ADHD.
Phenomenal parenting doesn’t make someone un-ADHD/ASD/OCD/PDA/etc. Great parenting is a fantastic support for children with these wirings and there are certainly methods of parenting that work better or worse for them. But at the end of the day, my child is going to stim if he feels stressed and if I share why (“oh please don’t be worried, his hands do that when he’s stressed. It’s common with ASD.”) it’s not because I’m trying to excuse myself or hide behind that label. It’s honestly to help you feel comfortable and in the know.

The assumption is just funny to me that a lazy parent is going to go through the immense heartache, time investment, and financial strain of getting their child a diagnosis, only to use that as a “get out of jail free” card at every chance. MOST parents of neurodivergent kids I know don’t hand out that lavel like candy. For many, it’s locked up on a strict need to know basis only. Because with labels comes discrimination, being treated differently, embarrassment, being left out, and more. If someone’s sharing a label with you, it’s likely because they trust you or it’s for your benefit to know (example: Charlie isn’t ignoring you by wearing headphones - he’s overstimulated and uses them to block out excess noise.) Not because they want an excuse for poor parenting.

I could say so much more, but I’ve been long winded enough. I’ll end with this. If you’ve ever thought this, I don’t judge you at all. I understand how on the surface, it can look like this. A kid that acts unkempt or strange, with a nervous parent that just mumbles off a diagnosis as to why, might make it easy to think “man, maybe if you just taught your kid some manners…” I get it. It’s a natural progression of thought. But it’s sadly erroneous in most cases. I suppose there are parents out there that have given up and throw the label out to force others to accept any awful behavior. But in my experience, that’s rare and not the norm at all. Most deeply caring parents go through enough stress to be diagnosed with PTSD by the time it’s all said and done. The label is our way of sharing that “yes, it seems like something is off in this child. I’ve noticed it too. And there is! I’ll spare you the journey and give you the result. It’s not me or you or a bad kid. It’s a brain wiring difference. This label gives us meaning into why he’s acting differently so we don’t have to judge or feel concerned. Join me in loving him as he is.”

I assure you, parents of kids on any spectrum are usually doing their absolute best. We aren’t hiding behind the labels. We just had to learn the long, beautiful, tough road to this truth: “you can’t punish development into a child.” My kid won’t stop being autistic just because he’s in front of you. I can’t parent it out of him. So I offer you a label to understand why he is the way he is. It’s no different than if he were deaf and you couldn’t figure out why he doesn’t respond to our voices. Telling you he’s deaf would be merciful for you and him. So it is with parents who share their kid is on the spectrum.

(A little note here: I’m also compassionate to the person who had this opinion because there is always a chance they do have a person in their life who may actually be a permissive, uncaring parent. Maybe the label was easier to acquire than the average journey, and they have given up. In that case, all I can share is that is just one parent/child story and not representative of the vast majority of spectrum parents. I share this Substack not to judge or condemn, but to clear up what most ADHD/etc families go through.)

I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences!

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Where I introduce myself to Substack

Angie Windnagle — Sat, 11 Jan 2025 04:15:53 GMT

Well, here I am. I’ve been over on Instagram for a while at kerygmatic.parenting and it’s fun but apparently this is where the cool kids are? I don’t know for sure since I’m not a cool kid, but I’ll fake it and see what the landscape is over here. I have to admit though, I feel a little ancient trying to navigate it all. (Does that mean I’m an old millennial? Where’s my bonnet?)

Anyway, I had a blog a looong time ago where I was far too proud and thought I was wise. There were good parts, but mostly it served only to increase my practice of writing, give me a taste of humble pie, and give me something to do as a military spouse with a gaggle of kids at home. I closed it up after recognizing it brought no peace and I, in fact, did not know it all. These days I’m much more aware of my limitations and laugh a little when people ask for my advice. My most repeated line is “parent the child in front of you” because what I do with my kid might not work for your kid since they are entirely different people. I like to share what works for me, what I’ve noticed, and my philosophy based in what I’ve learned from the Gospel and the Saints. I hope it helps you, but honestly, God probably has a really great journey for you and your kid that’s really different than mine. I’m happy to share thoughts if it can light someone’s path any day though.

Since then, I’ve written for liturgical publications/blogs/and the sort, shared a lot on Instagram, did a vlog series during the ‘demic for a retreat center, and am a regular speaker in my local diocese (and very rarely outside of it because I take my family everywhere I go and that gets complicated. Wisconsin was the exception because…cheese.)

So what else? Oh yeah. People sometimes hate on me because I don’t spank my kids. So there’s that. But I have a good reason and I guess that’s why I’m over here. I want to start writing more about that and my coined term for how I parent, Kerygmatic Parenting, in case it’s useful to anyone else. Instagram limiting my characters is cramping my style so weeeeeee! Let’s go.

With that, here is my official welcome and thank you for being here. I have no clue what I’m doing, but hopefully you’ll stick around for the entertainment as I figure it out and maybe we can learn from each other along the way.