The past several years, my husband and I would shake our heads in disbelief as we read or watched another news report of a man claiming to be a woman to compete in a woman’s sport.

“I’m glad we raised our girls when we did,” Mel would say. “Men seem to have lost the sense of right and wrong. And so have schools to allow men to compete in women’s sports.”

I couldn’t imagine the absurdity of our girls competing against boys in their high school and college sports. How, in one generation, had education, public or private, lost common sense and assumed authority to change the definition of a man and woman and their rights?

Furthermore, the sickening truth is that surgeons practice mutilating children’s genitals without parental consent. And with parental consent. In both cases, the objective to “transition” a child to the opposite sex, and the subsequent physical, emotional, and psychological damage, is monstrous.

And what could two Baby Boomers do to turn the whelming tide of “gender dysphoria” destroying God-given destinies of many young and vulnerable people?

Well, a friend suggested I pray for God’s guidance. And I did. Then, my husband, bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh, passed away. How, in the maze of grief, could I find direction and strength to offer help to those who need a firm sense of identity and direction?


Clear as a bell, my answer came Sunday, April 7, at the conclusion of the church service. A young man presented the week’s activities. “And this Saturday, April 13, join the busload for Lansing, Michigan, for the first Don’tMessWithOurKids rally. Stop by the table in the foyer for information.”

And I did.

As scheduled, our bus left the church parking lot at 10:30 a.m.; children, moms, and dads eager to see our State Capitol building and what would unfold. I sat with Joanna, a friend, and reminisced our lives as daughters, mothers, and grandmothers. And widows.

Meanwhile, the bus driver drove us along landscapes dotted with blooming forsythia. Miles and miles along the highway of residential and farmland in view, the yellow shrub promised something bright. Perennial.

We exited the bus to the most perfect blue sky, green grass, and Capitol building a Michigander could behold. As we walked by doors with the sign, “Legislative entrance”, I recalled my father who was elected to Michigan’s State House of Representatives in 1972.

At last, I stood before our State Capitol, the dome a replica of Washington D.C.’s, and thanked God for my country and freedom to assemble in peace.

Dear Reader, the rally included numerous testimonies of women and men, young to old, that encouraged us to stand in the gap in prayer for our children in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. To equip ourselves for the challenges before us to balance mercy and judgment.

On the bus ride back to church, the cloudless, blue sky spread over ninety percent of the United States of America. There, people gathered before all fifty Capitol buildings and said, “Don’t Mess With Our Kids.”

Contact Iris at