What's your ACE score?

Jesus’ ministry could be boiled down to two elements— teaching people

to love each other, and healing the sick through the love of God.

            Two thousand years later, science has caught up with Jesus.

In 1998, a seminal study by the Center for Disease Control established a strong causal connection between a lack of properly executed love from caregivers during childhood, and incidences of serious illness later in life.

The Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) study, published in the Journal of Preventative Medicine, was conducted by giving a questionnaire about adverse childhood experiences to 17,000 mostly white, middle to upper-middle class people in San Diego. Various categories of adverse childhood experiences were studied: physical, sexual or psychological abuse; violence against the mother in the home; and living with household members who were substance abusers, mentally ill, suicidal, or ever imprisoned. Researchers found that more than half the respondents to the questionnaire had at least one childhood exposure to one of these seriously adverse experiences, and one-fourth reported two or more. When they studied the health of participants, they found that participants with higher ACEs scores had correspondingly higher incidences of chronic autoimmune illnesses, liver disease, alcoholism and depression.

Subsequent studies on adverse childhood experiences have corroborated the findings, showing that in addition, a higher ACEs score correlates to higher incidences of obesity, diabetes, stroke, some types of cancers and some types of heart disease. One a scale of one to ten, where each adverse childhood experience equals one point, having an ACEs score of four or more increases the risk of emphysema or chronic bronchitis by nearly 400 percent and suicide by 1200 percent. People with an ACEs score of six or higher are at risk for an average 20-year shortened lifespan. Higher ACEs scores also correspond with social problems --  higher rates of drug use, teen pregnancy, smoking, being a victim of rape and perpetuating domestic violence. Children with high ACEs scores are prone to rage and outbursts in school, often have trouble paying attention, get lower grades and are more likely to fail a grade and drop out.

Brain research is demonstrating what Jesus understood when he gave us the command to love-- that the experience of trauma (of being hurt, rather than loved) has a physical effect on the body. When children are traumatized, their bodies respond in a physical way, even into adulthood. Prolonged activation of the stress response systems disrupts the development of brain architecture and other organ systems, and increases the risk for both physical and mental illness.

With only a third of the US population having an ACEs score of zero, indicating no significant trauma, we can begin to understand that much of society’s troubles may have its roots in unhealed childhood trauma. Most people, regardless of ethnicity, religion or socio-economic status, carry an invisible cross of at least one or two significantly painful parts to their childhood. And 13% of people walk around with the toxic stress caused by four or more adverse childhood experiences.

            We are just 19 years out from the publication of the ACEs study—in the world of science, 19 years is a short time. It’s barely enough time to get the word out about the study’s results. But in the past 19 years, in response to the ACEs study, research has emerged on resilience. Children who have experienced adversity in childhood but who go on to develop resilience have better outcomes. How do we build resilience? The research points to one-on-one connections. When a person with a high ACEs score has a relationship with someone who offers him or her understanding and compassion, a bit of resilience is born. Those people with high ACEs scores whose parents struggle but who are fortunate enough to have strong one-on-one connections with teachers, healthy friends, relatives, coaches, mentors or pastors, fare the best.

            Jesus’ ministry of healing was all about one-on-one connections based on understanding and compassion. He sat with people; he touched them; he reacted with compassion and love for them. He even wept with love. And then he healed them.

            We are offered the same opportunity as Jesus to be healers. During our day, everyone we encounter (including ourselves) has an ACEs score ranging from 0 to 10 —everyone has a story of childhood. Every interaction we have with another is an opportunity to build that person’s resilience. Every action that includes understanding and a belief in the good of another can bring about healing. And that goes for showing compassion and understanding toward ourselves, as well. Those who have high ACEs scores, but who learn self-compassion, also build resilience.

Those around us who we find most challenging to love may have a reason for being so prickly-- childhood trauma can wrap itself in anger, as a form of protection. And when offered healing and compassion, these hurting folks may not find the wherewithal to respond with gratitude. When Jesus healed the 10 lepers, only one came back to say thanks.

            In the next decade, public health practices may shift in response to the ACEs study and what it predicts. Further study may crystalize best practices and techniques for doctors, mental health professionals, teachers and those in social service. We, as a society, may learn ways to foster large-scale resilience development; we may even discover opportunities to reach families early to lower ACEs scores from the beginning. But even as this happens, true resilience will still be built one person at a time, in moments when that person feels understood, loved and recognized.

            For us, as followers of Christ, the ACEs study and the follow-up research on resilience intensifies what we already know. Our call has always been to love and to heal. And now we have the data to prove why it’s important.

           

Pro-life bumper stickers make me uncomfortable

Pro-life bumper stickers make me uncomfortable.

            They don’t make me uncomfortable because I’m pro-abortion. I agree with the Church’s teachings on the sanctity of life at every stage. I do not believe in the death penalty; don’t believe in euthanasia and rarely think that war is the only answer to an international problem.  Rather, my discomfort with some aspects of the pro-life movement in general, and the Catholic piece of it in particular, arises from my perspective as a foster and adoptive parent. I see too little of a connection between the pro-life movement and the foster and adoptive community.

            Each year, in Milwaukee, the city in which our family lives, there are between two and three thousand children who need placement outside of their homes because of allegations of neglect or abuse by their parents. Each year there are about 900 active, licensed foster homes in Milwaukee able to receive those children. The rest of the foster children are placed with unlicensed relatives or in group homes. In all medium to large cities with substantial populations of children in foster care, many the families who step forward to foster are too often marginal themselves, and without the necessary resources to meet the needs of the foster children placed with them. Children then are moved from home to home as foster parents find they cannot handle the behavioral issues of the traumatized child.  Heathy, financially stable families who would be able to provide a safe home for foster children often look at the emotional complexity of the task and decide that they are not able to commit to the undertaking.

            While I understand that not every Catholic family is called to foster or adopt, a Catholic pro-life identity must include a highly visible commitment to those children who were not initially aborted, but whose current life of neglect and abuse leaves them vulnerable and at risk.

            The pro-life voice is well-known in the Catholic community. Some Catholics vote according to this issue, singularly. But what if we could become equally well-known for our commitment to providing safe families for foster children? What if the Catholic pro-life community would become conversant in trauma-informed care so as to better minister to young victims of abuse and neglect? If alongside their work to change legislation regarding abortion, pro-life groups would work within the foster care arena, the movement would gain necessary credibility. A commitment to foster care, when put next to a commitment to end abortion, demonstrates an understanding of the complexity of the abortion question. It underlines our Catholic teaching of the sanctity of life— life threatened within the womb, but also facing just as serious danger outside the mother’s body. At a recent Catholic conference I attended in Chicago, there were four booths dedicated to the anti-abortion aspect of the pro-life movement. Yet, I didn’t see even one booth—or even one small part of a pro-life booth— dedicated to recruiting new foster parents.

            Although Adoption, not abortion! makes a catchy bumper sticker slogan, the issue of adopting would-be aborted children is not as simple as it might appear. Of the more than a hundred thousand children currently awaiting adoption in the U.S., almost half are African American, according to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. Of this group, severely disabled children and black boys must wait the longest for adoption. At the same time, the Center for Disease Control and Prevention’s statistics show that more than a third of the U.S. women each year who choose abortion are black. When we, as church, tell these women to put their children up for adoption, do we back up our words by pointing to families open to adopting black children? Right now, the answer is no — there is a shortage of parents willing to adopt African American children, and our words are hollow. 

            I recognize that some pro-life activists might bristle at the idea that they are not doing enough for children. Many of these people give tremendous amounts of time and energy trying to prevent the tragedy of abortion and the emotional fallout it causes for women. I am not suggesting that they stop. But I am suggesting that we, as Catholics, begin to look at the issue of abortion in a less simplistic way. I’m suggesting that we open our arms even wider—that we challenge each other to create a line of households ready and waiting to accept unwanted, abused or neglected children. I am suggesting a movement that includes within the pro-life community families who have fostered and adopted and who walk the difficult road toward healing and wholeness with their children. I’m suggesting that our pro-life activists work as hard on legislation protecting foster children and preventing further abuse as they do on legislation surrounding abortion. And when we do this, when the word “Catholic” is linked with foster care just as surely as it is with “pro-life,” then we will be able to hold our heads high when we tell others to “Choose life.” Because others will have our assurance that life will be protected, once it is chosen. 

In the silence, Humility

I was standing in the middle of a small frozen lake near our house on New Year’s Day, chatting with my husband and Nate, another father in our neighborhood. I was in ice skates and a down coat; Bill and Nate had on heavy boots and warm gear. The ice was about 8 inches thick, from a recent cold snap, and the wind was brisk from the north. As we exchanged stories  about the holidays, I noticed our daughter Teenasia, 15, walking out onto the ice in socks and sandals. From the other shore, Nate’s teenage son approached in basketball shorts and bare legs.

         “What have we done wrong, Nate?” I asked, indicating our respective kids. “Sandals and shorts on the ice? All those years of bundling them up to go out in the cold, then they get dressed on their own like this?”  

         Nate laughed and told me he didn’t see their poor decision-making as a reflection of our parenting. “You have to look at the whole picture, not just this moment,” he said. He pointed out that my boys were in college and quite possibly on their way to gainful employment. I acknowledged that perhaps that was true but both still routinely forgot to put dishes in the dishwasher after their late night snacks on winter break.

         Nate gave other examples of our children’s successes that indicated good parenting.

         “Preach it,” Bill said.

         “We had a rough morning.” I explained to Nate an argument we had with one of the kids, and added that I wasn’t sure if Bill and I handled the situation correctly.

         “Parenting is like any other job,” Nate said. “There are two types of people doing it. Those who are humble, and those who are about to become humble.”

         As Teenasia slid around the ice in her sandals, chased by Xavier, in his basketball shorts, I refrained from either commenting or giving direction. Eventually, the cold air did my parenting for me, and both kids went inside, Teenasia coming back out in hockey skates, and Xavier in long pants.                                                        

Nate’s comment about humility has stayed with me.

         Early parenting is all about a parent’s decisions. Whether a baby is hungry or fed; wet or dry; warm or cold is within the control of the parent. Even deeper into grade school, a parent makes decisions about what a child will be eating; what they’re allowed to watch on TV; how they will spend their time.

         But later in middle school and in early high school, parents need to walk a tricky line between giving a child enough room to make their own decisions and mistakes, and providing enough guidance to prevent disaster. The balance is complicated for families with more than one child. A friend has a daughter who, at 11, was more responsible than most 30-year-olds; that same friend’s son is an eccentric genius who requires firm boundaries and limits to keep on course. My friend has to constantly weigh when it’s appropriate to rein her son in, and when she is in danger of breaking his spirit. Sometimes she judges right; sometimes she’s wrong. Humbling.

          I am learning that in parenting adolescents and college-aged kids, one of the best ways that my humility can be manifested is through silence.

         I’m naturally a talker, and as soon as I see an issue, I have an urge to point it out; name the problem; tell how I think it should be solved. A more easy-going (or less talkative) mother probably would not have had difficulty watching her daughter on the ice in sandals and basketball socks. But for me, to see this and not call out the solution, “Teenasia, honey, go inside and put on some boots,” was actually a challenge. Yet, in my silence of no more than 15 minutes, Teenasia was able to solve her own problem, which clearly was not even a problem to her, just a footwear decision.

         For me, humility in parenting is recognizing that every solution does not need to be immediate. Every idea I have for my children (excellent as I believe these ideas might be) does not need to be verbalized as soon as the thought occurs. There is wisdom in waiting for the right time— whether it’s to give advice, ask a big question or bring up a habit that I’m hoping the child will change. I’m finding that when I lengthen the pause between a child’s behavior and my reaction to it, I give both my child and myself the gift of perspective. In the pause, I can offer a prayer to the Holy Spirit for wisdom; I can go to my husband or a friend for advice; I can give my child the opportunity to come to a solution on his or her own.

Perhaps most importantly, in the silent pause, I can have the humility to see that sometimes  my most important job of parent is to be a witness and a support, rather than a judge or coach. My job as a parent now is often to watch and wait. It’s humbling.