The left’s delusional views on parenthood are a MAJOR problem



A New York Magazine article highlights parents who regret having children — and BlazeTV host Stu Burguiere believes it simply cherry-picks miserable anecdotes while ignoring the deeper fulfillment many people find in raising a family.

“Sooner or later, everyone has to decide whether to give up lazy weekends, disposable income, and overall peace of mind to have a baby instead. For many of those on the fence, one anxiety looms large: ‘What if I make the wrong choice?’” New York Magazine wrote in a social media post promoting the article.

“Parent regret is more common than you might think — the r/regretfulparents sub-Reddit alone gets around 70,000 weekly visitors who anonymously commiserate — though stigma makes it hard to admit in real life,” the caption continued.


The article centers around the opinions of three people who regret their decision to become parents.

“Parenting can be very stressful. Parenting can have difficult parts to it. You can go through tough seasons where your kids don’t like you or they’re angry with you or your partner or you’re bringing them all over the globe to different events and it can get frustrating, and it can feel like, you know, you don’t really have a lot of me time,” Stu comments.

“We don’t have lots of child-care options — we do part-time day care and don’t have a lot of family able to help us; otherwise we use PTO and juggle our work schedules to have all the coverage we need — and it feels like the rest of my life is put on hold for motherhood,” one woman told the interviewer.

“I have good moments as a mom, but I get hung up on thoughts like, What I really wanted to do today was painting, or reading, or doing these chores alone,” the woman added.

“If what you’re thinking about life is ‘gosh, I really hate my life, I’d much rather do chores alone,’ I mean, I don’t think you’re just going to be a happy person. I think your life is going to be filled with misery,” Stu comments.

In another quote from the same unhappy mother, she admits that when “thinking about life without” her kids, she’d “be happier overall.”

Another mom admitted that she felt “angry and alone” after needing to take her daughter to the ER for a nosebleed.

“Everyone’s had a day where they just think things that are insane as a parent,” Stu says.

“It is about sacrificing a lot of things,” he adds.

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What Christmas says to tyrants



As we come to the end of 2025, peace feels hard to find. We are surrounded by news of barbaric terrorism once again — most recently in Australia — erupting in violent displays of prideful, ethnic hatred. We watch regional wars grind on, prolonged by an implacable tyrant bent on self-glorification and the expansion of his own wealth and power.

At such a time, it is good to remember that 2,000 years ago, a child was born for whom there was no room at the inn — a child laid instead in a stable because there was nowhere else to go. Jesus spent his childhood in the simplest of households and his adulthood accounting for every penny, for the life of a carpenter brought little money.

Let us set aside the calamities of the world, if only for a moment, and celebrate the birth of the most extraordinary child ever born — the one who offers eternal love and shelter from the storm.

When Jesus left his home to serve the world, his life became unlike that of the foxes, who have dens, or the birds, who have nests. The Son of Man had no place to lay his head. He rejected the paths of wealth, power, and pride, choosing instead humility, love, and suffering.

His ministry began when he read from the prophet Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.” That good news was revolutionary. God was not, as the Greeks imagined, a distant and uncaring master of abstractions. Nor was he, as many expected, a cold and exacting judge.

The good news was that God is filled with love for humanity — and that was cause for celebration.

So Jesus’ first miracle was not an act of conquest or condemnation, but joy: the transformation of water into wine at a wedding in Cana.

When Jesus chose his companions, he chose people like himself — humble, ordinary, and yet extraordinary. He welcomed women into his ministry, from his mother Mary to Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Susanna, and many others, treating their womanhood as sacred. As F.R. Maltby observed, Jesus promised his followers three things: that they would be completely fearless, absurdly happy, and in constant trouble. Wherever they went, they brought hope, kindness, and cheer, and when Jesus spoke, his words carried the breath of heaven.

Jesus welcomed everyone he encountered — Jews and Romans, Greeks and Samaritans. He spoke with rabbis, tax collectors, and sinners alike. But he devoted his deepest attention to those who suffered: the blind, the deaf, the lame, the lepers. He touched those no one else would touch and loved those no one else would love.

When disciples of John the Baptist asked who he was, Jesus answered simply: “Tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them” (Luke 7:22).

Even more radical was his teaching. “Love your enemies,” he said. “Bless those who curse you. Do good to those who hate you. Pray for those who mistreat you. As you would have others treat you, so must you treat them.”

And above all: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27).

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Photo by Fine Art Images/Heritage Images/Getty Images

Jesus taught through parables, stories anyone could understand. Perhaps the most famous is that of the prodigal son — a young man who squandered his inheritance on gambling, drink, and excess, only to be welcomed home with celebration rather than condemnation. Jesus explained it this way: “If a man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray?" (Matthew 18:12).

God, in his love, was searching for a lost humanity, and Jesus was the shepherd sent to bring it home.

When the Pharisees asked when the kingdom of God would come, Jesus answered, “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21). It is entered freely — not by force, not by empire, not by the power of Caesar. There exists a realm where Caesar’s writ does not run, a domain belonging wholly to God.

To bring us into that kingdom of peace, Christ endured the cross — the only place on earth that finally made room for one so profoundly good.

Before he departed, he instructed his apostles to greet every home with a prayer for peace — a peace available only in the kingdom he builds within each of us.

So let us set aside the calamities of the world, if only for a moment, and celebrate the birth of the most extraordinary child ever born — the one who offers eternal love and shelter from the storm.

Merry Christmas.

Weddings cost money. Marriage costs everything.



There’s an old joke about how things change “after the honeymoon’s over” (in both marriage and work). It’s funny because it’s true. Every couple eventually comes down from the cake, the photos, and the glow. Some land gently. Others crash.

But the principle holds: The real work begins when the music fades.

Newlyweds may still bask in the warmth of vows they barely felt. But life has a way of testing those words sooner than expected.

Are we preparing couples for that moment — especially men — in a culture that rewards detachment more than devotion? In a nation filled with boys, are we raising men? In a society where even those at the highest levels of authority will not clearly define what a woman is, are we preparing men to sacrificially love one? In a world obsessed with sex and gratification, are we preparing men to lay down their lives rather than taking up their desires?

Treasure forged in marriage

I recently interviewed Jay Leno, who’s been caring for his wife of 45 years, Mavis, through serious health challenges. He told me, “This is where you earn your mettle. This is where you find out — do I really love her, or was it just easy when life was easy?”

Jay’s words reminded me that the cost of marriage isn’t just a burden — it’s a path to treasures only commitment reveals.

What makes marriage better isn’t avoiding the cost; it’s discovering the treasures it brings. You get to see grace do its quiet work over many years. You see joy flourish in places that should be barren. You see how scars — both physical and unseen — can frame a beauty more profound than youth. And you see God’s faithfulness in the unglamorous valleys where most resign.

Marriage is rewarding, and even one with caregiving is not a burden if you understand the calling. It’s not unhappy, but it does mean choosing one person above all others and guarding that choice. Chronic impairments just cause the guardrails to get a bit higher.

Newlyweds may still bask in the warmth of vows they barely felt. But life has a way of testing those words sooner than expected.

Love in suffering

A caller to my radio show once shared what happened when his wife came down with the flu.

“It was chaos,” he said. “Laundry stacked up. We lived on takeout. I missed work. No sleep. No sex.”

“How long did it last?”

“Five days.”

He sounded like he’d survived a war, not a week of sneezes. If five days can do that, what happens when it’s 100 days? A thousand? Ten thousand?

I’ve logged more than 14,000 days as a caregiver for my wife.

Most couples ease into suffering. We started with it. By the time we married, Gracie had survived a car wreck and 21 surgeries. That number has since climbed to 98 — across 13 hospitals. I lost count of physicians after 100. Minor procedures that didn’t require anesthesia easily surpass 150. I’ve collected more hospital visitor badges than some people have church bulletins.

But in that weight, I’ve come to see something sacred.

Our Savior also took a wounded bride. And he offered his body to be broken for her.

To my knowledge, Scripture gives only one direct charge to husbands: “Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her” (Ephesians 5:25).

Not when she’s at her best. Not when it’s fair. Not when the load is balanced.

Just this: Love her. As Christ loved the church. At the cost of yourself.

Marriage is deployment

Failure lurks in every marriage, especially in those that include caregiving. My “sanctification opportunities” are like Costco — always in bulk — where my weakness crashes into God’s mercy, usually after frustration hits a wall.

Yet while my performance record is nothing to brag about, my attendance record remains flawless. I’ve discovered faith is often disguised as consistency.

Soldiers understand this better than most.

When you’re deployed, comfort isn’t expected. You have a mission. You stay focused.

Caregiving is deployment.

I didn’t sign up for applause. But I did sign up. And like many soldiers, I’ve learned to travel light, stay alert, and protect what matters: a woman whose scars still reflect the beauty of God’s sustaining grace.

Everything must serve the mission to “love your wife as Christ loved the church,” and that means saying no to jobs, travel, or even well‑meaning voices that pull you off course. Sin threatens the mission, but distraction does it quietly. Even good things, if misaligned, become the wrong things.

The cross Christ carried wasn’t shared evenly. Neither is caregiving. That’s why clarity matters.

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Photo by Andre Taissin/Getty Images

When poetry becomes a battlefield

Churches valiantly try to strengthen marriages, and for many couples, those efforts help. But most of what’s offered assumes shared capacity. Suffering doesn’t always allow for mutual effort. Sometimes it’s just one of you standing while the other fades.

Standing alone doesn’t mean failing. It means standing.

That’s when the vows stop sounding like romantic poetry and become a daily battlefield, often marked by crushing silence.

In caregiving, strength is budgeted. Waste it, and there’s nothing left for what matters most.

Christ’s mission for his wounded bride didn’t trap him. It revealed his glory.

He walks with us

This mission we choose won’t make headlines. It’s not meant to. But God sees. He hasn’t asked us to understand everything. He’s asked us to trust Him. And maybe that’s the point, whether you’re facing five days of sickness — or a lifetime.

Show up. Filter the noise. Decline the distractions. Love the one entrusted to you — you won’t do it perfectly, but you can do it persistently and consistently.

Scripture doesn’t offer husbands “10 steps to a successful marriage.” It offers a cross. Just a path: the Via Dolorosa. And the one who walked it before us and walks it with us.

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The helicopter went down in Gia Dinh. The grief never left.



Although my own family never lost a loved one in war, my childhood best friend, “Buddy,” did. His uncle Jack was killed in Vietnam in 1967. More specifically, Buddy’s mother — my “emergency backup mom” growing up — lost her kid brother in that war. She remains part of my life to this day.

Buddy was too young at the time to remember Jack or the news of his death. But Jack’s picture hung on the wall of their house, and his memory quietly lingered. The family held him in reverence.

Grandfather didn’t just want to remember Jack — he needed to believe his son’s sacrifice mattered.

As the 1970s turned into the 1980s, Jack began to feel like a figure from a distant past — rarely discussed except on Memorial Day and increasingly removed from the rhythm of everyday life.

Then, in the early 1990s, our two families planned a multigenerational beach vacation on the Gulf Coast. Buddy and I were now young adults. His grandparents — Jack’s parents — joined us from out of state.

In that rented beach house, I finally understood the depth of their loss.

Twenty-five years after losing his only son, Buddy’s grandfather still talked about Jack often. He told stories about Jack’s strength of character, his patriotism, and how much he would have loved to be with us. He said Jack would have been a great father. He wished Buddy had cousins — the kids Jack never lived to father — playing with us on the beach.

One morning, as Buddy, my dad, and I packed up for a fishing trip, Grandfather told us that Jack had loved to fish. He would have joined us, if only he could have.

Each night at supper, Grandfather bowed his head and thanked God for the years they had with Jack. He prayed that Jack would remain in God’s care until the family could one day be reunited in heaven.

He also talked about the war. About the helicopter shot down in Gia Dinh Province. About the impossible task of finding meaning in that loss. He didn’t just want to remember Jack — he needed to believe his son’s sacrifice mattered.

Buddy’s grandmother cried often during that trip. The grief never left her, not even after 25 years. It stayed with her until the day she died. I pray she and her husband are now reunited with Jack. Buddy’s mother still mourns the brother she lost 58 years ago.

We are blessed to live in a country where men like Jack give everything they have — willingly — for a cause greater than themselves. May God comfort those they left behind. And may He give us the wisdom and courage to build a world where fewer families must endure such loss.

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