If you grew up in the 1960s, you remember that nightly publicservice announcement that came on right before the late news: “It’s 10 PM. Do you know where your children are?”

Of course, our parents didn’t know where we were. It was the 60s. Half the time we didn’t know where we were. Childhood back then was a freerange, unsupervised, loosely organized adventure involving bicycles with no helmets, creeks with questionable water quality, and a general understanding that you should be home “before dark,” which could mean anything from 5:30 PM to the next morning depending on the season and your mother’s mood.

Today’s parents track their children with GPS, Bluetooth, satellite imaging, and—if necessary—a drone. In the 60s, the only tracking device was your mother’s voice hollering your name across three neighborhoods like a foghorn powered by righteous indignation. And somehow, that worked.

Back then, if you told your mom, you were “going outside,” that was considered a complete itinerary. No one asked followup questions. No one needed a permission slip. You could be building a treehouse, digging a hole to China, or accidentally setting something on fire. As long as you came home eventually and didn’t bleed on the carpet, you were considered a successful child.

And yet, for all the differences between then and now, one thing hasn’t changed: every generation has to figure out life—and faith—for themselves.

My generation grew up with three TV channels, rotary phones, and the theological certainty that if you ran in church, God would personally trip you. Today’s kids grow up with smartphones, streaming services, and the ability to Google “Why does my pastor say that?” during the sermon. (Please don’t tell me if you’ve done this.)

But here’s the truth: faith has never been something you inherit like your grandmother’s casserole dish. Each generation has to discover Christ anew—sometimes in ways that surprise the generation before them. And the church, if it wants to stay alive and not become the spiritual equivalent of lukewarm leftovers, has to let the Holy Spirit shape it into a living, breathing, organic body of Christ—not a museum of how things used to be.

The kids who grew up hearing “It’s 10 PM—do you know where your children are?” are now grandparents watching their own grandkids navigate a world we couldn’t have imagined. And just like our parents trusted us to find our way home before dark, we can trust that God is guiding this new generation toward their own encounter with grace.

So the next time you worry about “kids these days,” remember: our parents survived us. And God, who has been faithful through every generation—from rotary phones to TikTok—will be faithful still.

And if you’re reading this after 10 PM, don’t worry. God knows where His children are. Always has.

Always will.