God’s Children are Under Attack: Part II

Link to Part I.

A Hidden Language: Emoji Codes and the Illusion of Parental Oversight

There’s something deeply unsettling about watching a parent read their child’s phone messages, and not understanding a word of it.

Not because it’s in another language.
But because it’s coded.

Emojis. Slang. Acronyms. Phrases with double meanings. A thousand little signals that make perfect sense to the group chat but pass invisibly under the eyes of the adult world. What looks innocent often isn’t. What seems like gibberish may be a cry for help. Or a threat. Or an invitation. Or a wound.

Here are just a few examples, ones I’ve had to explain to parents over the years:

• 💀 doesn’t mean death—it means “I’m dead” as in “That’s so funny I’m dying.”
• 🪦 can mean death—real death—as in “I want to disappear.”
• 🍃, 💨, or 🌿 often refer to drugs.
• 🐍 can mean “traitor.”
• 🤡 can mean “loser” or “someone being mocked.”
• 🧠 can be sexual. So can 🍑, 🍆, 🌮, and countless others.

And these are just the symbols. There are also coded abbreviations like KMS (“kill myself”), POS (“parent over shoulder”), and 9 (used to warn friends that a teacher or parent is nearby). The language is always evolving, intentionally so, because secrecy is part of the currency.

Here’s the point: even when parents see the message, they don’t always understand what it means.

It’s like the Tower of Babel, but inverted.
Not confusion among peoples, but confusion within a single household.

This is what happens when we allow our children to build a culture without us.
They speak a language we don’t know.
They live in a world we don’t inhabit.
They suffer wounds we never see, not because they’re hidden, but because they’re encrypted.

I’ve had moms tell me, “I checked my daughter’s DMs. Nothing seemed bad.”
And then later, they find out their daughter was being bullied. Ostracized. Groomed.
Right there in the open. In plain sight. But not in plain meaning.

This isn’t just a loss of control. It’s a loss of relationship.
Because relationship is built on communication—and if we don’t share a common language with our children, how can we form their hearts?

How can we protect what we don’t understand?
How can we guide what we can’t even read?

The illusion of oversight is one of the great lies of our age.
It makes us feel like we’re doing our job as parents or teachers because we check the phone, scan the screen, glance at the emojis.
But we don’t see the world behind the message.

And in that world, kids are being shaped—by peers, by predators, by influencers, by algorithms.
Shaped without our knowledge.
Formed without our voice.

And they are not being formed into saints.

The Catch-22: Online Bullying and the Cruelty of Social Acceptance

Here’s the trap:
We’ve raised a generation of kids who are addicted to being seen—
in a world that is built to shame them the moment they are.

Social media is, at its core, a popularity contest with no finish line. And teenagers are biologically wired to care about fitting in. It’s not immaturity, it’s development. Their identities are still forming. Their self-worth is fragile. They’re supposed to be looking around for affirmation, for belonging, for boundaries.

But the digital world offers none of that.
Just endless comparison, fleeting approval, and brutal punishment for the smallest misstep.

In the physical world, if you make a mistake, it’s embarrassing for a few minutes.
In the digital world, it’s screenshotted, shared, mocked, replayed.
Forever.

Online bullying doesn’t stop when the bell rings. It doesn’t take weekends off. It doesn’t require physical strength or courage, just anonymity and cruelty. And it’s everywhere. Whisper networks. Group chats. Comments under a photo. Fake accounts made just to torment someone. I’ve met kids who’ve been exiled from their peer group for accidentally liking the wrong post. Others for saying the wrong thing in the wrong tone.

What used to be normal adolescent awkwardness, learning how to say the right thing, how to make amends, how to grow, now carries the risk of total social collapse.

And here’s where it gets impossible.

If a parent sees this happening and removes the phone…
if they shut down the apps, delete the account, try to protect their child from the cruelty…
the child is suddenly cut off from everything else, too.

They’re no longer just free from the bullies.
They’re free from all their friends.
From class jokes. From weekend plans. From private invites. From the digital hallway where modern friendship lives and breathes.

So what do they do?

They stay.
Even when it hurts.
Even when it breaks them.
Even when they say things like, “I don’t want to live anymore.”

And they’re not exaggerating.
They’re not being dramatic.
They’re drowning.

This is the nightmare we’ve created.
Stay online and be devoured by cruelty.
Leave and be condemned to loneliness.

That’s the Catch-22.
And if you think I’m overstating it, sit with a teenager for ten minutes and ask them what would happen if you took their phone away. Watch their face. Not because they’re addicted—but because that’s where their entire social life lives now. That’s where their worth is measured.

We didn’t mean to do this to them.
But we did.
We gave them the means to destroy each other, and told them to enjoy it.

We handed them the digital equivalent of Pharaoh’s brick quotas:
“Make friends, be funny, stay connected, get likes…
but we won’t give you the tools, the rest, or the love you need to do it.”

So they lash out. Or they shut down. Or they disappear into their own heads, where the voices echo with judgment and rejection.

And we wonder why they don’t look us in the eye anymore.

Where Do We Go From Here?

I don’t have a perfect solution.
I can’t give you a ten-step plan or an app that makes it all better.
All I have is this aching conviction that something has to change.

Because the way we’re living right now?
It’s not sustainable.
Not for our kids.
Not for our homes.
Not for our souls.

So where do we begin?

We begin small.
We begin here.

1. Limit Phones in Schools

This is the lowest-hanging fruit, and it’s already working in places that have the courage to act. When schools limit phone use, students breathe. They reconnect. They re-engage. And even if they protest at first, something in them relaxes when the pressure is lifted.
It’s not a punishment. It’s a gift.

Let’s give them that gift.

Let’s bake into their day a natural fast from the digital noise. Let’s create tech-free zones where they can hear each other again, and hear themselves.

And yes, it will help teachers. But more importantly, it will help children be children again.

2. Reclaim Human Formation

We can no longer assume that kids will learn how to have relationships just by being around people. That assumption belonged to a world that no longer exists.

We have to teach them—explicitly—how to:
Relate
Communicate
Forgive
Empathize
Disagree
Reconcile

We must teach them how to recognize their emotions, manage their reactions, and navigate conflict without shaming or ghosting or canceling.

This must become a core part of both education and Church life.
Not just a once-a-year retreat.
Not just a PowerPoint on kindness.
An integrated, intentional, daily effort to form hearts.

3. Lead by Fasting

This part hurts. Because it means we have to change, too.

We can’t preach digital moderation while checking our emails during dinner.
We can’t complain about screen time while scrolling through Instagram in the pickup line.

We must go first.
We must reclaim our own attention.
We must rediscover boredom, silence, eye contact, rest.

This will cost us.
But it will also save us.

Because if we want our children to be free, we must show them what freedom looks like.

This is how we begin.
With small steps.
With brave boundaries.
With the humility to admit that we’ve made a mess—and the love to start cleaning it up.

We may not have chosen this battle.
But it’s ours now.
And the souls of our children are not a price we’re willing to pay.

The Crossroad of Love and Discipline

In the end, this isn’t about phones.
It’s not even about technology.
It’s about formation.
It’s about love.

Because love isn’t just affection or protection. Love, real love, disciplines. It sets limits. It tells the truth. It looks a child in the eye and says, “I will not let you fall apart—not on my watch.”

That’s where we are now.
At a crossroad.
Not just as parents or teachers or Church leaders, but as a culture.

We can keep pretending this is normal.
We can keep shrugging our shoulders and telling ourselves kids are resilient.
We can keep watching them spiral while we scroll.

Or we can act.

We can say no, to the algorithm, to the constant exposure, to the pressure that’s squeezing the joy out of childhood.
We can create sacred spaces, homes, schools, parishes, where children can rest, breathe, and be formed.
We can fast.
We can lead.
We can love with our eyes open and our hearts on fire.

Because God has always responded when His children are under attack.
Sometimes with mercy.
Sometimes with judgment.
But never with indifference.

He is watching us now.

Not to catch us in failure, but to see if we will choose Him over the glowing idols.
To see if we will finally rise and protect what He has placed in our care.
To see if we will reclaim the most sacred ministry on earth: raising His children.

There is still time.
But the moment is now.