5 Mistakes in My Fight for Children

What It Taught Me and How It Can Help You

In 2012, I (Katy) started blogging anonymously about how children were being victimized in the marriage and family debate. It wasn’t a hobby; it was a compulsion. I’d write at stoplights. I’d write at 2:30 a.m. I didn’t know where this was headed, but God had given me some early promises—and some warnings: I would confront pharaohs, speak to kings and governors, write it all in a book, and must not be dismayed before them… or He would dismay me before them.

People would ask about my five-year or ten-year plan. Even after formally launching Them Before Us in 2018, I didn’t have one. My plan was to wake up and obey God’s marching orders for the day. Now I have a board, a budget, and a plan. But the mission still runs on nimbleness, adaptability, and high spiritual dependence. And honestly, that’s been enough to survive the last decade-plus. But after 13 years, I can see patterns. Some things I’d do again in a heartbeat. Some things I’d never repeat. Here are five of them—from the small-but-annoying to the gut-wrenching.

Whether you are navigating your own high calling or just fine-tuning your everyday interactions, I hope learning from my mistakes improves your strategy and relationships.

1. My distractibility is a liability

I’m not a linear thinker. For that, you’d have to talk to Mr. Faust, who can build a sermon—or an argument—A to Z without skipping a single letter. I, however, tend to hop around. I can draft an email while chopping veggies while helping with homework. That’s handy when you need to bang out a rush article or schedule a kid’s doctor appointment mid-Zoom.

But in ideological combat, distraction is a liability. Sometimes you don’t need to pivot, you need to press.

Case in point: a recent interview with a gay Australian journalist who has two surrogate-born children. It was a civil conversation, but make no mistake—we were in an ideological war.

I asked him to define a “broken home.”

Him: A home with parental conflict where one parent leaves.

Me: Okay… so what’s broken?

Him: The nuclear family.

Me: What’s a nuclear family?

Him: Two parents and kids.

Me: Why two?

Him: Uh… well… why not two? Wouldn’t you have to make the case for not two?

Me: But why two?

Him: Probably from culture and biology… could be four.

At that moment, I knew I had him. Because when marriage is no longer a male/female union, there’s no logical reason to limit it to two adults. The whole “two-parents” standard collapses.

But instead of planting my flag, I got pulled into a tangent about blue-haired polygamists and Islamic patriarchy. In that moment, I surrendered the high ground I had been aiming for, all because I didn’t have the clarity or the stubbornness to keep the fight where it belonged.

Mr. Faust would not have made that mistake.

Lesson: Don’t let shiny objects pull you off critical objectives. Know the point you came to make, and hold it. Even if your opponent throws a dozen distractions your way, have the clarity to stay focused and deliver your point calmly and directly, without being pushed off course.

2. I let “startup mode” go on too long

Them Before Us had no employees until 2022. For years, I was proud to say we were “volunteer-run.” It sounded noble, like we were a scrappy little band running on grit and conviction.

In reality, it slowed us down.

Even with big hearts and great skills, volunteers can be inconsistent. We experienced volunteers who could work hard for a few weeks, then need to take a breather (often for very understandable reasons—life, jobs, kids). In the season we were in it was becoming clear we needed more. Yet, even though our organization needed to hire staff, I was reluctant because saying “volunteer run” was easier than taking the leap of faith and hiring staff who could accomplish what God was calling us to accomplish.

The result? Critical projects stalled or died. Momentum sputtered.

I should have built a real team sooner—paid, dedicated staff who could advance the mission every single day. Once I did, everything changed. Projects finished. Deadlines were met. And I realized that my pride in being “volunteer-run” was more about image than impact.

Lesson: There’s nothing noble about running a critical mission on fumes. Know the mission but hold the method loosely. Obey fully the what but let God surprise you in the how.

But that lesson was deeply connected to my third big regret… I wanted to do this work. But I was unwilling to do what was needed to sustain this work.