A sweet and kind friend recently sent me an article from Desiring God. Beautifully written in places, it encourages young parents in the trenches, referencing the imago Dei and the blessing children are—even when the house is a disaster because of them. Pushing back against our culture’s utilitarian view of parenthood, it argues they are good precisely because God made them.
I’m grateful for the message. The church needs this reminder.
And yet, my heart raced as I scanned lines like, “…they become productive members of the household and society. They always added joy to us; now they add increase.”
I went from wincing to dismay when the author continued: “These days too shall pass, I’m told. The days are coming when the kids can get themselves in the car and make themselves breakfast. They will be able to use the bathroom during the sermon and clean up their own rooms without adding confusion to the chaos.”
And finally: “In those days of independence, we will look back fondly on their dependence. And by God’s grace, we will give thanks for seasons of what felt like unpleasant work, because it reaped a harvest.”
A lump formed in my throat.
The Painful Disconnect
I know the author didn’t mean it this way. His heart is pastoral. His audience is exhausted parents of young children who need to hear “this will get easier.” And for many families, it will. That comfort is real and needed.
Yet the promise he offers—chaos yielding to order, dependence becoming independence, and “unpleasant work” reaping a harvest of autonomy—pierced my heart by the unintended exclusion.
Special needs parents don’t necessarily live “chaos” in the toddler sense the author, Morse, describes. However, we live sustained dependence—not just the mess of finger paint (though some therapies require that), but the enduring labor caring for bodies and minds that develop on unique timelines. Morning meds. Afternoon therapy. Difficult transitions. Repeat. For years. With no “graduation” in sight.
Independence or productivity may come late, partially, or not at all. We’re still working on swallowing water and indicating “all done”, while peers’ kids are potty training, speaking sentences, and running. Other milestones mentioned in the article are legitimate questions marks for many families.
And here’s where it gets even more complicated. While the small group casually talks about college funds—which we are too, for one child—we are simultaneously thinking about alternate opportunities and day programs for the other. The developmental timelines aren’t just protracted in our home; they fully diverge. And the article’s framework doesn’t make room for both realities in the same family, let alone the same heart.
Here’s the theological tension: The article grounds children’s value in creation (“God made them”—the imago Dei), but locates God’s grace in outcomes (“productive members of the household and society”). It assumes every child reaches “contributor status,” lightening parents’ load and validating the investment. If grace makes the memory sweet because independence came, what happens when independence doesn’t come? Does that mean God’s grace was conditional all along? That it only “counts” if the hard work produces measurable results?
This isn’t just a personal hurt. It’s a theological gap. Because if God’s image in humans requires eventual productivity, then anyone with significant disabilities are perpetually stuck in the “not yet fully imaging God” category. And that flatly contradicts Genesis 1:27 and Psalm 139:13–16, which declares the image complete at creation, not contingent on development.
Reclaiming Imago Dei
God creates humans in His image, conferring value regardless of ability, achievement, or usefulness. Theologians have long wrestled with what “His image” entails, but for special needs families, the crux hinges on the inclusion of two realities we know intimately: vulnerability and interdependence.
Here’s where evangelical culture, myself included, gets tangled: We say we believe God’s image isn’t about capacity, but we live as if it is. We affirm theologically that a newborn bears God’s image fully—before they can speak, reason, or contribute. We defend the unborn’s image-bearing precisely because it doesn’t depend on development or potential.
But then—almost without noticing—we measure children’s blessing by their eventual “increase.” We celebrate “launching” kids into independence as the goal of Christian parenting. We unconsciously treat autonomy as maturity and dependence as something to outgrow, a phase to graduate from rather than a reality to embrace.
We say the image is
ontological (inherent/being),
but we reward
the functional (doing).
Our orthopraxy doesn’t match our orthodoxy. We say the image is ontological (inherent/being), but we reward the functional (doing). And families like mine—where doing may never catch up to cultural expectations’ being—are left wondering: Did we miss the memo? Or does the theology need completing?
Dependence isn’t a bug in God’s design—it’s a feature. We are all fundamentally dependent creatures. Every breath is borrowed. Every heartbeat, a gift we didn’t earn and can’t sustain. Disability doesn’t introduce dependence into the human story—it simply makes visible what was always true.
Consider Joni Eareckson Tada. Quadriplegic for over 50 years. Unable to feed herself, dress herself, or perform the basic tasks of independence the article incidentally describes as markers of maturity. And yet—she is one of the most Christlike people alive. Her dependence hasn’t diminished her witness; it’s amplified it. She images God not despite her disability, but through it. Her life preaches a sermon our self-sufficient culture desperately needs to hear.
If biblical maturity is Christlikeness (not autonomy), then Joni proves the point: The most spiritually mature among us may never achieve physical independence. And that’s not a design failure—it’s a revelation of what imaging God actually means.
Grace in the Present, Not Retrospective
This brings us back to the article’s comfort—and why, with all gentleness, it doesn’t quite reach us.
The article promises grace that beautifies memory from independence’s distant vantage point. I understand the pastoral intent. Looking back from a place of relief can give meaning and sweetness to a difficult season. But Scripture doesn’t ask us to wait for retrospective grace. It insists God’s grace meets us now.
- “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor 12:9)—not will be perfect, but is.
- “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases” (Lam 3:22)—not once you’re through, but never ceases, even now.
Can we reframe “the harvest”? Perhaps the harvest isn’t independence at all, but intimacy with a God who doesn’t wait for our strength, and instead shows up in our weakness. Perhaps the increase isn’t productivity, but the deepening knowledge that we are held, known, and beloved. Not for what we accomplish, but for Whose we are.
Defiant Hope: Revelations of Abundance
Let me be clear: There is so much the article gets right. Children are blessings. Chaos has purpose. Parenting images God’s redemptive work in the world. These are vital truths. I’m not asking the author to retract a single word of them.
I’m simply asking the church to extend the truths—to widen the circle of comfort to include families his framework accidentally left out and to consider the ways special needs epitomize the imago Dei.
Here’s what I’m learning from the trenches of sustained dependence: Value is grounded in creation, not capacity. The child with delayed milestones, the adult needing lifelong support, the parents bearing open-ended load that may never lighten—they are not exceptions to God’s design. They are revelations of it.
They preach what our achievement-obsessed, productivity-worshiping culture desperately needs: You are loved not for what you do, but Whose you are. Not for the harvest you’ll produce, but the image you already bear. Not because you’ll become independent someday, but because God calls you beloved today.
And that truth? That’s not consolation. That’s gospel.
So where does this leave us?
For families with special needs: You are not waiting for grace to arrive when independence comes. Grace is here now, in the dailiness, in the dependence, in the image your child bears fully today. The harvest isn’t future productivity. It’s present intimacy with the God who meets you in weakness and calls it the very place His power is perfected.
For the church: We must stop offering comfort that only works for temporary dependence. Our parenting theology, our celebration of milestones, our vision of “successful” families needs to make room for those whose chaos doesn’t resolve, whose timelines never align with the charts, whose children will never “add increase” in the ways we’ve measured it. Not as exceptions we tolerate, but as image-bearers we celebrate.
And for all of us: Maybe it’s time to ask whether our cultural obsession with independence has blinded us to the beauty of interdependence—the design God embedded in the Trinity itself, the reality families with special needs live every day, and the truth the gospel has been whispering all along: We were never meant to do this alone.
If you found this article helpful or thought-provoking, more resources are available and curated for caregivers, support crews, pastors, and counselors.
Brianne Sutton is the author of Siege of the Soul, a book for parents navigating faith, especially after an unexpected diagnosis. With a background in neuroscience and personal experience with special needs parenting challenges, Brianne writes with empathy and insight for weary souls seeking hope.
