Same Name. Same City. Still No Formula.

Fifteen years ago, I wrote about a book that unsettled me. The Other Wes Moore tells the story of two boys with the same name, growing up in the same city, under similar circumstances — yet ending up in radically different places. One became a scholar, veteran, and leader. The other is serving a life sentence for felony murder.

At the time, I read the book like a puzzle. I wanted to understand why.

I leaned on things I still believe deeply today — family matters, community matters, church matters. I still believe it takes a village to raise a child. When a community invests in its youth through education, sports, clubs, and churches, kids are better for it. Accountability matters. Presence matters. Modeling matters.

I’m still convinced of all that.

What has changed is my confidence that any of it guarantees an outcome.

Over the years, I’ve seen good parents do everything “right” and still experience deep heartache. I’ve also seen kids come from chaotic, unstable homes and somehow grow into steady, faithful adults. I’ve watched families quietly blame themselves for choices their children made — choices they did not endorse, encourage, or model.

And that weight is crushing.

Parents often carry guilt they were never meant to carry. They replay conversations, decisions, seasons, and wonder where they went wrong. They absorb responsibility for choices that were ultimately not theirs to make.

Here’s the hard truth I’ve come to believe: a parent can love deeply, show up faithfully, and plant good seeds — and a child can still rebel. Free will is real. And it hurts.

That doesn’t mean effort didn’t matter. It doesn’t mean the seeds won’t grow. It means parents are not sovereign over outcomes.

I had a great family growing up. They loved me, supported me, and set expectations. But I also had people outside my family who invested in me — Sunday School teachers, coaches, mentors, neighbors. They didn’t have to care, but they did. That mattered more than I realized at the time.

Family is essential. Community reinforces it. Church extends it. None of those replace one another — and none of them eliminate risk.

What complicates this reflection even more is that the “other” Wes Moore story didn’t end with the book. Wes Moore is now the Governor of Maryland. His life kept unfolding. That alone is a reminder we often decide a story is finished far too early.

The older I get, the less confident I am in explanations — and the more confident I am in God’s grace.

Grace doesn’t erase consequences. It doesn’t excuse poor choices. But it does something else that parents desperately need: it lifts a burden they were never meant to carry.

Grace says you are not a failure because your child made choices you would not have chosen.
Grace says guilt does not belong to you.
Grace says hope is still allowed.

There’s a father in Scripture who never stopped looking down the road. There may have been days he questioned himself. Days he replayed decisions. Days he wondered if he had failed. But what defined him wasn’t self-condemnation — it was hope. He kept watching. And when his son returned, he celebrated.

That story doesn’t promise quick endings or tidy resolutions. It promises something better: that God’s grace is big enough for wandering children — and weary parents.

To parents who are hurting: you are not alone. You have not failed. You are allowed to let go of guilt that does not belong to you. Keep loving. Keep hoping. Keep watching down the road.

And to the church — teachers, mentors, leaders, and ordinary people who show up — your presence matters more than you may ever know. Sometimes grace looks like consistency, patience, and compassion offered again and again without knowing how the story will end.

Same name. Same city. Still no formula.

But grace — more than I understood back then.