Edited by Jim McCrory, Sunday 11 January 2026 at 18:40
Is Your Family Falling Apart?
Some thoughts have been dancing in my mind lately, like the Northern Lights—beautiful, elusive, asking to be gathered into something meaningful. I feel the need to shape them into a human value, something worth holding onto, especially at a time when so many families seem to be quietly coming apart.
I have no political allegiance to any party, yet recently I watched a short podcast by Jacob Rees-Mogg titled Why I Always Read the Sun. To my surprise, I found in him a kindred spirit, for reasons I have written about before. The discussion turned to celebrity culture and the West’s fixation on it. Godly wisdom goes without saying that private lives are nobody else’s business, yet those same lives are constantly paraded before us through reality television and carefully staged revelations from public-relations teams. One begins to wonder: does society need celebrities, or do celebrities need society, or are we all trapped in a rather bleak symbiosis that slowly erodes the home?
At one point, Jacob mentioned a small booklet he used to read to his children, drawn from the Ten Commandments: “Honor your father and your mother.” That struck me deeply. How often modern television undermines that simple command. Parents are mocked, portrayed as foolish or irrelevant. Children shout down their elders in soaps and comedies, while the younger generation is presented as the wise and morally superior voice. These images seep quietly into our living rooms and, over time, into the fabric of family life.
In our own household, we are careful. We pay the TV licence mostly for the occasional travel programme, farming shows, and stories about vets. The television stays off until the day is properly finished—meal eaten, kitchen tidied, Scripture read, prayers said. Around nine in the evening, we might watch something on catch-up. Yet even these so-called wholesome programmes have grown repetitive. Though we still read privately, we no longer read together, and I began to sense that something important was missing.
So, we changed something.
After all responsibilities are done, we now sit together and listen to a book. I have cancer, and by that time of evening my energy for printed words is gone. But listening still opens a door. In the quiet, shared act of listening, something of our togetherness was restored.
Until a month ago, I had never heard of Rob Parsons. In another life, I like to imagine him and I sitting at a quiet, metaphysical campfire with Barnabas, C.S. Lewis and a few others talking about joy, and the unusual ways we were drawn toward our Creator. We began listening to his book A Knock at the Door, and I was unprepared for its power.
There is a moment in the book when Rob faces the worst year of his life. One evening, sitting alone in the dark with his thoughts, there comes a knock at the door. He does not spell everything out, but I felt, unmistakably, the presence of the Holy Spirit in that moment. (I should say this: this is not the same knock in the theme of the book, but a secondary incident that was impactful in my listening).
Last week, I found myself low in spirit. It was one of those weeks when you almost expect a knock of your own, a compassionate email or phone call, but it never happened, but something else did.
The compassion and quiet grace I encountered in Rob’s story became that knock for me; a friend in my presence sent by God. It reminded me that brokenness is not healed by noise, distraction, or spectacle, but by attention, presence, and love.
So, what does all this have to do with families falling apart?
What stood out most in A Knock at the Door was compassion—deep, costly compassion, paired with extraordinary human kindness, the kind the Apostle Paul speaks of. And so, my suggestion is simple: gather your family. Sit together. Turn the television off. Listen to a story like this; one that nurtures humility, empathy, and tenderness and see whether something does not begin to change.
And don’t stop there. Make it a habit. From time to time, I will suggest other books worth listening to; stories that gently rebuild what constant noise and cultural distortion quietly tear down.
Sometimes the healing of a family does not arrive with grand speeches or dramatic interventions. Sometimes it comes as a simple knock at the door and a family willing to listen.
Editor’s note: These reflections arise from personal experience and quiet observation. References to books, media, and public figures are offered simply as part of a wider reflection on family, compassion, and shared life. Scripture is quoted from the public domain. This piece is written in the hope of encouraging thoughtful conversation rather than debate or commercial publishing.
Is Your Family Falling Apart?
Is Your Family Falling Apart?
Some thoughts have been dancing in my mind lately, like the Northern Lights—beautiful, elusive, asking to be gathered into something meaningful. I feel the need to shape them into a human value, something worth holding onto, especially at a time when so many families seem to be quietly coming apart.
I have no political allegiance to any party, yet recently I watched a short podcast by Jacob Rees-Mogg titled Why I Always Read the Sun. To my surprise, I found in him a kindred spirit, for reasons I have written about before. The discussion turned to celebrity culture and the West’s fixation on it. Godly wisdom goes without saying that private lives are nobody else’s business, yet those same lives are constantly paraded before us through reality television and carefully staged revelations from public-relations teams. One begins to wonder: does society need celebrities, or do celebrities need society, or are we all trapped in a rather bleak symbiosis that slowly erodes the home?
At one point, Jacob mentioned a small booklet he used to read to his children, drawn from the Ten Commandments: “Honor your father and your mother.” That struck me deeply. How often modern television undermines that simple command. Parents are mocked, portrayed as foolish or irrelevant. Children shout down their elders in soaps and comedies, while the younger generation is presented as the wise and morally superior voice. These images seep quietly into our living rooms and, over time, into the fabric of family life.
In our own household, we are careful. We pay the TV licence mostly for the occasional travel programme, farming shows, and stories about vets. The television stays off until the day is properly finished—meal eaten, kitchen tidied, Scripture read, prayers said. Around nine in the evening, we might watch something on catch-up. Yet even these so-called wholesome programmes have grown repetitive. Though we still read privately, we no longer read together, and I began to sense that something important was missing.
So, we changed something.
After all responsibilities are done, we now sit together and listen to a book. I have cancer, and by that time of evening my energy for printed words is gone. But listening still opens a door. In the quiet, shared act of listening, something of our togetherness was restored.
Until a month ago, I had never heard of Rob Parsons. In another life, I like to imagine him and I sitting at a quiet, metaphysical campfire with Barnabas, C.S. Lewis and a few others talking about joy, and the unusual ways we were drawn toward our Creator. We began listening to his book A Knock at the Door, and I was unprepared for its power.
There is a moment in the book when Rob faces the worst year of his life. One evening, sitting alone in the dark with his thoughts, there comes a knock at the door. He does not spell everything out, but I felt, unmistakably, the presence of the Holy Spirit in that moment. (I should say this: this is not the same knock in the theme of the book, but a secondary incident that was impactful in my listening).
Last week, I found myself low in spirit. It was one of those weeks when you almost expect a knock of your own, a compassionate email or phone call, but it never happened, but something else did.
The compassion and quiet grace I encountered in Rob’s story became that knock for me; a friend in my presence sent by God. It reminded me that brokenness is not healed by noise, distraction, or spectacle, but by attention, presence, and love.
So, what does all this have to do with families falling apart?
What stood out most in A Knock at the Door was compassion—deep, costly compassion, paired with extraordinary human kindness, the kind the Apostle Paul speaks of. And so, my suggestion is simple: gather your family. Sit together. Turn the television off. Listen to a story like this; one that nurtures humility, empathy, and tenderness and see whether something does not begin to change.
And don’t stop there. Make it a habit. From time to time, I will suggest other books worth listening to; stories that gently rebuild what constant noise and cultural distortion quietly tear down.
Sometimes the healing of a family does not arrive with grand speeches or dramatic interventions. Sometimes it comes as a simple knock at the door and a family willing to listen.
A Knock at the Door - Care for the Family
Why I always read The Sun - plus say hello to Pongo - YouTube
Blog notebook image by Copilot
Editor’s note:
These reflections arise from personal experience and quiet observation. References to books, media, and public figures are offered simply as part of a wider reflection on family, compassion, and shared life. Scripture is quoted from the public domain. This piece is written in the hope of encouraging thoughtful conversation rather than debate or commercial publishing.