Over the weekend, while my husband was checking us into a hotel, Lucy and I sat just a few feet away in the lounge area. Out of nowhere, a man approached. He walked straight up to me, looked me in the eyes, and said:
“I am going to ask your daughter a question.”
Not may I, not is it alright if—but a statement. Before I could even respond, he turned to Lucy and asked:
“Did you dress yourself this morning? Because you look so beautiful.”
My mind jolted. What did he just say? Was that creepy as heck, or was he trying to be kind? What is going on right now?
The entire exchange lasted maybe ten seconds, but my body has been replaying it all weekend. My mind spun through a storm of questions:
Was this just a socially awkward man trying to be kind? Was this someone I needed to protect Lucy from? Should I make a scene, or keep calm?
My husband walked over, sensing the strangeness too. Normally, I’d tell Lucy to politely answer, but this time I shook my head—giving her permission not to respond. We walked around the man and went straight to our room.
Even now, I can’t stop thinking about it. There’s a part of me that wonders if I should have stepped between them immediately and said out loud, “You may not talk to my daughter.” And another part that questions—was I overreacting to an awkward attempt at kindness?
Part of the battle was inside me. My childhood programming told me to always be respectful and trusting of people. So there I was—caught between that ingrained response to be polite and the louder voice of my instincts telling me to listen to the red flags. In the end, I chose safety over respect, and I no doubt do it again, but I still question if I should have said something.
I am not naïve about the dangers in this world. This is one of the biggest reasons karate is the non-negotiable activity for Lucy. Whether she likes it or not, she will stay in that class until she could teach it herself. This morning I shared this situation with her karate teacher, and she gave me the best line to use in a moment like that: “She is taught in karate not to talk to strangers.” End of conversation. Perfect!
Another reason this moment had me bristling all weekend is because my history won’t let me shrug things like this off. My aunt was murdered—her case still unsolved. My childhood best friend was brutally killed by a serial killer. Years later, my husband was roofied while we were on vacation. By God’s grace, he was unaffected—but we later learned this has become a human trafficking ploy: drug the husband, then take the wife and children. I know firsthand that the world holds horrifying, terrifying people. And yet—it also holds incredible beauty, filled with people God calls us to love. Teaching my daughter and son both of these truths—awareness and vigilance alongside compassion and kindness—is HARD.
That moment in the lounge reminded me how fast our instincts kick in. How quickly we have to decide: Do I risk being rude, or do I risk my child’s safety?
We live in a tension—teaching our kids to be kind but also cautious, open-hearted but also discerning. To trust and to question. To stand strong in a world that doesn’t always make sense.
So here’s what I want to leave with you: if you ever find yourself in one of those gray, uncertain moments—listen to the voice inside. Trust the red flags. I’d rather risk being rude to a stranger than ever question my children’s safety.
Raising Light 