Parents contract with faith-based programs for various reasons: They're believers, they can't afford other options or sometimes as a last resort. The two men Dale Knowlton hired to abduct his 16-year-old son showed up as planned at his home near Kansas City at 4 a.m. sharp. Because Knowlton was nervous, because he wanted the regrettable work over and done, he met the men in the middle of his yard, before they even reached his doorstep.

As the father greeted the near strangers who would take away his defiant and suicidal son, he felt crushed by failure. That it had come to this. That he really was out of options. That no one -- not therapists, not insurance companies, not the juvenile justice system -- gave him any choice but to have his son taken by force to a religious reform school across the state.

Knowlton had sought out the men from California after he first heard of "escort services" that do nothing but transport problem teens to treatment programs. He was relieved that the obscure industry could help but devastated to be one its clients. "It was the most horrendous decision of my life," he said

Several days and $2,500 later, he was letting the men in his home and going over the protocol they had discussed in numerous phone calls. He took them directly to his sleeping son, turned on the light, and repeated a rehearsed line that went something like: "Corey, I love you very much, but we both know that you need help. These guys are here to help you."

Knowlton left the house immediately, mainly because he was instructed to do so beforehand. But he also needed an exit from the protests and biting words he suspected would erupt from his son. "It's almost like you are witnessing your own failure as a parent," he said.

Within minutes, Knowlton and his girlfriend were at a restaurant, wondering about Corey and his five-hour car ride to Hope Baptist Church and Boarding School, in St. James, Mo. The torturous wait ended when one of the men from the escort service called to say Corey had arrived safely. By midday, Knowlton once again hoped that his son, who had seemed to fall through every crack in the system, finally would get some help.

He would keep that hope alive right up until Corey jumped through a window after being paddled by the school's operator, the Rev. Joseph Intagliata. The broken glass left Corey with dozens of stitches in his arms, hands and legs. The pastor is facing criminal abuse charges for excessively paddling Corey.

Knowlton is among the hundreds of parents who send their children to Missouri's religious reform schools from across the country. Here, the schools are unregulated and a few have a history of abuse allegations.

Many parents seek out the schools specifically because they offer a biblical solution for their child's behavioral problems. Those parents aren't interested in professional therapy, preferring to turn their kids around with a mix of tough love and doctrinal teachings. Nikki Cherry of Kingwood, Texas, sent her daughter to Mountain Park near Poplar Bluff, Mo., because she believed her teen would find the Lord and turn her life around. And that's exactly what she said happened.

But many other parents have little in common philosophically with the strict reform schools they pick for their kids. Administrators of the schools in Missouri say the vast majority of their clients do not share their faith. Several of those parents interviewed by the Post-Dispatch say the faith-based approach was the right fit for their children and they have been delighted by the results.

But for others the religious reform schools aren't a first choice. They sign up with trepidation because they feel they have no other options. The parents occupy what mental health advocates describe as a no man's land when it comes to services for teens with behavioral problems.

The parents are turned away from the juvenile justice system because their kids have not committed serious crimes. Their health insurance covers only a few counseling sessions. Government mental health programs are no help, because they serve mostly children in state custody. And the parents can't get public schools to offer much more than a few special education classes.

So the parents go it alone, seeking out whatever programs they can afford, making compromises along the way. That's where Knowlton found himself two years ago when his son began what he describes as a sudden but sustained fit of defiance. At first, Corey missed curfews, then he began to steal from the family. Soon he stayed away all night and then for days at a time.

Finally, in two separate instances, he attempted suicide. Initially, Knowlton turned to his health insurance and was able to get Corey both inpatient and outpatient counseling. But his benefits ran out. Like so many other parents, he tried the family courts and state mental health programs with no luck. Then he heard of a pastor who operated a home for a handful of boys.