Steve Saint's Accident...and One Year Update

Last June (a week after the accident):



Last July (shortly after the surgery his accident required):



One year later:

Steve Saint's Story of His Daughter's Death

Yesterday, in the first message on the book of Job in our series on suffering, I struggled to make it through reading the story Steve Saint tells of his daughter's death. Here's the link, for those of you who asked. For those of you who weren't there yesterday, here's enough to encourage you to go and read the whole thing.

Saint said:

I believe God planned my daughter’s death. ... 

We have an idea that if we do what God wants us to do, then he owes us to take the suffering away. I believed that; I don’t believe that anymore. ...

...Grandfather Mincaye...saw her at the hospital, lying on a gurney with a tube down her throat and needles in her arm, and he grabbed me and said, “Who did this to her?”...

I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know, Mincaye. Nobody is doing this.” 

And just like that, this savage from the jungles grabbed me again and said, “Babae, don’t you see?” 

No, I didn’t see. My heart was absolutely tearing apart; I didn’t know what was going on. 

He said, “Babae, Babae, now I see it well. Don’t you see? God himself is doing this.” 

And I thought, what are you saying? ...

Why is it that we want every chapter to be good when God promises only that in the last chapter he will make all the other chapters make sense, and he doesn’t promise we’ll see that last chapter here?

Job 1:20-22 (ESV, emphasis added)

Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped. And he said, "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD." In all this Job did not sin or charge God with wrong.

If you want to listen to the message where he told the story, you can find it here.

The Archer and the Arrow

Psalm 127:4 Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth.

Speaking of children and arrows…

Lily shot an arrow through our downstairs bathroom window not long ago. I was giving Ben a bath in the tub that sits just below said window. Yes, glass crashed into the tub. I extracted Ben very quickly. No harm done. Threw open the curtain and my eyes soon focused on the metal point, followed by the blaze orange shaft, now held fast by the screen it had first penetrated.

As my eyes focused out from the window to ten or fifteen feet outside the window, there was Lily. She was just slowing down, having hurried toward the window after her mistake. She looked horrified. The tears and apologies started immediately. I told her to go inside and wait for me in our room. I yelled for Beth and passed off the naked bather Ben so that I could attend to my little archer.

Now, first off, let me say that Sam’s “Little Bear” bow and arrow set is normally only used by him after parental permission has been granted. I’ve been with him enough that he is allowed to shoot it on his own, as long as his target is situated wisely and he is careful. Lily, on the other hand, has not yet been granted this privilege. I have no idea what thought process convinced her it would be okay. Probably there was no substantive thought process. But, hey, she’s a kid. I did some really dumb things when I was a kid. A lot of dumb things, actually. Like the time when I tried to puncture a pressurized aerosol can (there was still a lot of that fun spray stuff swishing around inside!) or the time I accidentally threw a baseball through one of the stained glass windows at our church or the time that I tried to do an “endo” (a.k.a. "stoppie") on my bike when I was traveling downhill way too fast. Anyway, setting up the target on the ground about 10 feet from the house, directly below the bathroom window, is probably not going to be a problem for an experienced archer. But Lily isn’t exactly Susan Penvensie…yet.

So, how do you respond as a parent? How do you deal with your little arrow when she shoots one through your window? How do you take advantage of this opportunity to straighten your precious little arrow, and not snap her spirit?

Did she need to be disciplined? Yes. But not so much for breaking the glass. She didn’t mean to do that. The real problem was that she took up arrows and bow without asking permission. She knew better. Zinging an arrow WAY over her target is, in a way, a problem (I want my girls to be crack shots, of course!). But I know she wasn’t cackling as she nocked that arrow, “I know what I’ll do to Dad! Give him another DIY project! Let’s see how he is at window replacement! Hahahahaha!”

Was it a costly mistake? Yes. Do I feel like paying that cost? No. Does she need to know, in a gentle and clear way, that mistakes have costly consequences? Yes. But what she didn’t need was me to “make her pay” in an angry, hold-it-over-her-head sort of way. What we parents tend to do, when our children make costly mistakes, is load the cost to us into the punishment. It’s why a dad angrily yells at his young son when he accidentally spills his milk at the dinner table. The dad has had a long day and wants a peaceful dinner. And no one better threaten that. He doesn’t want anyone else to take even another ounce, let alone a pound of flesh. So, 6 ounces of milk on the table means the child has “taken” comfort and peace from dad. And the dad is going to make him pay. Usually with interest.  So, the reaction goes something like this. “What in the world???!!! What are you THINKING?! C’mon!!! UHHHHHH! Don’t just sit there! It’s spilling over the edge of the table! Grab your napkin and stop it! (slams down fork on plate, stands up angrily in a huff and leers down on child who is now frozen in fear and filling with shame) C’MON! UHHHH! Why can’t we just sit down and eat dinner in peace?! Why can’t you be more careful?!”

He’s tired of the demands made on him through the day and he’s empty. He didn’t come home full of gospel grace and peace and truth. He came home empty, so he’s going to be on the take. He’s going to bite and devour. He’s got nothing to give and no strength or desire to serve.

The exchange could be simple. “It’s okay, buddy. I know you didn’t mean to spill it. Can you run and grab the paper towels and help me clean it up? Just try to be careful when you reach for the food in the middle of the table. It’s really easy to forget about your milk glass when you pull your arm back toward you plate.” Instead, it turns into a tantrum – Dad’s.

I’ve been guilty of such paternal tirades. To my shame, it wasn’t all that hard to write the “hypothetical” verbal reaction of the father. And yet, by God’s grace, I’ve been repenting and seeking more grace to come home full of grace and peace and truth to love and serve my family.

Back to Lily. So, how do you respond? How do you take advantage of this opportunity to sharpen your precious little arrow, and not snap her spirit?

One of the pieces of parenting wisdom we have been thankful for is the principle that discipline should be the result of rebellion and/or clear disobedience to parental authority, not for accidents or mistakes you haven’t yet prohibited. If your toddler opens your cabinet and distributes the contents of your flour container around your kitchen like a budding Jackson Pollock, don’t discipline him. Should you tell him, “No” with clarity and firmness? Of course. But this first act of flour art wasn’t necessarily borne of rebellion. He was curious and having multisensory fun, not sinisterly scheming against you. That being said, after that first fun event, and your clear flour flinging prohibition, you should most certainly discipline Billy for any further flour forays. He’s willingly disobeyed your clear command.

I can guarantee beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lily was not thinking of breaking windows, threatening the chubby flesh of her beloved baby brother when she took up bow and arrows. She had no intention of costing me a couple hundred dollars, or the time spent on another house project. She apparently wanted to show the neighbor kids her brother’s archery equipment and (presumably) her archery skills.

So, with Ben safely in Mommy’s care, I walked up to our bedroom to talk to my little archer, praying all the way for wisdom. I know she loves dearly her little brother. She was a wreck over the thought of harming him. She had already paid dearly. She did need to be disciplined, but I wanted it to be clear to her what for.

I told her first off that I loved her and gave her a big hug and kissed her head. I told her that I knew that she didn’t mean to break the window or endanger Ben. I did tell her what could have happened; not to turn the knife, but to reinforce the potential seriousness of such mistakes. I told her that God had protected her little brother, for which we can all be thankful. I told her that the window would have to be replaced and that she couldn’t afford to pay for it. I didn’t say this with a sneer, but calmly and clearly in order to reinforce the grace and truth of the gospel. We have all sinned and made mistakes and we can’t pay the cost of our sin. Jesus came and paid our debt for us. I wanted my fatherhood in that moment to reflect the willing love of our Heavenly Father. He didn’t send his Son and deal with our debt begrudgingly or bitterly. He did it willingly, with all his heart.

After all that, I did then tell her I needed to discipline her, but again made it very clear that it was because she had taken and shot the bow and arrows without asking me. In that regard, she did know better. After disciplining her, I hugged her and told her again I loved her. I held her face in my hands and looked her in the eyes and told her that it was over. She could be at peace and turn the page.

I want her to know, in times like this, that she doesn’t have to work her way back into my favor by being extra nice for awhile. She is not loved based on her performance – loved more if she’s a help and not a bother. She is loved because she is my daughter. My love is not fickle or something she has to work for. It’s just as clear and strong when she’s done something costly and dumb as when she’s done something cute or helpful.

Oh, how I long to faithfully reflect my/her Heavenly Father, and raise her in a home with gospel grace and truth pervading the atmosphere. We fail at this all the time. And we pray all the time that we will grow to do it better.

Her wheels were turning through all of this. She listened to all I had to say. She pondered it. And I watched her walk out freed and happy. I know she doesn’t fully grasp the cost to me, but she doesn’t need to know it all.

The will of my little Lily arrow needed bent and straightened that day, but I sure didn’t want to break her spirit. One day all too soon I’m going to have to nock her and shoot her out into this dangerous world. I can’t guarantee her flight path and destination, but I sure want to do all I can to shape and sharpen and set her trajectory. I’m so thankful for this little moment. I’d replace a hundred windows if it meant a hundred more times the kind of gospel grace and truth investment this situation afforded.

Psalm 127:4 Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them!

Too Much of a Good Thing?

Is is possible to have too much of a good thing?

Steve DeWitt, in Eyes Wide Open: Enjoying God in Everything (pp 36-37), writes:

How does the infinity of God relate to our cravings? Our longings seem insatiable to us. We have even made the situation into a self-evident law, the law of diminishing returns. This law says that the more we do something or own something, the less and less we enjoy it. Might it be that our insatiable longings also relate to an infinite God? Might the unending nature of our desires point to the unending nature of his infinity? Who but an infinite Person can gratify seemingly infinite longings?

Take chocolate for instance. I love dark chocolate. But I can only consume it in relatively small quantities for it to be truly enjoyable. If I go over that line, my body protests and I experience the guilt of gluttony and the "gross" feeling of over-indulgence.

Dark chocolate might not be your thing, but you have probably experienced that dynamic of diminishing returns. Have you ever wished that didn't happen? Have you ever wished you could eat all the chocolate you want and not experience the guilt or the gross? Have you ever wished the waverunner was as cool on the 10th run as the 1st? Have you ever wished that song didn't "get old?" Etc., etc., etc.

What if there is wisdom in wiring the world this way? What if God wants to open our eyes when we want too much of a good thing?

Rather than wishing that line away, give thanks to God for that line. One, that line is gracious. We would all go nuts in overindulgence without it -- like the laboratory rat that stimulates itself to death. Two, that line actually preserves the real pleasure of a good in moderation. Three, that line is a signpost. A signpost, let's say, with inscriptions like these (compliments of Augustine).

On the front:

The sum of all our goods, and our perfect good, is God. We must not fall short of this, nor seek anything beyond it; the first is dangerous, the other impossible.

On the back:

You made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless until till they find their rest in you.

The more we seek a good to be godlike in its power to satisfy, the more the veil is pulled back on its inability. The more we seek created goods to be godlike in greatness, the more their smallness is exposed. This goes for money and sex, food and alcohol, decorating and dessert. It even goes for friendship and children.

What a loving way to wire the universe! The God who alone is great enough and satisfying enough to fill our deepest cravings is the one who made consequences to kick in when we look elsewhere for what only he can give. 

Jeremiah Burroughs said it so well in his The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment:

My brethren, the reason why you have not got contentment in the things of the world is not because you have not got enough of them. That is not the reason. But the reason is because they are not things proportionable to that immortal soul of yours that is capable of God himself. Many men think that when they are troubled and have not got contentment, it is because they have but a little in the world, and if they had more then they would be content. That is just as if a man were hungry, and to satisfy his craving stomach he should gape and hold open his mouth to take in the wind, and then should think that the reason why he is not satisfied is because he has not got enough of the wind. No, the reason is because the thing is not suitable to a craving stomach.

How cruel it would be if there were never any immediate consequences for trading down ultimate satisfaction in God for cheap, imitation satisfaction in created things! We'd just go on happily making mudpies in the slums. It's really good that there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. But we are not so quick to believe it.

One of the reasons we're slow to on the uptake is because we usually can't have all we want when we want it. And therefore the lie holds. Rather than believing the object of our desire isn't suitable, we think the problem is the amount or frequency. We think the reason we're not satisfied is because we haven't gotten enough (a little more money, a little more sex, a little more respect, a little better job, a little better body, a little bigger house, etc., etc., etc.). As a result, the lie remains unmasked in our experience. We refuse to learn by anything but the trial and error of personal experience. C.S. Lewis wrote of why this illusion can hold for awhile in his essay, "First and Second Things":

The woman who makes a dog the center of her life loses, in the end, not only her human usefulness and dignity but even the proper pleasure of dog-keeping. The man who makes alcohol his chief good loses not only his job but his palate and all power of enjoying the earlier (and only pleasurable) levels... It is a glorious thing to feel for a moment or two that the whole meaning of the universe is summed up in one woman – glorious so long as other duties and pleasures keep tearing you away from her. But clear the decks and so arrange your life (it is sometimes feasible) that you will have nothing to do but contemplate her, and what happens? Of course this law has been discovered before, but it will stand re-discovery. It may be stated as follows: every preference of a small good to a great, or a partial good to a total good, involves the loss of a small or partial good for which the sacrifice was made… You can’t get second things by putting them first. You can get second things only by putting first things first. From which it would follow that the question, What things are first? is of concern not only to philosophers but to everyone.

God made it a world where too much of a good thing will plague you, so that you will learn that He is the only Good you can never get too much of.  

If God is your Good, there's never too much of a good thing.