It’s funny how God works.
Growing up in youth group, I’d always hear preachers say things like, “God gave me all my illustrations,” and “These things really happened to me.” It was usually an evangelist or a traveling pastor at youth camp who’d tell a crazy story that actually happened to them in real life and then tie it to a seven-point outline about purity or burning your music or something along those lines. They’d call it an object lesson.
I remember those illustrations being the driving point of the message—had all of us young sinners repenting post haste. I even remember thinking, Wow, these guys must really be tuned in to the highest frequency of the Holy Spirit. I just assumed they were on another level and that I’d never get there spiritually.
I mean, c’mon—I’m not the type of guy to be driving down the road with a car full of kids, see something odd, and then suddenly get smacked by God with a purpose, an object, and a lesson.
But, like I said… it’s funny how God works.
Because lo and behold, I found myself driving down the road with a car full of kids. I pull up to a stoplight and—BAM—directly in my path is an object.
Actually, a few objects.
As I’m preparing to turn left onto Ridge Pike, I notice three crates sitting in my direct turning lane. Around the crates are a few plastic bags full of electrical wires, some trash, and maybe the remains of someone’s hasty breakfast. I figure a truck must’ve taken the turn too fast and lost a few things along the way.
In that moment, as I contemplate getting out of the car to move the stuff myself, a police car pulls up. The officer gets out and starts heading toward the mess.
Now, being the man I am, I almost get out of the car to help. But then I remember: I’m wearing black sweats, a black hoodie, and a black hat—and I’d be walking up to the officer from an angle where he wouldn’t see me coming.
Yeah… I decide to stay in the car and let him do his thing.
The officer picks up the three crates, the bags of trash and wires, and heads back to his vehicle. He leaves a few small pieces of trash and a candy bar wrapper in the road—but hey, he got the big stuff. I’m not mad at it.
He gets back into his car and drives off.
Mind you, my light is still red. I can’t turn yet. In anticipation of the green light, I’m doing the antsy red-light foot-tap on the brake pedal when I notice something shiny in the road.
The officer left a screwdriver behind.
Did I really care? No.
But the medical professional in me instantly thought of sixteen different ways that screwdriver could end up injuring someone—and at worst, kill them! It all flashed through my mind while I waited for the light to turn green.
Everything from someone picking it up and hurting someone with it… to a tire hitting it just right, launching it through a backseat window, and killing a child.
(Morbid, I know—but bear with me.)
The point is: all that could happen simply because the officer left it in the road. Now granted, none of it might happen. The reality is, most cars will avoid it.
But the officer doesn’t get to decide the outcome. His actions—or inactions—lead to results he doesn’t get to choose.
And then, as the light turned green, it was like God flipped a switch in my brain and said:
“Hey dummy—here’s your object. Here’s your lesson. Here’s your purpose.”
Literally.
And look—I know people say “literally” when they mean “figuratively.” But I mean it literally. Because the night before, I had to correct one of my kids.
She’d made some behavioral blunders, and I had to punish her. (I sent her to her room—which she hates.) Then I had to ride the emotional waves, have the hard conversations, and get us back to a place where we could move forward.
As a parent, I do my best to correct biblically. And by biblically, I mean: correct the problem, not just punish the action.
This method often leads me to question every decision I make in those moments. I’m always looking for ways I could’ve done it better. And to be honest, I don’t always get it right.
I try to… but sometimes, like that officer, my haste to just “get it done” leaves things in the road.
If I’m being honest, I don’t always want to sit there and explain why their behavior led to this consequence. I don’t want to give them strategies to avoid this next time. I don’t want to teach them better ways to express their emotions.
I just want to get it over with and move on.
But that thought—Did I leave a screwdriver in the road last night?—hit me hard.
Did I fail to actually fix the root problem and maybe, just maybe, leave something behind that could cause damage later?
The reality is, most kids avoid the screwdrivers.
Most kids—once you remove the crates and the trash—are fine.
They’ll get through with no issues.
But I don’t know that for sure if that’s my kid.
And again—I don’t get to choose the outcome.
God spoke to me right then and convicted me.
He showed me ways I was leaving things in the road in my parenting. Not just in correction, but in nurture. In teaching. In discipleship.
He reminded me: I don’t get to pick the consequences of my laziness or my haste. He used that screwdriver in the road to remind me that these kids aren’t mine.
They are His—a gift to me.
On loan.
Entrusted to me to train, grow, and nurture in the admonition of the Lord. (Ephesians 6:4)
It would behoove me to take the extra time.
Go the extra mile.
Take the extra careful glance.
And make sure I don’t leave anything behind in the road that could injure them later in life.
So now—like those evangelists, the ones with the killer object lessons did to me in youth group —I’m going to throw it back to you.
Are you leaving screwdrivers in the road?
Are you neglecting things because of haste, laziness, busyness, tiredness—fill in the blank?
Are you following Ephesians 6:4?
Are you doing everything you can to keep your kids safe from the dangers in the road—knowing full well that they don’t get to pick the consequences of their actions?
This is the part where we’d all bow our heads, come to the altar, and burn our CDs.
Doesn’t need to be that now… but I hope it makes you think the next time you’re clearing the junk out of your kid’s way.
