Steven Curtis Chapman's Daughter Accidentally Killed

May the God of all comfort console the singer and his family as they grieve over the tragic death of their youngest child.

The Tennessean:

Steven Curtis Chapman's youngest child died Wednesday evening after being struck by a car driven by her teenage brother in the driveway of the family's Williamson County home.

Maria, one of the Christian singer's six children, was taken by LifeFlight to Vanderbilt Hospital, which confirmed the death, according to Laura McPherson, a spokeswoman for the Tennessee Highway Patrol.

>The 5-year-old was hit by an SUV driven by her teenage brother, she said. Police did not give the driver's name.

The teen was driving a Toyota Land Cruiser down the driveway of the rural home about 5:30 p.m. and several children were playing in the area, McPherson said. He did not see Maria in the driveway before the vehicle struck her, she said.

Please pray for this family.

UPDATE: Condolences to the Chapmans can be expressed at this blog set up in Maria's memory. (HT: The Point)

You Are Not a Tomb: Words to a Grieving Mom

A friend's daughter recently experienced the heart-wrenching pain of losing her unborn child. In her sorrow, the grieving woman told her mother, "I'm sitting around feeling kind of like a tomb. It's disturbing." Desiring to comfort her daughter in the midst of her anguish, my friend wrote the following words. When she shared them with me, I asked permission to post them here in hope that they might offer consolation to other women for whom this Mother's Day may be a day of mourning for a child they didn't have the opportunity to watch grow up.

You are not a tomb. You are the warm and wonderful world of a tiny soul whom God formed in the deepest recesses of quiet harmony. You are a heartbeat which brought comfort to a little one whose days had already been numbered. And that heart, that sound he heard every second of his life, was his melody, his lighthouse, washing him with a Mother's glow.

You are his playground from which he grew to his fullest height...his sandbox of delight, and when playtime ended, when God called, you became his place of rest, his momentary heaven, his green pasture. Can you think of a better place to await the Shepherd to take him home?

You are not a tomb. You are all this little one knew and had and within you he lived out his entire life. And if a final breath was drawn, it was not done alone, rather to the soft voice of heaven, and the stirring of a Mother's hope. He lived knowing the gentle tug of you are wanted.

You are not a tomb, you are the mystery of a life fully lived...and what you hold onto now is your body's final grief before it says good-bye. You are not a tomb...you are and always will be this baby's Mom.


"For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them" (Psalm 139:13-16).

Technorati Tags: Mother's Day grief mourning miscarriage stillborn

A Life Well Spent: More on Pete

The night before last I received emails from the sisters of my friend Pete (about whom I wrote last week) conveying details about his wake and funeral which will be held today and tomorrow. That news cemented the reality of Pete's departure more firmly in my mind and led to the further surfacing of sadness. Reading times and directions to the funeral home and church struck me further with the fact that later this week I would be standing beside my friend's casket, looking into the grieving eyes of bewildered family members and friends, and weeping with a few of the guys who years ago enjoyed each other's company at IHOP every other week. (For some reason that last line reminded me of the laughing fit we shared one morning while thinking about manly ways to order a particular specialty breakfast -- "Yes, I'll have the Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity.......and a beer.")

Along with the funeral information, one of Pete's sisters sent excerpts from an email he had written a friend a few days before he died. The recipient had forwarded it to Pete's sister to comfort her with the knowledge that Pete's last days were filled with the joy of the Lord and that he had no regrets about his choice of a more meager existence in Belize. I was greatly consoled by his words as well and with her permission, I share them with you:

I am right where God wants me to be... That is worth more than all the money, air conditioning and conveniences you could dream of.
. . .


This has been so hard, but God is pulling me in more and more. And when it says that His lovingkindness is better than life I know that it is true.
. . .


We have so much....So much in the States. Don't take your eyes off Him. This thing here has been so hard, but God rewards me over and over and over with His presence and love. Those are better than all the treasures of the world. I don't think I would have this intimacy with Him if I had stayed in the States.

Pete's words remind me of those of another brother who was slain in the course of heeding Christ's call, Jim Elliot: "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose." The testimony of both men confront me with the disturbing question of how willing I am to loosen my grip on comforts and luxuries I've convinced myself are necessities for the sake of experiencing the superior joy of knowing Christ. It's a question of whether I trust that God is better than the greatest temporal pleasures I know. Everything comes back to the issue of God's goodness and our willingness to entrust ourselves to Him. One of our greatest weapons against sin and temptation is the conviction that God is good, that He is for us, and that the ways in which He calls us to walk, while not without sorrow, are paths of true liberty and joy. Calvin stated it well:

Never would Adam have dared to show any repugnance to the command of God if he had not been incredulous as to his word. The strongest curb to keep all his affections under due restraint, would have been the belief that nothing was better than to cultivate righteousness by obeying the commands of God, and that the highest possible felicity was to be loved by him (Institutes of the Christian Religion, II.1.4).

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!

Mary Ann also sent a link to a tribute page created by some of Pete's students at Belize Christian Academy. Their verbal and facial expressions bear witness to the beautiful power of a life yielded to Christ.

Take Care, Bud

Early morning telephone calls, at least in my experience, are rarely conveyors of good news. I was on the receiving end of such a call yesterday and it was no exception to the rule. I was jarred from semi-consciousness by the ringing of the telephone and immediately wondered who might be calling at such an hour. I thought it might be the person with whom I had a 9 AM appointment , letting me know that something came up that would preclude our meeting. If only it had been so minor.

On the other end of the line was my friend, Dave, with whom I have infrequent contact. He explained in a somber tone that his reason for calling so early was to reach me before I read my email. In the few moments between the conclusion of that sentence and the beginning of his next, I tried both to grip myself for whatever news he was about to share with me and to predict what it was. I failed on both counts. Dave proceeded to tell me that a mutual friend who has been teaching history at a Christian school in Belize, Central America for two years had been brutally beaten to death while housesitting for a friend, a minister, who himself had been seriously beaten earlier this month. It's believed that this was a retaliatory measure by a native man in a relationship with one of the minister's daughters - a relationship of which the father disapproved. From what I've gathered from Belizean news sources, police are speculating that our friend Pete's murder is connected to the prior incident and that he may have been a victim of mistaken identity.

Pete's body was discovered in the backyard of the home beneath pieces of lumber. He was attacked from behind with a machete. There are no words to adequately capture the shock I experienced. It was nightmarish to think of someone I knew so well being the victim of such violence and contempt. It's almost unimaginable to think that Pete died so tragically.

Pete, Dave, a few other guys and I used to get together for breakfast on a biweekly basis almost 15 years ago to share what was going on in our lives, discuss theology and apologetics, and pray with and for each other. A local IHOP was our meeting place. A woman named Betty was our waitress. Over pancakes, crepes, scrambled eggs, and sausage we confided in each other about our temptations, dreams, joys, and sorrows. Oh, how I looked forward to those gatherings and hated when they ended. It was so good to have the company of brothers who shared a desire to know Christ better and who were committed to helping each other be more faithful to Him. At the time, Pete was working for the public works department of a local village doing janitorial work. From time to time he toyed with the thought of going back to school but he was filled with uncertainty and doubt about his ability to succeed. It was obvious to those of us who knew him that he was a keen thinker with a passion for learning so we encouraged him to pursue that aspiration.

Eventually, Pete did leave and completed a master's degree at Bemidji State University. At times he was shaken in his faith as he encountered historical scholarship built on the foundation of anti-Christian presuppositions. To his credit, however, this led him to increased study and prayer. He would frequently write to let me know about his interactions with fellow students (most of whom were younger than he) and professors. We exchanged many emails about matters such as the historical reliability of the New Testament texts, the sovereignty of God, election, epistemology, and an assortment of apologetic issues. The personal value of his correspondence, much of which I had saved and most of which he signed off with "Take care, bud," spiked with yesterday's news.

Pete returned to Illinois in search of a job in which he could utilize his education -- preferably in a historical museum somewhere. While he searched, he worked as a customer service representative for a nationally known paint company headquartered in the area. During this time he, Dave, and some other guys consistently met on Saturday mornings for extended prayer for one another, their friends and families, and the body of Christ stateside and abroad. Born out of the realization that prayer is a means of waging spiritual warfare, this weekly meeting came to be known as "Fight Club."

A few weeks ago Pete had sent me and some other guys a draft of an email he had composed to one of his former students who was struggling with doubts about the existence of God. Pete was asking for input concerning any revisions we thought would improve it. I couldn't identify any. It was thorough, well-researched, and compassionate. His care for the young man to whom he was writing was evident as was the fact that he took his questions and concerns seriously. Pete wrote as one who knew well the mental and emotional duress that accompanies doubt. It was a joy to see his earnest, skillful attempt to feed another hungry soul with the fruit yielded from his own languishing for truth. In response to a letter I had sent commending him for his letter to his former student, Pete wrote back and told me that he had accepted a position as an adjunct world history professor at a local university. The school at which he regularly taught is closed during the summer months so he began teaching a summer class at the university earlier this month. A transcript from one of Belize's local news programs quotes the school's vice president:

Peter was a gifted teacher. The students were having so much fun in his class. Whenever I’d say, "Peter how is class going?" he would say, "This is so much fun." He just radiated excitement, he just loved to teach and the students were responding to that.

Pete regularly read this blog. To the best of my recollection, he never left a comment but he frequently told me how much he appreciated it, especially the links that introduced him to new sites. Whenever I checked site traffic by location and saw an ISP in Belize, I was pretty confident it was Pete. From now on, if ever I see a visit from Belize, I'll be certain that it's not. It was satisfying to know that by means of the blog I was pointing Pete to resources that were helpful to his growth.

In his email to me, Pete related the following insight that I share in hope that it might encourage and inspire someone:

I had this weird thing happen in the last 6 months where I gave into the realization that I am a good teacher, an academic and an intellectual. I was thinking of myself as the janitor and truck driver for a long time and the reality is I am not those things. I have been really pouring into apologetics like Schaeffer, Nancy Pearcey, Darell Bock, and reading that big book by [Craig] Blomberg on the gospels. Crazy thing is I am understanding what previously I had so much difficulty understanding. God is pretty interesting like that. Things come when you need them. He has told me not to fear these apologetics and big questions,but to dive in and explore.

By saying that he wasn't a janitor or a truck driver, Pete wasn't disparaging either or taking a stance of superiority. There wasn't an air of snootiness about him. He knew what it was to work hard and he had the utmost of respect and admiration for those who made their living so doing. Pete took the truth of every person being the image of God seriously and I never knew him to be one to shy away from associating with someone on account of his or her socio-economic status, race, or educational level. I think what he was getting at was that he had, by the grace of God, become what he once thought he could never be. Not only that, he also learned the invaluable lesson that to acknowledge what one is good at needn't be an expression of sinful pride but can be an honest and grateful assessment of the gifts God has entrusted to be used in His faithful service.
Pete's testimony reminded me of James Sire's book, Habits of the Mind: Intellectual Life as a Christian Calling, in which he relates his own desire to become an intellectual and the obstacles (both internal and external) to his achieving that goal. As to what an intellectual is in general and a Christian intellectual in particular, Sire offers the following definitions, neither of which necessitates formal education:

An intellectual is one who loves ideas, is dedicated to clarifying them, developing them, criticizing them, turning them over and over, seeing their implications, stacking them atop one another, arranging them, sitting silent while new ideas pop up and old ones seem to rearrange themselves, playing with them, punning with their terminology, laughing at them, watching them clash, picking up the pieces, starting over, judging them, withholding judgment about them, changing them, bringing them into contact with their counterparts in other systems of thought, inviting them to dine and have a ball but also suiting them for service in workaday life.

A Christian intellectual is all of the above to the glory of God (27-28).

Farewell, for now, to a dearly loved Christian intellectual.

UPDATE - 7/19/07: A local Illinois newspaper has a writeup about Pete that includes reflections on his life from his dad.

Teachers in the School of Suffering

Almost two years ago I posted some thoughts prompted by a talk given by Judy Asti, author of A Spiritual Journey Through Breast Cancer. Judy told our assembly of pastors that cancer would in somehow affect the life of every person in our congregations. I had no idea at the time how that would play out in our own church family.

Last Monday, a man who has served our church faithfully for over 35 years, died of an inoperable brain cancer that had slowly robbed him of his ability to articulate his thoughts. This was especially tragic since Karl was an eloquent man with great poetic skill. It was heartbreaking to watch this man, who for so many years recited Luke's nativity account from memory at our Christmas Eve candlelight services (where he also led us in caroling), gradually lose the ability to verbally express himself. Amidst his numerous ministries, Karl was also one of our elders who, in the absence of a senior pastor, filled the pulpit, opening God's Word to His people.

Over the last 5 years or so I had the privilege of meeting weekly with Karl and some other men for the purpose of praying with and for each other, studying Scripture together, and confiding in each other concerning our joys, aspirations, disappointments, temptations, and failures. Being the creatures of habit that we are, we almost always took the same seats in the room we met in each week. Karl and I usually sat directly across from each other. One of the things I remember most about those meetings is how often I was challenged by Karl's example to be a more attentive servant of my wife. Years back Karl's wife had brain surgery to remove a benign tumor. The procedure impaired her vision and equilibrium which meant that she could no longer drive and that Karl had to assume more responsibilities which he did with gladness. Never did he complain about the changes in their lives and the new demands placed upon him. He viewed his service to his wife as the fulfillment of the vows he made to her and their Lord almost 44 years ago. As one who didn't have the opportunity to witness such marital commitment in my own family, I am grateful beyond words for Karl's example.

Last Friday I conducted the funeral of my dear friend who gave me my "Got Jesus?" golf ball. The morning was filled with music he loved and testimonies from people of all ages about how Christ touched their lives through Karl's. Among those who couldn't join us is a missionary now in Ukraine largely due to Karl's influence. In 1994 he was one of 6 people from our congregation whom Karl led on a short-term missions trip to Latvia, thereby planting the seeds for future long-term labor.

Amidst those gathered for Friday's service was another stalwart of our church who days before was released from the hospital to begin hospice care at home after battling colon cancer. John is another dear friend and former elder who, like Karl, has been a father figure to me and so many others in our fellowship. He's a quiet man of impressive stature who has also modeled sacrificial devotion to his family and the body of Christ. Throughout the course of his cancer treatment his wife has distributed e-mail updates that, while asking for prayer, leave the reader with gratitude for the edification received through her words. Shortly after we received word that nothing more could be done to stem the tide of John's cancer, some of us were praying for him in his hospital room. When we concluded, he recited Hebrews 12:1-3, a passage he had committed to memory, and added "Lord Jesus, I pray that for everyone in this room." On another occasion he related how grateful he is for the instruction he received over the course of his life concerning the sovereignty of God.

John and his family were in church this past Sunday as were Karl's widow and their teenage granddaughter whom they used to bring to church each week when she was a child. I can't describe the wave of emotions that overtook me as I watched them singing the praises of their God and Savior but one word that comes to mind is "beautiful." In that post on cancer I wrote two years ago I also mentioned Judy Asti's observation that the American church's theology of suffering is anemic, if not nonexistent. Through the lives of Karl, John, and their families, the Lord is teaching us what faith-filled suffering looks like. Oh, how privileged we are to have teachers such as these.