My best example is the time my father tried to poison me.
I was probably 3 or 4 years old, and our family went hiking a lot. So of course my mother had instructed me to never eat anything I found in the woods, no matter how good it looked- it could poison me. In typical Gac "squeeze all the learning out of every moment" fashion, we had discussed how big bodies might not be as susceptible to poison as small bodies because it would be dispersed in a greater mass (ok, we might not have used the word dispersed, but then again, we might have). So it was especially important that I, as a tiny person, not eat even a taste of something that could harm me.
It was a Sunday afternoon a few months later, and I remember that I had been a bit of a pill earlier in the day. My wise father took me off my mother's hands for the afternoon, and we went to hike at East Fork. It's now one of my favorite places in the world, pictured here:
It was late June, and Dad found a patch of wild strawberries in some shady glen. Wanting to share the experience with his young strawberry-loving daughter, he invited me to try some.
I quite logically assumed that, as punishment for being a pain earlier in the day, he was trying to poison me. I hadn't quite grasped the "consider the character of the person making the argument" aspect of debate, and I had a mental rebuttal for every reason he gave. He said, "Look, I'm eating them!" I thought, "Yes, but you have a bigger body. Poison won't affect you as much." He said, "They look good, don't they?" But I knew, "Poison might look good. Like in the Garden of Eden. It's still poison." And so I cried and got worked up and absolutely refused to eat the strawberries he was offering me. It was all so logical, though I didn't explain my thought process to my dad- I just sobbed, sniffled, and shook my head.
A few years ago, I recounted this story to my parents, who had never heard it before. We all had a good laugh at my familiar strong will. But it made me think: how often do we follow the same pattern with our Heavenly Father? How often do we apply our limited, makes-sense-to-me understanding to His actions? What exquisite gifts do we miss out on because we refuse to consider the character of the One making the offer?
So, my friends, may you accept the wild strawberries you happen upon today...
