[True story, shared by a friend]
My son Gilbert was eight years old and had been in Cub Scouts only a short
time. During one of his meetings he was handed a sheet of paper, a block of
wood and four tires and told to return home and give all to “Dad.”
That was not an easy task for Gilbert. Dad was not receptive to doing
things with his son. But Gilbert tried. Dad worked late, then read the
paper and scoffed at the idea of making a pine wood derby car with his
young, eager son. The block of wood remained untouched as the weeks passed.
Finally, “Mom” stepped in to see if I could figure this all out. The
project began. Having no carpentry skills, I decided it would be best if I
simply read the directions and let Gilbert do the work. And he did. I read
aloud the measurements, the rules of what we could do and what we couldn’t
do.
Within days his block of wood was turning into a pinewood derby car. A
little lopsided, but looking great (at least through the eyes of mom).
Gilbert had not seen any of the other kids cars and was feeling pretty proud
of his “Blue Lightning,” the pride that comes with knowing you did something
on your own.
Then the big night came. With his blue pinewood derby in his hand and pride
in his heart we headed to the big race. Once there, my little one’s pride
turned to humility. Gilbert’s car was obviously the only car made entirely
on his own. All the other cars were a father-son partnership, with cool
paint jobs and sleek body styles made for speed. A few of the boys giggled
as they looked at Gilbert’s, lopsided, wobbly, unattractive vehicle. To add
to the humility Gilbert was the only boy without a man at his side. A couple
of the boys who were from single parent homes at least had an uncle or
grandfather by their side, Gilbert had “Mom.”
As the race began it was done in elimination fashion. You kept racing as
long as you were the winner. One by one the cars raced down the finally
sanded ramp. Finally, it was between Gilbert and the sleekest, fastest
looking car there. As the last race was about to begin, my wide eyed, shy
eight year old ask if they could stop the race for a minute, because he
wanted to pray. The race stopped.
Gilbert hit his knees clutching his funny looking block of wood between his
hands. With a wrinkled brow he started to converse with his Father. He
prayed in earnest for a very long minute and a half. Then he stood, smile
on his face and announced, ‘Okay, I am ready.”
As the crowd cheered, a boy named Tommy stood with his father as their car
sped down the ramp. Gilbert stood with his Father within his heart and
watched his block of wood wobble down the ramp with surprisingly great speed
and rushed over the finish line a fraction of a second before Tommy’s car.
Gilbert leaped into the air with a loud “Thank you” as the crowd roared in
approval. The Scout Master came up to Gilbert with microphone in hand and
asked the obvious question, “So you prayed to win, huh, Gilbert?”
To which my young son answered, “Oh, no sir. That wouldn’t be fair to ask
God to help you beat someone else. I just asked Him to make it so I don’t
cry when I lose.”
[Gilbert’s simple prayer spoke volumes to those present that night. He
never doubted that God would indeed answer his request. He didn’t pray to
win, thus hurt someone else; he prayed that God supply the grace to lose
with dignity. Gilbert, by his stopping the race to speak to his Father also
showed the crowd that he wasn’t there without a “Dad,” but His “Father” was
most definitely there with him. Yes, Gilbert walked away a winner that
night, with his Father, as always, at his side.]
~~
Dr Bob Griffin
[email protected] www.grif.net
“Jesus Knows Me, This I Love!”