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Be
strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man
(Ephesians 3:16 NKJ).
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a
Father
at His Side
a
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By
Peggy Porter
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 y
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 it all to “Dad.”
That was not an easy task for
Gilbert to do. Dad was not receptive to doing things with his
son. But Gilbert tried. Dad read the paper and scoffed at the
idea of making a pinewood derby car with his young, eager son.
The block of wood remained untouched
as the weeks passed. Finally, Mom (me) stepped in to see if
she 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.
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 only Mom.
The race was done in elimination
fashion. You kept racing as long as you were the winner. One
by one the cars raced down the finely 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
asked if they could stop the race for a minute because he wanted
to pray. The race stopped.
Gilbert hit the ground on his
knees, clutching his funny-looking block of wood between his
hands. With a wrinkled brow, he conversed with God. He prayed
in earnest for a very long minute and a half. Then he stood
with a 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 surprising speed. It
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,
microphone in hand, and asked the obvious question, “So
you prayed to win, huh, Gilbert?”
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 didn’t ask God to
win the race; he didn’t ask God to fix the outcome. Gilbert
asked God to give him strength for the outcome.
Perhaps we spend too much of
our prayer time asking God to rig the race, to make us number
one, or to remove us from the struggle, when we should be seeking
God’s strength to get through the struggle.
Yes, Gilbert walked away a winner
that night, with his Father at his side. |
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