"The Pinewood Derby

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 it all to his 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 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 the measurements aloud, 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.

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 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 his knees clutching his funny looking block of wood 
between his hands. With a wrinkled brow he set 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."

Children seem to have a wisdom far beyond us. 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 in the outcome. When Gilbert first saw the other cars he didn't cry 
out to God, "No fair, they had a father's help." No, he went to his Father for 
strength. Perhaps we spend too much of our prayer time asking God to rig the 
race, to make us number one, or too much time asking God to remove us from the 
struggle, when we should be seeking God's strength to get through the struggle. 
["I can do everything through Him who gives me strength." Philippians 4:13]

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, and 
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 at his side.

A single candle can illuminate an entire room. A true friend lights up 
an entire lifetime. Thanks for the bright lights of your friendship.
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