Allen
Thank you for sending this story. It has touched me in a way
you can never know.
Again thanks.
Sr Cdr Bill Elliott outpost 289
From: ar cook <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> on 06/08/99 10:17 PM GMT
To: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
cc: (bcc: Bill Elliott/TheAP)
Subject: [RR] Ready-Set-Pray!
Got this from another list ... enjoy..
In His Service,
Allen - Cookie
***
READY.....SET....PRAY!!!!!!
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 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 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 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 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 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 to 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 out come, 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 fathers help." No, he went to his
Father for strength.
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