A Simple Prayer.

Here is a story I think you'll like.

A SIMPLE PRAYER
Author Unknown

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 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 fathers 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.

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 at his side.

Out of the mouths (and hearts) of babes.

Woo! That's a GOOD one!
I'll have to "edit" for brievity... the kids like the stories (if they're told just right) but the congregation is sometimes a little unforgiving when Children's Story makes church end 10 minutes late.
I can't think of any place I'd rather be than Church on Sabbath... much as I do like a good potluck lunch.

It figures, AFTER us girls move out of the house, dad finds the cool stories. When we were growing up, it was all about when HE was growing up. Now, we get the good ones. Just kidding, dad. I loved all the stories you had about when you were growing up, esp. the one about Uncle Randy and the apple tree. God bless you all!

Angie