Measure Up

We celebrated my youngest son's birthday last weekend. My big 9-year-old.

The celebration started with a giant donut from Halls, a local pastry shop.

He opened presents, put together a new Lego set and hex bug track, played video games, ate steak, fries, and a s'more for lunch, played at a trampoline park, played more video games, ate strawberry-lemonade cupcakes . . . you get the idea.

At the end of the day, when he was going to bed, he said, "Mom, you forgot to measure me!"

We have a tradition at our house. At the end of each boys' birthday, we measure their height on a Veggie Tales chart that hangs on the wall in the bathroom.

For the past few years, the boys' only concern has been to reach a new level of ride capability at amusement parks. Kaden was thrilled when he just made it onto a roller coaster at Universal Studios that had a 44 inch height requirement. Then it was 48 inches, then 52 inches -- all for bigger and better rides.

Finally, Kaden has reached the ultimate number: 54 inches. He can now ride The Intimidator! I haven't even had the courage to ride this roller coaster with the 305 foot drop.

My thrill-seeker who's not afraid of anything cannot wait to ride the biggest roller coaster of all. (Okay, it's the biggest within three hours of driving from our house.)

Romans 12:3b says, "Be honest in your evaluation of yourselves, measuring yourselves by the faith God has given us."

My 9-year-old is putting me to shame. He has faith in the ride. He has faith in the construction, seats, and restraints of the ride. Yet, how often do I have trouble having faith in the God of the universe? I guess I should take notes from the life of a brave 9-year-old . . . and take a leap of faith. Or in his case, a 305 foot drop.