Enough time has passed since this memory unfolded that he’s had several opportunities to remind me of every detail. But even if he’d never brought it up again, how could I miss the message?
His faith isn’t unique. The world is full of young sons just like him who would have done the exact same thing. Decades ago, I was one of them.
When did my faith become something too important to spend on the small and simple things? When did I become too old to believe that tiny miracles matter, too?
It's not that I don't have faith; I do. I’ve worked hard to nurture it into something that convinces me without doubt that heaven is real, that my family can be together forever and that God loves me as his child — as his literal creation.
But somewhere along the way, I might have forgotten where it all started.
Something tells me my son will never let me forget the miracle of the missing race car part. And I suspect he will never forget the sweet taste of victory at seeing his simple faith rewarded.
I hope I'm right.
Jason F. Wright is a New York Times best-selling author of 10 books, including "Christmas Jars," "The Wednesday Letters," and "The 96th Annual Apple Valley Barn Dance." He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or jasonfwright.com.
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