All I wanted him to do was pedal.
I pleaded and coerced, ran behind the bike and offered words of encouragement.
“You can do this. You know how. Just keep going.”
But as soon as I let go of the seat, his feet went down. Every time, without fail. And as much as I tried to hide my frustration, I knew it was as obvious as the sweat gleaming on my face.
I wanted him to succeed at this, but I couldn’t do it for him.
We put the bike away for a few weeks and he went back to racing his Dodge Viper around the cul-de-sac. Yes, my six-year-old was driving a nicer car than his Mama, complete with a rechargeable battery, radio and gear shift.
Little brother rode shotgun, occasionally grabbing the wheel and crashing the car into the overgrown flowerbed. A loud mixture of laughter and aggravated shouts poured out of the vehicle.
I buried myself in my latest copy of Hello, Darling and told myself the training wheels would come off eventually. He wouldn’t start high school with them on, right?
Will you continue reading with me? Today I’m sharing what God showed me about fear over at PurposefulFaith.com. You can read the rest of my post here.