Romans 8:16 – “The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God.”

The cars were not pretty. Most looked like someone had bolted them together in their driveway with leftover parts and a lot of hope.

But I was eight years old, and it might as well have been Daytona.

Dad and I sat in the metal bleachers with concession stand hotdogs and sticky Coca-Colas. The sun dipped low over the track, and the first cars roared to life. He grinned, handed me my drink, and nudged me to pick my favorite. I chose the clunkiest one out there, paint chipped, muffler barely holding on. It had heart.

Then came the trash talk.

“My rust bucket’s gonna beat your rust bucket!”

I chanted, over and over, louder every time. The crowd was big, the engines louder, but I made sure my voice was the loudest. Even when the race paused and silence settled in, I kept going.

“My rust bucket’s gonna beat your rust bucket!”

People started to stare. Dad glanced around, and I thought for a second he might tell me to hush. Instead, he smiled. Then he leaned over and shouted it too—just as loud as me. We kept going until the cars fired back up and drowned us out again.

I think about that night more than you would expect. Because when I close my eyes, I can still feel what it gave me. It was this deep sense of being chosen, delighted in, completely at ease.

And if I am honest, that is what my adult heart still needs.

Somewhere along the way, most of us trade childlike joy for striving. We start to believe that we have to earn our place. That God’s love is measured by how well we hold it together, but it never was.

The heart of faith is not found in performance. It is found in trust. It is knowing that even if all you have is a busted-up rust bucket and an off-key chant, your Father still draws near. He sees you. He loves you.

You do not have to be impressive today. Just be His.

Come back to the bleachers, and let Him love you loud.