EVERYDAY ADVENTURES

The 11th Hour Golfer

I took a golf class in college because I thought it would be an easy A. I needed a P.E. credit, and I’m not exactly what you would call super athletic, so my goal was to find a way to earn it without running or doing pushups.

When I saw that golf was an option, I thought I was home free. I’d never actually played the game before, but I was pretty sure our professor wouldn’t have us running laps or doing strength training. 

When I saw that golf was an option, I thought I was home free. I’d never actually played the game before, but I was pretty sure our professor wouldn’t have us running laps or doing strength training. 

What I didn’t realize is that he would have us up at the crack of dawn on Friday morning hiking miles around a golf course. If I’d been in a flat state like Kansas, it would have been one thing. However, I went to school in the hills of Southern Indiana, which made this a different beast altogether.

I figured the hardest part would be getting the ball through a windmill or a clown’s mouth, which I’d done plenty of times playing mini golf. It turns out real golf involves a lot more work.

Also, did I mention it was a fall class? That meant that we were freezing for the first nine holes and then burning up by the time the sun got cooking on the back nine. Good old Indiana weather!

It wasn’t just the temperature and terrain that made this a challenge, though. We also had to contend with the dew.

I don’t know if they excessively watered the course overnight or if it happened to be located in a little-known Hoosier rainforest, but the fairway was soaking wet. Not that running around in soggy sneakers isn’t a blast, but these damp conditions also led to my most infamous golfing memory, the day I fell down in front of the entire class. 

It was one of those moments when I felt like Charlie Brown trying to kick the football. I’d been playing so terribly I was determined this time I was going to put that ball into orbit. I stepped up to the tee, ready to hit a hole-in-one. Instead, I got a hole in none. I swung so hard I completely missed the ball, slipped and fell flat on my face. 

I don’t know if they excessively watered the course overnight or if it happened to be located in a little-known Hoosier rainforest, but the fairway was soaking wet. Not that running around in soggy sneakers isn’t a blast, but these damp conditions also led to my most infamous golfing memory, the day I fell down in front of the entire class. 

It was one of those moments when I felt like Charlie Brown trying to kick the football. I’d been playing so terribly I was determined this time I was going to put that ball into orbit. I stepped up to the tee, ready to hit a hole-in-one. Instead, I got a hole in none. I swung so hard I completely missed the ball, slipped and fell flat on my face. 

That’s when I realized I probably wasn’t hitting the PGA circuit anytime soon. However, despite my incompetence, I pushed through and got an A.

Thirty years after the fact, I may be exaggerating some of the harsh conditions I had to overcome, but you’ll have to excuse me. I recently learned that not everyone’s college experience was the same as mine.

Thirty years after the fact, I may be exaggerating some of the harsh conditions I had to overcome, but you’ll have to excuse me. I recently learned that not everyone’s college experience was the same as mine.

When my wife was in high school, my mother-in-law went back to college to finish her degree, and guess what class she took to satisfy her PE requirement. Golf, just like me. However, unlike me, she never had to leave the classroom.

She never once had to get up early to lug a golf bag around a fairway, freezing, sweltering, searching for balls and generally being frustrated for hours on end. She never had to take a swing at a ball in front of her entire class and risk falling down on the job. 

No, she sat in her professor’s office and talked about golf, and then guess what. She got an A! An A! Not that I’m bitter about it. I’m envious. If I’d had the opportunity, I would have taken that sweet deal in a heartbeat. 

It reminds me of a story Jesus once told about a man who owned a vineyard. He went out at the crack of dawn and found some guys in town to work his fields. He promised to pay them a denarius, which was a fair day’s wages. Then he needed more workers, so he went back to town four more times, and hired four more work crews, picking up the last group at 5 p.m.

At the end of the day the farmer paid all five groups a denarius. Of course, the guys who had been working since dawn were steamed because they’d worked so much harder than the last crew hired. They received exactly what they had been promised, but felt like they deserved so much more.

“Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money?” the landowner asked, “Or are you envious because I am generous?” (Matthew 20:15 NIV). The answer to both was yes.

Jesus’ point, however, is that’s just how grace works. It’s not about you and how hard you work.  It’s about the generosity and kindness of God. 

Some people grow up with faith, and spend their entire lives following God, working hard to honor Him even through the hardest times. Others of us may discover God’s love later in life, some not until our final moments. As long as we have breath in our lungs, it’s never too late.

But what’s so amazing about grace is that whether you receive it at 7 or 97, the result is the same: forgiveness, freedom and life forever with God. The reality is that none of us deserve this grace, but God freely gives it because of His great love.

You want to know the real difference between my golf class and my mother-in-law’s? The guy who was handing out the grades. It doesn’t matter what I think is fair. It was his standard that mattered.

The same thing is true of God. It doesn’t matter who you are, how old you are, what you’ve done or what other people think about you. What matters is saying yes to the generous gift offered by a God who loves you.•

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