Ground Hog's Day

Dear Friend,

Here's what I know. The welts will go away. In time. Faster than the goose egg, probably, but both will pass. I hope the words were helpful. Know the follow through was equally painful for me. More so. It almost always is.

Why on Ground Hog's Day? It always reminds me of Easter, actually. The Captain was six. The Bunny, oh the Bunny, that foolish Bunny, had brought him some real sticks. Metal faced clubs, shafts with some real heft, beautiful really, almost too pretty to play with. Almost. We were outside before the dust dried on the Oreo trail (another story), on a side hill out in front of the house. Of course, I proudly took my place behind The Captain, placing the ball on the tee, helping him set his grip, and readying myself to carefully, patiently, slowly make contact with the ball. The Captain, being the Captain, had other plans. He'd seen Tiger once on television. His swing went down and up like the speed of lightening. The ball went sailing. The club fluidly followed through, until it connected a second time, with my cheek bone. Do you see the face of the club pictured there? So did I-- in the mirror, for about the next week, in reverse image.

Brother in law, standing on the dew covered grass on the side hill, took a step backward while laughing, and literally fell down laughing, continuing to laugh more. I on the other hand, went into "Good Dad" mode. Through gritted teeth, I mumbled out, "That was a great swing son. I'm going to move over here, so I can watch you swing the next one." I moved off to his right about ten feet to the right, and about five feet ahead. The next ball? The Captain shanked it. Straight in the middle of my forehead. And brother in law? More free entertainment. Oh that I wish I'd sold him tickets to my life early on. Had I charged admission, at least I'd have had something tangible on to which I could hang.

I remember that Easter morning, more times than not, whenever I feel like God is calling me to speak into your life. Just know that. It's never in judgement. It's never a word from on high. It is certainly not a word of wisdom, at least wisdom that is mine. It is simply is word from a fellow traveler on The Way, mired in the mud more times than not.

These days, maybe you've noticed, I don't enter too many conversations without a few polished rocks in my pocket. Sometimes there are three. Usually there are never more than five. To be honest is to tell you that it's my way to be careful how much I speak, and to make sure I weigh what I say. If I limit myself to say, four things, in the course of an hour, then I want to make sure that those four things are Good, Right, Beautiful and True. And more so, that they are just the things I believe that they are just the things that God most wants me to say, and you most need to hear, rather than the things that I most need to say, or the things I think you should hear. More honest? These days, I can only stand the pain of so much punch in the follow through swing, I suppose, and I know it will come. And when that is done, as a reminder that I am truly not in charge and that God is? Sometimes the goose egg needs to happen. At least for me.

At the end of it all, the best part of Ground Hogs Day is the laughter. The pain is light and momentary. Where ever two or three are gathered, after all, Jesus promises, He is there. And I've got to believe Jesus was probably rolling on the ground, right next to my Brother in Law, laughing on that Easter morning, Just like he was on that first Easter morning when John beat Peter in the first Discipleship 10K, and Peter was probably saltier than the Dead Sea. I can even imagine Peter trying to trip him. Some of my religious friends are always trying to trip me up. Can you relate? But I digress... Let's be honest. Anyone who would buy a six year old metal golf clubs deserves to be laughed at, by Jesus and anyone else. (And here, as I am part of the protected class, having done so, I can make that statement without public recrimination; if that is also you--RELAX-- is still true.

Again, friend, I will wear the well worn tattoos, of Wilson club and a Titleist golf ball. So when I speak into your life-- if I speak into your life, please know that I have not done so casually. Because I love you, I will whisper, "you may well consider..." and ""Your God says..." Those words are never spoken in judgement. They are never delivered dripping in guilt or served up with shame. I promise never to tell you what you should do. I am not you, and I do walk wear you walk. I can offer what is possible, and nothing more.

Understand, friend, my calling is fairly simple-- I have the privileged of loving you, speaking for Jesus on occasion, and hanging in for the follow through. And in time,