published in Chicken Soup for The Woman Golfer's Soul
I was contemplating playing in my first charity golf tournament when I glanced out the kitchen window just in time to see a baby wren perch on the edge of our birdbath. Like a race car driver gunning her engines before takeoff, she was mimicking the motions she would need to bathe...over and over…before she even got wet. “Act as if” is a powerful principle.
After much effort, the feisty little creature took the plunge. By this time her wings were so well practiced, she roared across the birdbath like a wind-up toy and promptly crashed into the far side. Two feathered friends watched in horror. Bristling her feathers, she regrouped and launched again, plowing a furrow across the small pond and thoroughly spraying her audience. Like the wren’s swimming lesson, my golf game was not professional, but I determined that I too would just keep doing what I’d been taught and dare to get wet. Hopefully I wouldn’t drench the gallery! More importantly, I would have challenged my comfort zone, gotten some exercise, and, once again, walked by faith.
So the day of the tournament dawned clear and WARM. I consoled myself that with a select shot format maybe I wouldn’t be too much of a liability. And a couple of times my shot was even chosen! Most of all, my husband and I enjoyed an afternoon together supporting a good cause and laughing often with two unknown teammates who quickly became friends. At the last tee, however, I was hot, tired, and a little discouraged. My methods were not working. “God,” I said, “I know this is only a game, and we are not in contention for a prize, but it sure would mean a lot if I could do just one thing that would make me feel I had helped my team.”
None of us had ever played this course before. After my husband’s second shot lofted up and over a hill heading full speed toward the green, we all picked up our balls and crested the hill to play the ball on the …green? Regrettably our “select shot” had rolled off the green and down a steep, 15-foot embankment into a sand trap! Three attempts before me had failed to clear the imposing incline. So the rookie reared back and swung with all her might. Miraculously the ball popped out of the sand and kept climbing just high enough to grab hold of the fringe of that elevated green. Much laughter ensued. Since I was the only one with a mulligan left, I scampered up the steep hill to make the first putt. Thirty feet of undulating green separated me from the hole. Oh well! I struck the ball and watched it roll …and roll… and roll… all the way down the hill…right into the hole! Again, riotous laughter and an unforgettable moment shared by all complements of a heavenly Father who rewards faith the size of a mustard seed, even the faith of a little bird.
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