Thoughts on Hole in Ones and Holiness

Posted on May 14, 2020 Topic : Men's Christian Living, Women's Christian Living
Posted by : Phil Callaway

Most tournaments I am privileged to attend offer prizes ranging from hats that don’t fit to clubs I can’t hit to new cars I can’t win. My favorite hole is always the short par 3 offering a Caribbean cruise for eight or a covetable Jeep Cherokee if I simply unleash the perfect shot. I know the odds of an amateur hitting an ace are roughly 1 in 13,000, but still I dream. I know I’ve a better chance of hitting a striped kangaroo off the tee, but still I hope.

Three friends were witnesses on the day I teed up on a meticulously groomed course called the Bear—designed by the Golden Bruin himself, Jack Nicklaus. As I stood on that par 3 coveting a $10,000 prize, I thought, I could give this money to needy children. My children.

To claim the prize, my ball would have to carry over a lake, land on the front of the green, and jam on the brakes 190 yards away. It would require a long iron, a stiff tailwind, and a miracle not unlike the parting of the Red Sea. And so I bargained with God. “Lord, first of all, help me not miss the ball like I did on the last tee. And if it’s not too much to ask, strengthen my feeble arms and help this little white thing drop into the cup. And when it does, I promise to give you, um, 11 percent. No, make that 12.”

I had bounced shots onto the green using carts, trees, water hazards, and ball washers. I had come within six inches of making a hole in one on our home course before telling a friend I was glad to have missed. Why? Because our course has an annoying custom written by someone who has clearly never hit a hole in one: the acer buys drinks for everyone in the clubhouse, including people who drove out to the course when they heard what you did. This is like celebrating Father’s Day by making Dad bring the whole family breakfast in bed.

All this to say, I had yet to hit a hole in one.

And then I stepped up to the fourteenth tee with sins forgiven, gladness in my heart, and a 4-iron in my hands. I cleaned the grooves in that club with a tee. I scrubbed a blade of grass from the ball. I prayed a biblical prayer for a straight path, for God’s leading beside still waters, for a tiny miracle to take place.

Then I took a swing.

My release was enviable, my follow-through picture-perfect. We watched in awe as the ball took off. It accelerated as it rose, traversing the lake and continuing to climb. It descended exquisitely as if it were a tiny radio-controlled drone, honing in on the flagstick, causing my heart to thump in wild anticipation.

The lady there to witness such events arose from her cart. She danced the polka for about two seconds and buried her face in her hands. Was it from grief or glee?

Arriving at the hole, we surveyed the carnage. The ball had left its mark one dreadful foot before the pin and somehow rolled straight over the hole, coming to rest 18 awful inches behind the cup. I asked the judge if I didn’t at least get something, you know, a consolation prize. Maybe just $4,000, or a hat. She said no. Close only counts in lawn darts.

“Come on, God,” I said as I tapped the stubborn ball into the hole. “Was it too much to ask?” I should have known.

Billy Graham said, “The one time my prayers are never answered is on the golf course.” Until then, I thought he was joking.

I did not pray for a hole in one today. I did not pray to win. I prayed for others who have it worse than I do. I thanked God for life and health and redemption and people whose love and forgiveness startles me. I thanked God that he knows my needs and has never once stopped meeting them. And I told him that if ever he should allow me a hole in one, I would be grateful for that too.

God always gives us what we pray for. Or something better.