You miss a putt. You miss an easier one. After what seems an eternity but is actually just a matter of minutes, the kindest in your foursome tries to sound matter-of-factly as he says, “That’s a gimme.”
You take the offer as the sweat drips on your gimme.
You walk back to the cart, glance at the scorecard and peek at the next hole.
In golf, hole and hope are only differentiated by one letter.
Part of the reason golfers keep returning to torture themselves is the latter. Another reason is that either the metaphors of life are written into the game or the players gravitate toward fictionalizing their lives with such analogies.
It’s like the psychology illustrations: “What do you see in this drawing?”
Overlay that question onto a good, bad or ugly round of golf and you get the picture.
So, if you’ve ever wondered why you or someone you know subjects themselves to such suffering, wonder know more. The players are in the play of life and the drama, comedy and tragedy are all cued up on each hole.
Sure, golf is a four-letter word at times. But so is beer. So is hope.
PORTAL TO HEAVEN: The next hole always presents hope. That is what is needed in any life at any given moment and a good hit, a lucky bounce or a favorable wind might give you hope for… your daughter’s college education, your son’s rebellion, your parents’ aging. And maybe you’ll be the blessed one whose hope in humanity is renewed when you hear your friend understate in a compassionate tone, “That’s a gimme.”
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life…