The Magic Golf Ball

Today there is a memorial going on in Snowflake Arizona for a man I consider my father in the faith. Bill Robinson not only led me to Jesus, he taught me to golf. I'll never forget our first morning on the course.

There we were standing on the first tee box, hiding under the vast expanse of golf umbrellas, in a deluge. I was questioning the wisdom of starting what was sure to be a wet and torturous game on such a blustering morning. Bill never flinched. He rightly insisted that the rain would clear before the second hole. I had my doubts and knew quite well that he'd played in storms that whipped his umbrella inside out and required special raingear. He took his golfing quite seriously. Weather never stopped him from making his tee time.

It took some patience to teach me how to hit a little white ball with a metal stick in the direction that it was suppose to fly. I did multiple practice swings under Bill's watchful eye. "Pretend you're chopping wood" became my mantra as time and time again my frustrated swing was answered by a mocking ball still perched proudly on its little wooden stick . I swear they ducked when they saw my club coming! After a record number of strokes, we were at the second tee. Bill gleefully showed me to the ladies tee box and I happily teed off closer to the taunting flag. It was kind of him to allow me to play "girl rules" and pick up the ball and throw it every once in awhile.

The third hole went pretty smoothly. I zinged one off into the woods and a murder of crows took flight. Bill laughed and told me that if I hit one, he'd give me a "birdy" on that hole. I wasn't that fortunate. The thrashing continued and the divots were abundant. I really didn't think golf was going to be my game. It was not the relaxing walk-in-a-park-like-setting I had envisioned. 

I'm not sure which hole it was but I was ready to throw in the towel, dry my umbrella off and head home to a consoling cup of coffee. We stood on a tee box with a mile of green in front of a lake. Yes, a lake. I turned desperately to my golfing partner and exclaimed, "Bill! I can't do this! It's going to go straight into the water and I could lose a whole box of balls on this hole!" His face took on a thoughtful look and he said, "No you won't. I'm going to let you use my magic golf ball. It never goes in the water. You'll see. Here." He handed me an ordinary ball. Needless to say, I was skeptical and unimpressed but I went with it because, well, it was Bill.

I stepped up to the tee with the magic golf ball and carefully pressed the tee and ball into the ground. I surveyed the shot with the motions that I'd seen the pros use on T.V. Although; I was clueless as to why they did them. It looked good, I suppose. I stared out over the water at the pond of green with a speck of flag at the far side of the water-trap and took a couple practice swings to loosen up. Chopping wood, not playing baseball. Smooth follow through, don't look at the ball or it hooks, arms straight all the way through the swing. I drew the club back and up and over my shoulder and let it fly. Smack! For the first time all game I was rewarded with the feel and sound of a full-on connection with the ball. I hit it! I hit it!

The magic golf ball made a line drive and with a loud KERPLUNK entered the lake about two feet from shore. Bill and I both sighed. Before we could exhale, we watched in utter amazement as the ball came shooting out of the water a good six inches from where it had gone in and landed with a dramatic half-roll onto the green not more than three feet from the pin! We were both so filled with laughter that it spilled out into the rest of the game. I got a true "birdy" on that hole thanks in part to a magic golf ball and a wonderful friend. 

I'm certain that somewhere in Bill's golf bag is a ball tucked away. I just want to let you know that it's magic. I'm going to miss you, my friend. Hug Jesus for me and tell him I love him!