“But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19) Some of our greatest treasures are memories. As I near the completion of my 59th trip around the sun, I find that time polishes our memories to shine brighter. Growing up in a small town may have its limitations, but the beauty of memories can outweigh the craze for big city lights.
The American humorist, Mark Twain, commented that “Golf is a good walk spoiled.” Anyone that has ever attempted to hit that little ball can attest how true that statement can be at times.
I grew up playing golf as an eight year old boy. After entering full-time ministry, I used to take Thursdays off to clear my mind. I would go out and play golf with some of the senior men at Quitman’s Country Club. Each hole of the old course carries a special memory.
I remember seeing the men of the community gathering under the huge pecan tree at the first hole. I would get to talk with Glynn Robinson, Vernon Roberts, Buddy Davis, and Joel Sciple. These men would take time to chat with me, and as a young man, it meant a great deal.
On the second hole, I remember seeing Mr. Early Walters play his last round of golf. He was well into his years and had to face the fact that he no longer had the strength to hit the ball over the water. On the third hole, I remember my brother, Frank, who at 6’5” and 270, took a mighty swing with his driver. He swung so hard he missed the ball, but the air from his swing caused the ball to go one inch from the tee. I’m in tears laughing about it now.
On the fourth hole, I always think of Mr. Fred Daniels. Fred passed away of a heart attack on the fourth green. A sad day indeed. On the fifth hole, I remember seeing Mr. Frank A. Mclendon hit his ball and say, “Weak, weak, and heaven laden.” He quoted that verse after every shot. Mr. Hobbie Hammock would shake his head and say that if Frank A. ever got laryngitis it would kill him on the spot.
On the sixth hole, I watched Mr. Sporty Dabbs, Sr., make an eagle—the only one of his life. Every time I saw him after that, he made me tell the story. On the seventh hole, I remember testing clubs that Mr. Jerome Wicker made. On the eighth hole, I can still see my oldest son turning a flip as he fell out of Jerry Dale Dearman’s super fast gas-powered golf cart.
On the ninth hole, I remember my Dad, James Ivy, lose a match to my brother. Dad had a 4 shot lead, but he knocked three shots in the water and lost by one. I can still hear Frank laughing at him.
Memories are the only thing that can make time go backwards. I am thankful to the Lord for such fond memories. All the men named above have left us—all that is left are memories. I miss each one of them. For me, a journey around the old course is… A Walk Not Spoiled!
