Before teeing off, the youngest and I had been to the driving range because, well, I'm not ridiculous enough to think I didn't need some refreshing. It had taken a minute, but I found a little groove to my swing from the old days. Feeling fairly confident, we decided to play a few holes.
As I put the ball on the tee, I casually looked around to make sure no one was eyeing me. I knew there was a fairly good chance I could whiff one and miss completely. It's happened to the best of us, yes? I started my back swing and a million thoughts went through my brain from previous years. All the instructions about keeping my head down and my left arm tight and swinging slowly and not too hard....they flooded me. Sure enough, I topped the ball and it unimpressively flew about 30 yards to the left and rolled almost past the swimming pool. Awesome.
Because no one was behind us waiting to hit, I casually said to my daughter, "Hey, um, throw me another ball. I'm going to try that again." I mentally ran through all the reasons it was perfectly logical to take a mulligan on the very first tee shot of the first time I've played in years, for goodness sake. It was absolutely completely understandable. Even the most seasoned players would understand. Sure, they would.
(For you non-golfers, a mulligan is a second shot, a do-over. )
Just as I put the second ball on the tee thinking about how low-key this was, I hear, "Hey, what's going on here? You takin' yourself a second shot on every hole? (laugh, laugh, laugh)." Up pulls family-friend-funny-guy along with my brother-in-law. I sheepishly laughed and mentioned something about how I hadn't played in years, which I do not think they heard, and waved them on. I self-assuredly (not self-assuredly) approached my (second) tee shot and knocked the pooey out of it right down the middle of the fairway. I secretly hoped they had lingered around to watch my (second) drive, but, of course, they were long gone right after the aforementioned snide comment.
Sometimes do-overs are nice. Sometimes they allow the nerves to calm and the jitters to be tossed away with the first shot. We get to recognize the adjustments that need to be made from the ball that didn't go exactly where we wanted it to. Mulligans are nice at times.
Do you ever just want a do-over? In life?
I found myself thinking that very thing the other day...I wish I had the chance to do that thing all over again. I would sure do it differently. It didn't take long in that mindset that I began to wrestle with the guilt that often follows. The shoulda, coulda, wouldas.
Sometimes we just want a life mulligan. Like my daughter tossing me the second golf ball, it sure would be nice if someone might toss us another marriage, another kid, another job, another childhood, another opportunity real quick. Let me see if I can get it right the second time. Surely no one noticed the first time was a flop.
Yeah, a do-over now and again would be great.
I'm a book-lover. I'm reading through a book right now from Jen Hatmaker that I pre-ordered months ago. I've already stayed up late reading it, laughed out loud with it, and quoted most of it to my buddies that love her with me. Books excite me. Ok, that's weird to some. It's especially weird to my family, boo. Of the five of us that live in this house, I'm the only book-lover so far, though I still cling to the hope of their transformations. My girls like books, but they don't love them. The boys in this house, my husband and son, do not appreciate books (I'm being way nice here). Give them a tv, a video game, or a baseball and they're set for life. A book is only useful to them if it's propping up a makeshift goal of some sort.
What happened? Where did I go wrong with my family?
I've been reading to my children since they've been in the womb. I've read-aloud more books than there are on the shelves of many small libraries. I've gone to great lengths to make sure the very best books were in my children's possession. We've (begrudgingly) turned off the tv and read through all The Chronicles of Narnia as a family, by golly. I've combed through every "How to Make Your Child Love Reading" book and article known to man. They have watched me model a love for reading all their lives. If there was a suggestion to making children become book-lovers, I. Have. Tried. It. Still to no avail. NONE of them voluntarily desires to pick up a book. All of my efforts seem in vain. And it eats at me.
So the other day, I found myself hopping on the guilt train about this. What if I pushed them too hard? What if I made too big of a deal about books? Maybe I did this wrong or that wrong. And for a minute or two, I found myself ambitiously longing for a do-over.
I wanted a book-loving mulligan.
As if this guilt trip wasn't enough, I heaped on a little of the comparison game, as well. You know the one. I started thinking about all the other parents who have kids who thrive with books. They digest everything they can get their hands on. They're constantly going to the library for more. They finish stacks of books in days. Me, on the other hand, I tuck tail and hide when I see the local librarian because I'm pretty sure she knows my family secret.
Living in the land of I-want-a-do-over does no good. Instead, I need to visit the village of Here-is-today-and-I-should-make-the-most-of-it. Ok, my kids don't love books. They won't die. They will likely have less-than-stellar ACT scores, but that's on them (nothing like a little pressure in case they're read this, which they never do, so). Book-loving isn't my family's path right now, so get over yourself (said to MYself). One day maybe, but maybe not.
What do you wish you could do over? Where do you wish you could change your past so that it might, just might, affect your present differently? You know what, it doesn't matter, because you can't. Nobody ever accused me of being profound, but maybe you needed to hear that.
Let's live in the glorious right-now and see the past as the perfect grace we needed to have us exactly where we are at the moment.
You can't change how you parented when your kids were smaller because that was five years ago and they need who you are now. You can't change how you responded to your husband yesterday that caused him to emotionally shut down. He just needs your humble apology today. You can't go back to high school and make better decisions because now you're thirty-something and those decisions shaped who you have become. You can't do-over your family because it's the one you've been given, and, well, you aren't in charge of that. God intended to grow you in it and through it or He would've given you a different one.
There simply aren't do-overs, friends. We don't get life mulligans, because every single thing teaches us and grows us if we allow it. It's the ball I've hit, so I just need to play it. It's silly to think that if I got a book-loving mulligan my son would love books. He wouldn't, I'm sure of it. Because, for one thing, his non-book-loving-self has taught this momma that she can't control everything. And because of him, and the rest of the crew, I have realized how differently and uniquely each of us were graciously created. And that's just the lesson God intended.
There are lessons scattered throughout all our pasts, mistakes and all. We don't need life mulligans, we just need to head to the next-decision tee box and try to knock the pooey out of it. You don't need a new marriage. You may just need a little time at the couples driving range to work out some issues with your spouse. You don't need a new past, but you may need to tweak your swing so that you don't keep getting in the bunkers. You don't need a new family, but you might need to pull out the forgiveness club instead of using the old familiar resentment wedge.
Sometimes we just have to yell a hardy "FORE!" and kneel beside the cart and pray that no one gets hurt. That's ok, too. I see another teebox right up ahead.
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