"Love . . . doesn't force itself on others,
Isn't always "me first,"
Doesn't fly off the handle,
Doesn't keep score of the sins of others." 1 Corinthians 13:5
I had a dream 2 nights ago.
In the 3rd row of a stranger's funeral,
I marveled at the eulogy.
An avid golfer chasing the perfect score
had collapsed on the green,
His ball 5 inches from the cup on the 18th.
His wife was reading his score card
in attempt to determine his eternal fate.
But it was not simply his golf game she scrutinized . . .
Apparently, he sliced it when he
kicked his daughter out of the house at 17.
But he recovered for a bogey by paying for her wedding.
He hit it in a water hazzard with an affair in '92,
But his wife granted him a mulligan.
He overshot the green when he stole a candy bar
From a local store when he was 16,
But used his pitching wedge to recover by
always over tipping at restaurants.
He buried his ball in a bunker with
the drunken fight of '84,
But pulled through for par by
mowing his elderly neighbor's lawn.
As she continued with the list,
the panic in her voice rose.
You could sense her mind racing.
Searching for answers on the score card.
She awkwardly held a tiny pencil wondering
why they didn't have erasers.
Would he spend eternity in a sand trap--
Hitting the same ball over and over
as it returned to the same spot?
Or had he made a hole in one
and headed back to the clubhouse
For a relaxing lunch with his buddies?
Would he see his dad? his best friend he lost 3 years ago?
Our old dog max? would he still have back pain?
The swirl of thoughts seemed to boil over
and force the tears to fall
like the rain she'd pray for that day
so he'd postpone his tee time
and cuddle just a little longer.
But there wasn't a cloud in the sky . . .
and then I woke up.
There's nothing worse than a funeral of unbelievers,
of people who haven't met you, haven't heard Your amazing story of hope, mercy, and forgiveness. Thank you, Lord, for tearing our score cards
and loving us even if we're not quite up to par.