Sunday, June 20, 2004

ARM AND HAMMER

A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.
-- Proverbs 15:1

My dad was a wonderful man, smart and funny. He worked hard and played hard. He could really wallop a golf ball off the tee. I mean, cream it.

‘Course, sometimes it landed a fairway or two over from where he was aiming. But man! He could hit it far.

I loved how he would turn around, make an extreme muscleman pose so that his bicep would bulge, and gloat:

‘’ARM AND HAMMER!’’

You know: the baking soda logo.

Everybody would roll their eyes at his corny joke. But that’s just the way he was.

My chin gets a little wobbly on Father’s Day, these dozen years since he’s been gone. How I wish he could be around, still advising me and teasing me and loving me.

Now, he wasn’t perfect. He had a temper. He always said that he had a pointed head. Well, when he yelled at us, red-faced with steam coming of his ears. he reminded me of a volcano.

But the dust always cleared quickly and the sun came out again.

He was intense, that’s all. He wanted the best for us and from us. You always knew where you stood, and you always knew what he thought. People trusted him because of his honesty and insight.

Anyway, one day, I was walking for exercise with someone I love who is a lot like my dad. Smart, funny, loving and giving. But she does come on awfully strong sometimes.

She would kill a gnat with a brick . . . or a sledgehammer . . . or a tank. . . .

She was describing a difficult problem she was having with someone in her life. This other person was hurtful and in the wrong repeatedly, and not a bit sorry about it.

Well, my friend had finally lost her cool. She ‘’went off’’ on the other person in an angry tirade. But now, she had made things worse. And she knew it. She was devastated.

‘’Why do I keep doing this?’’ she asked. ‘’Why do I always escalate conflicts?’’

I didn’t know. But she was in pain. Oh, man. What do I say?

By then on our walk, we were cutting through a schoolyard. The grass had just been mowed. I tripped on a dark gray metal object. I picked it up.

It was a golf clubhead -- a driver. It had been shredded, perhaps by a big mower. It looked as though it had exploded outwardly, with a great, big, jagged hole.

I suddenly had this blast of insight.

I grinned, and held it up to her. ‘’THIS is what you’re doing wrong. You’re using your driver when you should be using a nice, soft pitching wedge, or a putter.’’

She stared at me, frowning.

‘’When you react to people so strongly, you’re using ‘too much club.’ That’s why you’re not connecting with them. You’re ‘overshooting the hole.’

‘’Go back to the person you had the fight with, and use a gentler approach with more finesse. Think of your conversation as a four-foot putt. Concentrate, take it easy and . . . in the hole!’’

That’s exactly the kind of thing my dad would have said. I got choked up over finding that clubhead at that moment. That was no accident.

She still stared at me, only her frown had softened to a half-smile.

‘’Oh, Susan,’’ she said. ‘’You and your corny jokes. OK. I’ll try it.’’

I couldn’t stop myself. I made an extreme muscleman pose, and gloated:

‘’ARM AND HAMMER!’’

She frowned some more. ‘’I don’t know WHERE you get this stuff. . . .’’

But I do. It comes by way of my heavenly Father, who gave me a humdinger of an earthly one.

Now he’s up there caddying for Jesus, and still helping me, through the amazing power of the Holy Spirit.

I always knew you were in heaven, Dad. But now I know you can still hit the long ball . . . the really, REALLY long ball.

-------------------------------------------------

Prayer request: Praise and joy for a good friend, Vivian Trowbridge of David City, Neb., who has just become a great-grandmother. Christian Michael Stahl arrived last week, weighing in at 8 pounds, 14 ounces. Best of all, on this Father’s Day, it’s fun to report that the baby was named after Vivian’s father, his great-great grandfather. Lord, thank You for inspiring that meaningful bridge across the generations. May Christian be a wonderful Christian, like his great-grandmother. Help us to remember that generations of fathers come and go, but God the Father is with us always. (Acts 24:14)

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