Month: January 2023

“How would you define chip on your shoulder?”

Looking away, Ron scratched his head, thinking about my question; he turned back to his laptop and began typing.

“I don’t know.” And so we both searched Google and found the definition contained in the picture.

Ron knocks chips off my shoulder with love. The largest one he removed came a few years back while sitting by the campfire at Gwynn’s Island on a cool summer night.

“Just because I haven’t experienced what you have, doesn’t mean I can’t sympathize with you.”

Ron’s response floored me. In a discussion about the two most life-changing events from our teenage years, I shared about my Dad’s death a few months before my seventeenth birthday. Ron’s pertained to sporting events during his youth.

“I wish my biggest problem in high school had to do with sports. I’m envious of your normal life.”

Thus Ron’s words illuminated a heavy chip on my shoulder that I didn’t know I had. And doing so, he lightened my load and helped me find fuller life. Living each day “habitually negative, combative, or have a hostile attitude” exhausted me. Letting go of the resentment I carried for God taking my Dad at such an early age truly lifted a burden from my shoulders. Sometimes, we get so used to carrying the heavyweight that letting go seems impossible.

“But Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” Matthew 19:26

Faith in Christ led me to Ron, who loves me like Jesus loved the church. Unconditional love can move mountains and remove deeply ingrained chips from people’s shoulders.

And so, over our morning coffee, through the course of conversation, I thanked him for knocking chips off my shoulder and hope he will continue to do so for decades to come.

“As long as you do it with love, that’s what matters. You can’t knock chips off by yelling.”

Your right Honey, you can’t.

Paying $8 for the child-size rocking chair at Restore in Edenton, N.C., I had grand plans.

Opening a Prayer Booth (named because I pray blessings over it and the people who will buy my products) at Lazy Daisy in Yorktown, I envisioned a refinished chair so beautiful people lined up to purchase it.

But alas, my vision never came to fruition. Instead, the chair sat in our garage. First tucked under a folding six-foot table, protected by a tarp, then moving to other locations within the four walls.

After accidentally spray painting our neighbor’s car with white paint, Ron decided I needed a better paint station, finding a portable paint tent for me. Putting away the foldable table gave the old chair room to breathe and a new location stacked at the top of other unused items.

Toppling off a stack of Christmas boxes, causing the seat to break off, the rocking chair found its final resting place in our home. Hung from a hook in the garage, broken seat balanced precariously on it, never to move again.

Ron’s installation of solar panels on our garage roof meant we needed room. Admitting defeat, I took the chair to Goodwill in Newport News, donating it again. Scraping off the $8 price tag before placing the rocker in my car, I began wondering about its origin.

Who donated the chair last? What caused them to get rid of it? What stories would the wood tell if it could talk?

Visions of young children fighting over who got to sit in the chair popped into my mind. Worried mothers pacing the floor in the dead of night, walking back and forth past the rocker as they prayed fervently for whatever crisis to pass, the chair capturing every step. Or toddlers becoming children becoming teenagers, becoming adults as the small seat became forgotten, sitting in a corner, no one noticing its presence. Until one day, someone decided to donate the old chair, beginning a new chapter.

And now another one begins as the rocker finds its way to a new home via Goodwill. Who will buy it? What will they do with it? What stories will unfold?

Only the chair knows, and only the chair ever will.

Walking to the green after putting one in the bunker, I had to step over dog shit.

“Why doesn’t someone clean this up?” Ran through my mind as I thought about the fees we paid to play.

But then I noticed the goose shit scattered over the fairway and had an epiphany.

“Golf comes with shit, just like life.”

No maintenance department on earth can keep Geese from pooping on the course. Expecting a person to do the impossible only causes problems. Just like in life, people can’t fix our problems; only we can. Expecting them too sets you up for disappointment.

No game has ever frustrated me more than the game of golf. If my husband and I hadn’t paid the money upfront to join, I would quit. But, because we made the commitment, it forced me to analyze and take responsibility for my issues. Becoming a sportsman like my husband motivated me to change.

Ron exemplifies good sportsmanship to me. Honest about his score, Ron takes responsibility for his actions, not taking bad shots out on others. He remains even keel most of the time. Not perfect, but above average, Ron inspires me to become better.

However, shit comes with the game. Instead of avoiding the inevitable, I had to learn to deal with it.

Becoming better means accepting, “Shit comes with life; accept it, deal with it and move on. Don’t get stuck in it.”

Today things began to click. For the first time, I didn’t care about the score. I just enjoyed the good shots and learned from the bad shots, and had epiphanies.

Like, “If you got time to worry, you got time to pray.”

And, “Pray for the best, Do my best,”

And, “Death isn’t an ending; it’s the beginning.”

All while walking nine holes of golf with my husband, God used my cheapness and my stubbornness to teach me some lessons.

P.S.

Steps on one shoe, distance on the other, the most efficient way I’ve found to walk nine with my cart. Another win for the day!