Gò0dNews for Everyone
What If?
G
by Deck Cheatham
ranting glimmers between reflection and longing,
with Gordon Lightfoot tickets, making our house a home
joy lays hold of you by what you know you will
with her quiet, overflowing thoughtfulness. Joy has a chance
lose, with reflections of the unobservable universe,
when two shores meet.
with the present delight of fleetingness. She touches and
All my joys, those repetitive little waves lapping
kisses her intended as a warm wind rising, then passes,
on my rippled shore, came to establish a province, a
allowing nothing but brushes of her solitary ascent and
sphere purposed to gain my attention to what is true and
disappearance. Unable to be held or conjured into being, her allure teases us toward shallow imitation, knowing her true self comes only as toil and pain give way and the sweet memory of her scent lingers until she comes again. When, finally, we reach the place where we serve God’s will not as we wish, but as He desires us to see it, we have come to that place of the heart God talks so much about. Joy laps over our ruddy shore until her rising tide reaches a high, deposits her humility within us, and leaves an unrepayable debt, an assurance all is well. Joy is God’s way to say, “I’m here; rest in Me; I shall never leave.” I took years to understand this, to respond with thanks and giving. Too many times in life, I have felt like an island, separate from all those other islands with names and lives
unchanging. Don’t we all possess a sphere through which
and ruddy shores. If there was a chance to advance, to
passes either joy or discontent, God or indifference? Who,
claim a beachhead, I did my utmost. Each advance met with
then, will dive in faith and fathom God’s will to awaken
obstacles, retreat, and then advancing again and spurred
to life’s purpose, to wander upon another’s shore and
me toward self-gratification. Forget I knew this wasn’t true
wonder…what if?
and around me were family and friends who loved me, who
Each must decide. I, imperfect I, have decided mine. To
made me mad with their truth-telling. Forget I discarded my
each God gives this ministry of sphere, our joys never to be
upbringing to stake my claim.
held but passed on to someone’s ruddy shore. This is God’s
Along the way, those little twinklings kept fleeting by, reminders of my forgotten treasure. There was my son
will, life’s purpose. Today, I encourage you to wonder with me and ask,
breaking 80 on the golf course for the first time, his twin
“What if?”
sister writing a poem about a golf pro’s long hours, and as
“Those who have ears to hear, let them hear” (Matthew 11:15).
the pages turned, my youngest reciting “Milk and Cookies” from memory, all granting glimmers into fleeting delight. I my streak of chocolate birthday cakes intact, surprising me
32 // July 2020
About The Author
remember those times N. prepared a favorite meal and kept Deck Cheatham has been a golf professional for some 40 years. He lives with his family in Dalton. He is a guest columnist for the Rome News Tribune, The Daily Citizen, and the Calhoun Times. Email him at pgadeacon@gmail.com.
