My Way

My Way

We all have wandered away like sheep; each of us has gone his own way. (Isa. 53:6)

The Lord is my shepherd. (Psalm 23:1)

So you think can swing a club like Tiger Woods? That's saying a lot, even if he’s a bit past his prime. Or do you think you can throw touchdowns like Joe Montana? Maybe, but you’ll have to work pretty hard at it. And you, young lady? You want to be soccer’s next Mia Hamm? Good for you; she was a great athlete and an even better person. And me? Well, actually, there’s one fellow who caught my attention some time ago, because he reminds me of me. You've probably never heard of him before. Remember the 1999 British Open? Yeah, the one in Carnoustie, Scotland. Recall the player who had a three-shot lead with one hole to go? That's right, it was the Frenchman – Jean Van de Velde.

He was six strokes and 480 yards away from a major championship, a wad of cash in his pocket and a place in the history books. All he needed to do was score a six on a par four. I could shoot a six on a par four. My mother could make a six on a par four. This guy could shoot a six with a waffle iron and a banana. So, just tell the trophy engraver to start warming up his pen and practicing his V’s. He'll need two to write "Van de Velde."

Granted the hole wasn’t easy. Bisected three times by a "wee burn," which is the Scottish term for a marshy creek. No problem. Hit three short shots . . . putt three times if you have to. Just take a six, win the hole and smile for the cameras. Besides it's windy, and the "wee burn" is “wee deep.” Don't flirt with it, Jean. But, you know, the French love to flirt. So, Van de Velde pulls out his driver, and somewhere in Escondido an armchair duffer who'd been lured to sleep by the three-stroke lead opens one eye. He's holding a driver?

Van de Velde's caddie was a thirty-year-old Parisian named Christophe with untidy English, a paintbrush on his chin and bleached hair under his hat. "I think he and I – we wanted too much show," he later confessed. Van de Velde pushes his drive halfway to the Eiffel Tower. Now he’s 240 yards to the green with nothing but deep grass and heartache in between. Surely he’ll hit a short shot back into the fairway. Logic says, "Don't go for the green." Golf 101 says, "Don't go for the green." Every Scot in the gallery says, "Aye, laddie. Don't go for the green." Van de Velde says, "I'm going for the green."

So, he pulls out a two iron, and the armchair golfer in Escondido opens the other eye. A two iron!? Maybe if you're teed up on the beach, trying to hit it into the Caribbean! The spectators are silent. Most out of respect. Some in prayer. Van de Velde's two iron becomes a FORE! iron. Whack. Clang. Plop. The ball caroms off the bleachers, and disappears into marsh tall enough to hide a lawn gnome. The next shot lands in the water, and the next one finds the beach – a yawning sand trap.

Tally the damage, and you've got four strokes plus a penalty. He's lying five and not even on the green yet. So much for winning the hole. Now he's praying for a seven and a tie. And to the great relief of the civilized world, Van de Velde makes the seven. But you've got to wonder if he ever recovered from the "wee burn." He lost in the play-off. Golf, like nylon running shorts, reveals a lot about a person.

So, like I said, what the eighteenth hole revealed about Van de Velde reminds me a lot of me. I've done the same thing. Not in golf, mind you, although I’ve been known to pull a Van de Velde occasionally. But all he needed was a five iron, and he had to go and pull out the driver. Or, in my case, all I needed to do was apologize, but I had to argue; all I needed to do was listen, but I had to open my big mouth; all I needed to do was be patient, but I had to take control; all I had to do was give it to God, but I tried to fix it myself. Why don't I just leave the driver in the bag? I know how Christophe the caddie would answer: "I think Randy and I – we wanted too much show." Too much stubbornness. Too much independence. Too much self-reliance. I don't need advice – Whack. I can handle this myself – Clang. I don't need a shepherd, thank you very much – Plop. Can you relate?

Are Van de Velde and I the only ones to make an anthem out of Sinatra's song, "I Did It My Way"? Are we the only two dragging around that boat anchor of self-reliance? I don't think so. We humans want to do things our way. Forget the easy way. Forget the common way. Forget the best way. Forget God's way. We want to do things our way. And, according to the Bible, that's precisely our problem. "We all have wandered away like sheep; each of us has gone his own way." (Isa. 53:6)

Frankly, you wouldn't think that sheep would be so obstinate. Of all of God's animals, the sheep is the least able to take care of itself. Sheep are not very bright. For instance, have you ever met a sheep trainer? Ever seen sheep do tricks? Know anyone who has taught his sheep to roll over? Ever witnessed a circus sideshow featuring "Old McDonald and his jumping sheep"? No, because sheep aren’t smart. And they’re defenseless, too. They don’t have fangs or claws. They can't bite you, or outrun you. That's why you never see sheep as team mascots. You’ve probably heard of the Los Angeles Rams, or the Chicago Bulls, maybe even the Seattle Seahawks. But the New York Sheep? Who wants to be a sheep? You can’t even stir up a decent yell for the cheerleading squad. Because who wants to hear, We are the sheep. We don't make a peep. Victory is yours to keep, but count us if you need some sleep. Sis-boom-bah.

What's more, sheep are dirty. A cat can clean itself. So can a dog. We see a bird in a birdbath, or a bear in a river. But sheep? They get dirty and simply stay that way. Couldn't David have thought of a better metaphor? A better noun? Surely he could have. After all, he outran King Saul and outgunned the giant, Goliath. Why didn't he choose something other than sheep? How about, "The Lord is my commander-in-chief, and I am his warrior." There. We like that better. A warrior gets a uniform and a weapon, maybe even a medal. Or, "The Lord is my inspiration, and I am his singer." We are in God's choir; that’s a pretty flattering assignment. Or, "The Lord is my king, and I am his ambassador." Who wouldn't like to be a spokesperson for God? Everyone stops when the ambassador speaks. Everyone listens when God's minstrel sings. Everyone applauds when God's warrior passes by. But who notices when God's sheep show up? Who notices when the sheep sing, or speak, or act?

Only one person notices. The shepherd. And that’s precisely David's point. When David, who was a warrior, minstrel, and ambassador for God, searched for an illustration of God, he remembered his days as a shepherd. He remembered how he lavished attention on his sheep day and night. How he slept with them and watched over them. And the way he cared for his sheep reminded him of the way God cares for us. David rejoiced saying, "The LORD is my shepherd," and in doing so he was proudly implying, "I am his sheep." Still uncomfortable with the notion of being considered a sheep? Then take a simple quiz. Let’s see if you succeed in self-reliance.

Raise your hand if any of the following describe you. You can control your moods. You're never grumpy or sullen. You can't relate to Jekyll and Hyde. You're always upbeat and upright. Does that describe you? No? Alright then. So, how about another. You’re at peace with everyone. Every relationship is as sweet as fudge. Even your old flames speak highly of you. Love all, and are loved by all. Is that you? No again? Really? Well then, how about this description? You have no fears. Call you the Teflon toughie. Wall Street plummets – no problem. Heart condition discovered – yawn. World War III starts – what’s for dinner? Is that you? Okay, maybe this describes you. You need no forgiveness. Never made a mistake. As square as a game of checkers. As clean as grandma's kitchen. Never cheated, never lied, and never lied about cheating. Is that you? No? Well then, let’s take a minute to evaluate your test results.

You can't control your moods. Some of your relationships are pretty shaky. You have fears and foibles, and you’ve messed up a time or two. Hmmm. Do you really want to hang on to your lead balloon of self-reliance? Sounds to me as if you could use a shepherd. Otherwise, you might end up with a Twenty-third Psalm sounding a little like this: I am my own shepherd. I’m always in need. I stumble from mall to mall and shrink to shrink, seeking relief but never finding it. I creep through the valley of the shadow of death and fall apart. I fear everything from pesticides to power lines, and I'm starting to act like my mother. I go to the weekly staff meeting and am surrounded by my enemies. I go home, and even my goldfish scowls at me. I anoint my headache with extra-strength Tylenol. My Jack Daniel's runneth over. Surely misery and misfortune will follow me all the rest of my life, and I will live in the desolate house of self-doubt forever.

Why is it that the ones who most need a shepherd resist him so? Ah, now there’s a question for the Van de Velde’s of life. Scripture says, "Do it God's way." Experience says, "Do it God's way." Every Scot in heaven begs, "Aye, laddie, do it God's way." And, every so often, we do. And when we do, when we follow God’s lead and keep the driver in the bag, somehow the ball stays in the fairway. Yes, Van de Velde reminds me of me, and maybe you, too.

After losing the play-off hole, Van de Velde kept his composure for the crowds. But once he sat in the scorer's tent, he buried his face in his hands. "Next time I'll hit zee wedge," he sobbed. "You'll say I'm a coward, but next time I'll hit zee wedge." You and me both, Jean. You and me both.

Grace,

Randy

My Way - Audio/Visual