I have a love/hate relationship with golf. I love talking about the shots, the pro’s, the tournaments, the courses and all things golf. I love to spend money on magazines and equipment — all in the hope of improvement. Once, I’ve even been on top of the golfing world. I won tournament after tournament. Competitors crumpled with fear at the sight of my name on the leader board. It was the stuff of legends — a sight to behold. But it wasn’t to last. My career came to an abrupt and tragic end — a power failure forcing me (never a good thing in golf) to abandon the “Tiger Woods for PC” fantasy world.

The hate dimension of the relationship comes into play on the fairways (I wish) and greens. I have been playing golf for more than 10 years now, endured many troubles and toils. Golf is a humbling game — where one day you have the game figured out, and the following day you’re reminded that its math is not that simple, and it doesn’t always add up. One perfectly executed shot though, is enough motivation for rounds on end.

I’ve considered giving up numerous times. The agony and frustration sometimes gets to me. Why not just stop and try something else? Am I not wasting valuable time and energy? Wouldn’t it be wiser to look for something else, somewhere else? Giving up would be the easiest thing to do, relieving me from this emotional roller-coaster.

We often walk away from the very thing that holds our growth and transformation. We quit our hobbies, decline new opportunities and give up relationships — opting for the easy way out. We put an end to the hardship, and forfeit tremendous learning. Of course, our deepest challenges don’t disappear — they travel with us to the next venture. Without us knowing it, we always play the same way albeit in different games.

How has this been true in your life? What would happen if you had the courage to face your deepest questions? What would happen if you didn’t run from suffering, but embraced it? (See Matthew 16:24, The Message). Could the very thing we avoid, be what we need the most?

We sometimes learn and grow through the strangest things. Golf is an important class in my school of life. It’s taught me patience — to keep cool amidst great difficulty. I’ve learned to humbly accept defeat — to own my greatest and weakest moments. I’ve tasted success — the pay-off to prolonged focus and determination. The most important thing I’ve come to realize is that I play, not how I play. Better to be out on the course, than forever analyzing what others should have done.

I gain tremendous insight and growth in opening up to the help of others — both on and off the course. We’re often too close to our own life to see things in perspective. Without others we tend to make the same mistakes again and again. Practice doesn’t make perfect when we are doing the wrong things. We learn the swing of things from others, discovering our sweet spot. And as fellow students in the game of Life, we get to help each other grow in its art.

What have you learned from your sticking it despite great difficulty? What could you have learned if you didn’t walk away? Feel free to leave a comment and share with us.

I’m a keen musician. No, wait maybe musician is too strong a word. I’m a keen impersonator of a musician. Anyway, it was at the piano, in a dance of black and white keys, that the thought came to me: The heart is a guitar. An instrument of beauty, inspiration and most of all love. Each with its own tone, each responding differently to touch and feel, with the capacity to make soul-music — taking us to places words alone cannot reach.

Music cannot be manufactured. It takes time and discipline. Yes, standard progressions, useful techniques and agreed-upon time signatures all exist. But you cannot prescribe one formula to create and fit all music. The mystery and the attraction of music is that two pieces of music in exactly the same key can sound worlds apart when played in different styles and with different instruments. We often falter here in trying to help others. In an effort to ‘manufacture’ and guarantee growth and life, we reduce it to ‘three easy steps’ and ‘how-to’.

In our hurried and busy lives we run through one activity, idea and emotion to the next. We keep on taking on and picking up more, until our hands are so full that we put down our guitars. Always with the best intentions to pick it up again — someday when it all will somehow be slower and we have discovered how to make more time. We mute our hearts with the safety, security and comfort found in our predictable routines. And so we unlearn the art of making music. We betray our hearts and follow what the all-powerful ‘they’ say makes for good music. We pattern our lives on the rules and rhythm dictated as the standard — a literal deadbeat.

Think about your guitar for awhile. Do you know where it is? Abandoned under a bed? Dusty and neglected, some strings missing? How would you describe the sound as your fingers move across the fingerboard? How do you feel listening to the sound?

Do you still know how to listen and how to play? Do you believe that it’s true that you can live out beautiful music? Do you know your heart, and how to live by it? How you engage your heart, determine your life.

Often our hearts get stirred awake from its slumber without any warning. Our hearts resonate with certain words, sounds, smell and images found in books, notes, nature and conversation. I become aware of it in bookshops. Maybe it’s the smell of freshly bound books. Rows of words, soldiers in line. From a distance it may appear neat and safe — but with the potential to strike with metaphor, truth and beauty. Walking in the presence of books, I remember again that I too have a voice.

What stirs the string of your guitar? What do you do with it? Do you embrace it, accepting all the notes as your own? Does self-doubt make you put down the guitar and go on with life as you know it?

The Master Musician first created with sound — a word. From it a song of love, forgiveness, compassion, peace, acceptance, joy and life emerged. It invites us to join in. To bring our broken music unashamedly, trusting the Master to improvise and harmonize it to work. With the love of a mother, we are patiently and expectantly cheered on as we gain confidence. The yearning of our heart is to make music in harmony with others. One instrument alone cannot carry the music. We sing with U2: “We get to carry each other.” We can make music in such a way that it draws others in — in creating a loving space where all contribute and get a chance to shine. May we learn to listen to the Music. May we learn to listen to our hearts again, and learn to play again. May we learn to make music together!