For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. (Ephesians 2:18, ESV)
Fernwood Country Club, where I spent my childhood, gives a whole new meaning to the word “country.” Suffice it to say, it is in rural Mississippi. This terminology is not to suggest the slightest devaluation. On the contrary, my fondest memories are found precisely there. In fact, given the choice of one last round with my dad or son, it would be at Fernwood C. C., Fernwood, Mississippi.
I learned the game there. I outdrove my dad for the first time at the age of twelve on number eighteen. The little ridge my ball barely trickled over, unaffected by fifty-three years of erosion, remains there today. This country club is where my closest friendships were forged.
As a teenager, I often slipped away to play the back nine at sunset for no other reason than I could dream impossible dreams. In the summers, I couldn’t play the front nine enough. That was the harder of our two nines, but the second hole paralleled the swimming pool. I can still smell Coppertone. This was my “happy place.”
My first job was at this club. My first hole-in-one was on number five. I broke 70 there for the first time. It was there I learned the difference between a friendly wager and serious gambling. I learned that the hard way. I’m reasonably sure this is where I learned some bad habits like cursing and other shameful behavior. I know I started smoking there. Arnie smoked. Hogan smoked. My club pro smoked. So, I smoked.
Spending summers at the club mowing greens atop a Toro, playing competitive rounds in our high school matches, and much more will forever linger in my psyche.
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The light of God’s presence shown so brightly in my conscience that it revealed all my defects and ill motives; my worst thoughts and imaginations were inescapably exposed in the light of his radiating holiness.
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Who knows why we remember, but one memory is indelibly etched on the tablets of my mind—that little sign on the Men’s Locker Room door that read, “No Admittance Under 18 Years of Age.” That irritated me from the age of 12 all the way to 17 plus 364 days. I am sure they had good reasons. After all, men’s locker rooms are hardly the place for impressionable young boys. The very fact the sign indicated I couldn’t enter only intensified my desire. Did I occasionally sneak in? Of course, I did!
This “no access” thing has always aggravated me. I hate feeling left out. As a budding youth, I naively drove up to Augusta National expecting to get a tour. I was young and foolish, but it still aggravated me they refused to grant me access.
There is one exception to this feeling of exclusion, at least up until the time Jesus redeemed me. Before Christ, I wanted no access into God’s righteous presence. His presence exposed all my sin, including my foul mouth. The light of God’s presence shown so brightly in my conscience that it revealed all my defects and ill motives; my worst thoughts and imaginations were inescapably exposed in the light of his radiating holiness. My conscience screamed at the very mention of his commands. In those days, I could not get far enough away from him. Until!
It was the summer of 1978 when Christ’s love broke through my blinded mind and calloused heart. Then, I was granted access into his presence without shame, guilt, or fear. The sign no longer forbade access into his presence. Now the sign read— “You are Accepted in the Beloved!” You see, no one gets into the presence of the Father apart from the Son of his Love—Jesus the Christ.
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Dennis Darville
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The Links Daily Devotional appears Monday-Friday at linksplayers.com.