Hole In One (REPOST)

You never know power until you see your life like a feeble candle flame in a raging storm. Screaming winds, creaking beams, crashing trees, streaking bolts of light illuminating the raging sky, and thunder—that terrible beast. I hold my young brother close as he cries into my bosom. The sound of his wails cannot reach me above the tumult, but his quivering tells me all I need to know. The dim lights flicker overhead and all I see are shadows of faces huddled close together in the darkness, ever so often illuminated by another bright flash.

I lean my head close to my brother’s ear, lips brushing against it as I speak in a voice sounding low but loud enough for him to hear. Only he will know the words I speak this night. I tell him this story: “God likes to play too sometimes, and right now he’s playing golf.

“He plays with a long steel driver, which flashes like a sword when he swings it hard against the ball. That’s the lightning. He goes so fast that we can only see it for an instant, but when we do, it’s the most brilliant sight in the world. It’s heavenly, after all.

“After he swings, he hits the ball hard, and the sound of the impact is so loud it echoes across the world for miles, shaking us to the bone. That’s the thunder. Then the whoosh of his motion sends the winds whipping around us, strong enough to knock the trees down and make all the big tall buildings shiver. That’s how it goes every time: swing the driver, flash of lightning, drive the ball, crash of thunder, whooshing winds from the swing—and off the ball flies for a million miles, light years away in an instant.”

At this moment, another flash comes and the crackling thunderclap follows close behind, cascading winds crashing against the house. My brother, who has stopped crying, squirms beneath my enfolding embrace and his head emerges towards my ear. His face is stained with tears and fright, but he’s interested. “He’s that powerful?” he breathes.

“Yes,” I return softly, “Isn’t it amazing?”

He nods. Then, “Was that one a hole-in-one?”

I smile. “Of course!” I say, “He always aces his shots!”

“At least we’re not the ball he uses,” he sighs.

No, we’re not. He does just enough to display his power. He loves us too much to do any more. I cradle my brother close and we wait out the rest of the storm together.