A Theology of Golf Carts

    If she doesn’t show up in an hour, it’s time to look for the golf cart.

    I start the long walk along our winding driveway, up the arm from our house that leads to the road and back along the loop to my brother’s house.  I’m carrying a bottle of Ensure with me.  There is no sign of Mom and her golf cart.

    John is home today, so I check with him.  He suggests driving down the road.  Mom has been bored lately and so has started pulling thistle and nettle alongside the road.  As I look for her, I’m working my way from concern into full-blown worry.

    She’s gone past the rise of the hill to the bottom, getting close to where Bakken Road becomes Celestial Way.  The golf cart is loaded down with nettle, thistle, and dead branches.  Mom stands in the ditch, tossing up handfuls of weeds, but this particular stalk of Canada thistle won’t pull loose.  She refuses the drink and gets her hedge clipper to get that last bit of noxious weed. 

    My worry has morphed into exasperation.  I leave the drink in the cart and suggest she head on home.  She’s rather offended that I look out for her, I know.  Meanwhile, mosquitoes swarm me.  I climb back into the comfort of my air-conditioned car, turn around, and head back to our driveway.

    When she comes in, I will offer her favorite drink:  an ice-cold bottle of root beer.  Tonight her hands will cramp from all that weeding, and her arms will itch wherever the nettle touched her skin between her work gloves and her long sleeves.  I will offer the heating pad, more cold drinks, and her muscle relaxant.  She won’t remember what she did today to cause the discomfort, and she will ask me about it every few minutes all evening long.

    Today during Lora Burge’s excellent presentation*, we considered how theology impacts life and how life impacts theology.  The two questions she addressed were “Who is God?” and “Who is humanity?”  She shared with us the Greek word for parent, Pantokrator, which comes to mind now.  I have become my mother’s parent, and must daily weigh the balance between protecting her and allowing her the freedom to do the things she loves.   I am a watchful presence, the one who helps her remember things and is available to help meet her needs.   I make lots of mistakes, but my intentions are good.  I want her to feel secure and loved and capable.

  I’m most grateful that God never makes mistakes, and His intentions are perfect as well.  Plus, He always helps me find the golf cart.

*Lora is a second-year student at McCormick Theological Seminary in Chicago.