Chameleon Heart

Some guy won a golf tournament this past weekend. He didn’t expect to win and he hit a shot I could never hit, not in a million years. When he rolled in his winning putt, he cried tears on the shoulder of his caddie. Someone put a green jacket on him, because when you win this tournament, you get a green jacket.

And then I realized I’m never going to win the Masters.

Not my path. Not my road. Not my destiny.

I grew up playing golf because I found my dad’s golf clubs in the garage and started hacking up the front yard in an attempt to hit a wiffle ball, because I saw Tiger Woods win the same golf tournament this other guy won, and I saw someone else put a green jacket on Tiger. I played because I was going to be the man of the hour on the 72nd hole at Augusta, and I was going to shed the tears on my caddie’s shoulder.

Not my path. Not my road. Not my destiny.

A dear friend of mine recently lost his mother. The funeral was held on Saturday. I spent some time with him today, and he’s doing better. Grief’s a process, and some days are going to be better than others. What he knows is how much he loves his mother. What he doesn’t know, and maybe what he doesn’t want to admit, is how he’s going to keep living life, and his life’s going to change, and she’s not going to be here to see it.

So much has changed in my life since my grandfather’s passing, and at times, I’m frustrated he didn’t see more of it. He didn’t see the birth of my niece in the summer of 2010, and he doesn’t know how much of a goofball I am when I see her. He didn’t see me spend the summer of 2011 in Colorado, one of the most transformational times in my life. He didn’t hear how I was moving to Philadelphia, and he doesn’t know what I’m doing now.

Yesterday, in the late afternoon, one of my roommates was practicing a song with his bandmate. Another roommate and I stood in the stairway, stretching in preparation for a run down by the river. My mind couldn’t sit still, not for two seconds. All colors and shades of panic streaked and stained the avenues, all variants of anxiety pulsed in my heart.

But there, in the hallway, the music reached me. It swept clear all the panic and anxiety. I closed my eyes and rested in the intimacy of that moment, the holiness of that silent space. Every moment could be consecrated if we wanted it to, but too often we’re moving too fast. My roommate and I stood as still as Redwoods, listening to my roommate’s voice resound above us. And then we went running.

My heart’s been broken, made whole, broken again, changed in its shape and made whole again. It’s changed colors and Loves and Hates.

I’m not the man I thought I’d be, and perhaps I’m not the man I wanted to be in a fast enough time, but I’m a man on a road.

I’m not going to win the Masters, and my grandfather’s not going to be there to see the next chapter in my life, but I’ve given it to God, whatever breaking or building He chooses for me.

My path. My road. My destiny.