For over a decade I’ve been swimming in turtle/snake infested ponds to save a few bucks on plastic. It all started one afternoon at Texas A&M when a few of my buddies and I found over 100 disc golf discs in a single day (compared to about 4 in an hour…now).
And we kept every single one of them. I even set up shop on campus and sold some of the ones I found. It ticked off the Aggie Disc Golf Club because some of them had names on them.
Fast-forward 10 years. I’m in Tulsa. There are five ponds I’ve found discs in (and two that I REALLY want to visit). The same debate continues. Do you return a disc to its rightful owner or do you logically conclude that if it’s on the bottom of a pond it wasn’t that important to you in the first place?
I said yes, up until a single facebook post. One guy wrote “Lost a disc at _______. Daughters gave it to me as a Father’s Day present. Would really like it back.”
Now I’m a returner.
Compare this with having a relationship with Jesus.
- But to each one of us grace has been given as Christ apportioned it.
- Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.
- All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation;
- For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
Just like finding discs was a hobby that terminated on myself so experiencing grace was a privilege only I enjoyed. I’d set up shop in my dorm room and groan when my roommate played “Any First Person Shooter” until dawn. I’d set up shop in my old church and groan when new kids didn’t get that they couldn’t stand up and fart in the middle of my sermons. I’d set up shop in the mall and groan when I’d see a fat 8 year old being given more ice cream. I’d set up shop in the Branson Landing parking lot and groan when a much older Honda stole my parking spot. I’d set up shop on the bus to an away game and groan as my teammates watched porn in the back of the bus. I’d set up shop in my cul de sac and groan as my single father neighbor revved his motorcycle when my daughter was taking a nap.
Finders keepers? I’ve grown. Now I’m a returner.