New Grips

It’s been decades.

As a kid, I spent countless hours at Hillcrest Golf Club in Maplewood, Minnesota. I started as a caddy—three dollars a day if you were lucky, six if you carried two bags. When the pro shop offered me hourly wages, I jumped. I pulled clubs from storage, prepped carts, shined sticks, stocked shelves, and even tinkered with my own grips and weights.

Then came the “demotion.” I became a driving range attendant. My job was to wander a hilly, rutted, overgrown field and pick up golf balls by hand. No machinery. Just bend, grab, repeat. Both backbreaking and hot, I was miserable.

One day, Ray Hill—the golf pro—drove down and waved me over. Not to scold, but to teach. He spent an hour giving me my first real lesson. Before he left, he told me, in that Southern drawl, “Son, I know you think this job is punishment. It isn’t. Someday you’ll thank me.” He was right.

From that day on, I practiced whenever the range was empty and played the private course in the evenings. My handicap dropped. I learned tricks that felt like magic. I played on the high school team. There was no such thing as too much golf.

But life shifts. I stopped playing in my mid 30s and rarely touched a club for decades. Then came that winter day with the boys hitting balls into a screen. I held my old clubs again—those gleaming irons, those black Persimmon woods with the unforgettable crack when that perfect shot left the club head, and something woke up.

Soon after, I decided to return to the game. Yes, I’m older. Strength, mobility, and flexibility—they’ve all declined. I considered buying new clubs for the technology and forgiveness they offered, but chose to stay with the ones that shaped me. I began exercising to rebuild what time had taken. And I bought new grips—small changes that somehow breathed life back into those clubs, and into me. I can’t wait for spring.

There’s a comparison here, of course.

A new year invites us to look back and adjust forward. 

What do you miss? Can you re-engage with it? Can you “update the grips” on something that once brought joy? It might be a lost friend, singing in a choir, tending a garden, or even the simple pleasure of washing a car. Joy doesn’t disappear; it just waits for us to return.

The answers live in your heart. The new grips won’t feel like the old ones, but if you allow the change, you may find new hope, perspective, and maybe, new life.

If you try something like this, I’d love to hear about it. Others might find encouragement in your story, too.

And now, the reason for this article. It reinforces my word of the year— “Black Ice”—a reminder to stay alert to life’s slippery downturns. I’ve been feeling the weight of the world lately: the chaos, the violence, the urge to curl up and look away. But hiding only allows injustice to grow. We are meant to be creators of change.

Like new grips, necessary changes can move us toward a humanity that uplifts, encourages, and walks beside the suffering. Rev. Allison Burns LaGreca wrote recently about grief, tenderness, truth-telling, and staying awake in a culture that rewards hardness. Her words struck me deeply. Use this link to read the full article for yourself.

During this season, the first part of my resistance will involve writing articles that focus on encouraging and uplifting others, generosity, and forgiveness. Transformational change can only come from the heart. 

Violence, hatred, division, blame, manipulation, and oppression can change outward behaviors, but never succeed in changing the heart of anyone. With that in mind, the second part requires participation in peaceful protests, standing side by side with the persecuted and oppressed, whoever they may be.