Like Mike by Phil Callaway
This summer you’ll find a note on my office door: “I golf. Therefore I am not here.” And when I golf I usually can be found with my buddy Mike. Mike Olver is younger than I, and monumentally stronger. In fact, he has muscles in places where I don’t even have places. He sometimes asks which club I’m using to get the ball to the green just so he can fall over laughing.
One of these days when he isn’t looking I might just bend his clubs.
Mike has worked as a caterer, and sometimes Jim, the manager at our local course, asks him to manage the clubhouse. As much as possible Mike says yes. Not long ago when the golf course staff held their annual party, Mike was there checking people in. Taking phone calls. Flipping burgers. Listening to golf stories — a big grin all over his face.
There’s something you should know. Mike takes nothing in return. No money, no rewards. He wouldn’t want you to know this, but he is not writing this story. I asked him once why. He said, “What do I need? I’ve got a car that runs, a wife who loves me and a son to golf with.”
His eyes get a little misty when he tells you this. You may wonder why at first. Until Mike tells you the following story.
One dark August day a friend of Mike’s died of a massive heart attack in the prime of life. He had the build of an Olympic athlete. He was training for a triathlon with his brother. Mike and his wife were shocked.
A few weeks after the funeral the Olvers invited the widow and her eight- and ten-year-old over for dinner. Mike noticed her looking at his golf clubs. “My husband was going to take the kids golfing,” she said, staring into the distance. “He didn’t get around to it.”
Mike was fighting tears.
‘Would you do something?” she asked timidly. ‘Would you take them golfing with you sometime?”
You already know Mike’s response. Of course he would. “Do they have clubs?” he asked.
“No,” she responded. “But I’ll look for some.”
Last night after Mike finished running things at the clubhouse, he came by the house to show me something. There was a glow coming off his face and it wasn’t a sunburn. Seems he’d been preparing to lock up the clubhouse, when the manager came over to thank him for filling in. Clearly touched by Mike’s kindness, Jim said, “You know, you do this for us every year, but you won’t take anything in return. Isn’t there something we can do for you?”
“Maybe,” Mike grinned.
All evening he’d had his eyes on two items in the corner of the pro shop. When he had a few moments he wandered over to examine them. They were two beautiful sets of Top Flite junior golf clubs. A driver, a putter, and all the irons, shrink-wrapped in matching black and red bags, complete with shoulder straps and kick stands.
“Could you give me a deal on those clubs?”
It was the manager’s turn to grin. “Take ‘em.” Mike’s eyes grew wide. “You’re kidding.”
Jim wasn’t.
Mike couldn’t stop smiling and shaking his head as he told me this. “I’ll get some balls and tees and surprise these kids,” he told me. “And I’ll try to get their mom some lessons so she can take them golfing too.”
Mike is one of the strongest men I know. I’ve played hockey against him and you can’t move this guy from the front of the net without a crane or a harpoon. But true strength has little to do with the physical. True strength has everything to do with gentleness and a servant heart. James 1:27 says, “Pure and lasting religion in the sight of God our Father means that we must care for orphans and widows in their troubles, and refuse to let the world corrupt us.”
I couldn’t help giving Mike a hug before he revved his engine and took off to tell his wife. And I knew I’d never have the nerve to bend this guy’s clubs.
Phil Callaway is the author of It’s Always Darkest Before the Fridge Door Opens (Bethany House). Visit him at www.philcallaway.com. Phil Callaway is the editor of Servant magazine, author of a dozen books and a popular speaker. His web site is: www.philcallaway.com.
Originally published in City Light News, June 2009. Calgary, CANADA
