One Sunday a minister in a small, pious community decided to play hooky from church and go golfing instead. He was afraid of being caught, so he changed out of his Sunday clothes, put on sunglasses and a hat, and quietly slipped out the back door of the church.
As he drove to the golf course, the voice of God spoke to him. God warned the minister that if he played golf on the Sabbath he’d be cursed. But the minister had made up his mind and went anyway.
The minister got his first hole and hit the ball. It sailed all the way to the green and bounced in for a hole-in-one.
“Incredible!” shouted the minister.
He went to the next hole and hit another hole-in-one.
“Fantastic!” cried the minister.
The exact same thing happened on all eighteen holes. “A perfect game!” the minister shouted. As he carried his clubs back to his car he looked to heaven and said, “God, I thought you said you were going to curse me. Instead I shot the best game in history!”
Yes,” replied God. “But who are you going to tell?”
Ever felt this way? I read this short little joke in a novel that I’ve been reading -“Grace” by Richard Paul Evans- and I’ve been trying to think of a time that I’ve felt this way. Blank. That’s what keeps happening in my mind when I try to jog my memory. What the frickin’ heck?
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