A couple of Friday’s ago, it was supposed to rain in the afternoon. I switched from my regular afternoon group to the morning group. Wanting this to be a tune up in anticipation of playing in a golf tournament in Palm Springs, I shot the worst round ever on my course. I bit my tongue and tried to hold my temper as frustration mounted. At the merciless end, I was so mad that I apologized to the guys with whom I was paired and then gave them my buy-in money. I headed straight to the first tee to try and fix everything that was wrong with my game. I parred the first and second hole. Then I approached the third tee with the hole 143 yards away. I hit my shot and it cleared the right bunker, taking a kick to the left off the downslope. One bounce and it hit the pen and dropped straight down, for my third hole in one. And there were no witnesses! The group on the fourth tee had already left and were in the fairway, oblivious to what just happened. I continued to play, shocked at what I just saw. I birdied the 6th hole from the fringe and then the group ahead of me witnessed THAT putt. I ended up bogeying the last three holes to finish at even par. I couldn’t stop playing and finished that round 16 strokes better than the morning round!

Encapsulated on that day is the irony of life. We can be in the darkest of valleys and in what feels like a moment’s notice, be on top of the mountain. And then we return home…

When I entered the house and shared the news with my wife, she smiled and said, “Congratulations!” In reality, she has no appreciation of what I just experience. She doesn’t play golf.

I returned to a home where one of the piers under my porch has sunk a half inch since they were installed and the company is dragging its feet in doing the warranty work. The house needs to be repainted and the fence re-stained. The pool deck needs to be power washed and re-sealed. The gutters need to be cleaned and the joints re-sealed. And every time the washer empties its water, we hear a tapping noise in the living room ceiling.

My wife’s back is in almost constant pain from bone spurs that have formed in the same area where she had surgery in December 2024. We’re fighting with her new insurance company to approve my son’s treatment for his chronic pain, even though insurance she had here in Texas. As a result, he’s gaining back weight that he fought so hard to lose and withdrawing emotionally. We fear he’s wondering whether it’s worth the continued fight.

It’s one thing to preach and talk about formation. It’s another thing to be formed. And all of life is formation.

Scripture is honest about this rhythm of highs and lows in life. In 1 Kings 18, Elijah is involved in an epic showdown with 400 prophets of Baal and calls down fire from heaven,. After, Bathsheba puts a price on his head. He’s exhausted and discouraged under a tree, and wondering whether it is still worth it. Victory and vulnerability are often back-to-back chapters.

We love the fire-from-heaven moments. We resist the broom-tree ones. Yet, here’s the strange, steady truth: The mountain top is not the measure of faithfulness. The home is. God seems to do His deepest work in the unglamorous spaces.

There’s something about piers that’s instructive. Weathered homes and fences, dirty gutters and strange noises. Left unaddressed, they weaken the structure. Exposed early, it can be repaired. The external leak forced me to consider the internal ones: Where am I tired? Where am I stretched thin? Where am I overwhelmed?

It’s the unnoticed moments that prove what you’re made of. When the work and home responsibilities are piling up. When your family needs attention, patience and understanding, even though you’re exhausted. When you’re folding the clothes, removed from everyone. When you’re cleaning the cat litter box or picking up the dog poop in the yard. When you’re taking out the trash and recyclables in the early morning hours while everyone else is still asleep.

No one claps in those moments. No one posts about them. No one stands to their feet. But those moments are not interruptions to the mission. They are the mission! It’s easy to feel like a king when the stage is lit and the stories are flowing. It’s harder, and holier, to stay steady when the to-do list is piling up, and the wife is sick.

That is where faithfulness gets forged… In the sick room. In the bedroom of your son letting him know he is loved, seen and heard, no matter what he is facing. At the counter, over reheated leftovers, with the woman you vowed to love. The mountain reminds you what God can do through you. The valley reminds you what God must do in you. And here is the beautiful thing: mercy is found, not on the mountain, but in the valley.

This week, I’m not trying to be impressive. I’m trying to be present to those I love. The needs of the house will get addressed. But, this ordinary, chaotic, unfiltered stretch of life—this is the good fight. It turns out, bedroom conversations and kitchen tables are just as sacred as the highs of life.

This is my second hole in one without any witnesses. The first was in New Orleans on the seventeenth hole, 198 yards in length. The green was crowned in the middle, so I didn’t get to what happened to the ball. I thought to myself: it either went in the hole or ran off the back. I walked from the front of the green to the back, looking for my ball in the rough. As I glanced in the hole, I couldn’t believe what I saw. I was meeting with the Care Team of my church the following week. They made phone calls and sent cards of encouragement to the sick or grieving. I shared the story of my hole in one in a devotional with them. Several days later, I received a card in the mail. When I opened it, the front of the card had drawing of a golfer standing on a green next to the pin. As I opened it, I saw this message:

Dear Tim:
I saw it…
God

It’s a reminder that whether we are on the mountain top with others praising us or at home doing the chores in alone and out of sight, God sees.

And may God be honored and glorified by what he sees as we are being formed in his image.

Tim