In my early days of playing, I frequently tossed my discs into the water. Some spots allowed clear visibility, while others were muddy and obscure. I often ended up barefoot, wading into the water to retrieve my disc. Occasionally, luck was on my side, but more often than not, I had to abandon the search.
As I frequented courses, I noticed some interesting characters diving to recover discs – we fondly refer to them as “disc divers.” They’re the ones who depart with a pickup truck loaded with discs from lakes that devour them whole.
The standard practice among most Disc golfers is to write their cell phone number and name on the back of their discs. There’s an unwritten rule to make an effort to contact the owner if a found disc has a number on the back. While some individuals do this for free, others might request a small fee. Personally, if retrieving discs involves getting wet, I typically ask for $5 to return the disc.
I had a phase where, despite my wife's disapproval, I aimed to become a disc diver. Typically, after a scorching summer round, I'd wade through creeks and plunge into ponds to hunt for lost discs. One particular course yielded the most success; multiple times, I emerged from the creek clutching 6-7 discs. However, my wife put an end to my disc diving days fearing for my safety. She didn’t share my enthusiasm for the rush. Me dying looking for discs was not worth it. I understood her concerns. Now, I use a retriever pole, sparing myself from getting soaked during disc golf rounds.
It was consistently exhilarating to anticipate the disc I might discover. I often hoped it wouldn't have any identification on the back. Occasionally, my search ended fruitlessly, while other times, I would emerge victorious.
Disc diving taught me that achieving your desires often demands discomfort. You must immerse yourself in unpleasant water, get your toes moving, without any glamour or allure. Life mirrors this reality - seldom glamorous, often risky, and requiring discomfort. Yet, in these moments, we grow, stretching our capabilities and boundaries. Even after numerous unsuccessful attempts, you may unexpectedly discover what you seek.
There's a resemblance between disc diving and prayer. Prayer, often acknowledged as necessary yet sometimes avoided, parallels disc diving in various ways.
You have to decide you’re going in.
Similar to making the decision to plunge into water or mud, engaging in prayer requires resolve. There might be times when we don't feel like praying or lack the desire, but to attain our aspirations, we must make the choice to dive in and participate in prayer.
Settle in and wait.
As you become aware of being drenched and start searching for the discs, patience becomes crucial. Similarly, in prayer, reaching a state of peace requires patience. Often, impatience and distractions lead us to abandon the practice before truly encountering the peace that comes from connecting with God.
Find that sweet spot.
Eventually, your foot or hand discovers a disc, and you retrieve it to discern its identity. It might be an ordinary disc or a coveted rare one you've longed to hold. Nevertheless, you've found what you sought. Similarly, in prayer, after settling in, an inexplicable peace descends upon you, bringing a sense of liberation. Jesus intends to offer us that feeling and experience of inner peace and freedom through prayer.
Eventually you dry off and move on.
Disc diving isn't the ultimate goal, but discovering some discs fuels excitement for new rounds. Living in the creek isn't a permanent state; it's a phase meant to guide us back to the course. Similarly, prayer isn't the destination but the necessary fuel for our journey. It helps us navigate life's complexities and challenges. Sometimes, diving into the experience is essential to truly grasp the essence of the game, just as in prayer, engaging deeply enhances our understanding of life.
Disc diving is a wild ride. You never know what you’re going to DISCover until you give it a shot. Pack those snorkels and head to the course.