Monkeys, Golf, and Brits: Navigating the Unexpected

Hey everyone! Welcome to week three of our Dear Lord, This Was Not What I Was Expecting miniseries.

If you know the drill, this installment leans more heavily into the psychological side of the theme. But, as usual, we’ll give our standard nods to theology and creativity along the way.

And with that...let's talk monkeys, balls, and Brits.

The Backstory Behind the Title

Back in colonial times, the British redcoats were stationed in India. And though they were surrounded by spices and culture, they missed a sacred pastime: golf.

Instead of waiting months (okay—probably years) to head back to England for nine holes, they decided to build a golf course right there in India. Honestly? Solid plan. Clear some trees. Use the rolling hills. Same game, different weather.

There was just one problem they didn’t account for...an animal English golf courses didn’t have...

Monkeys.

These monkeys would sprint onto the course, snatch the players’ golf balls, and run off with them. Probably laughing. Eventually, they’d chuck the balls somewhere else entirely.

It got so bad that the English had to write a new rule:

You must play your ball from where the monkey drops it.

Hilarious. Infuriating. And, a few centuries later, an almost perfect metaphor for navigating life’s unexpected turns.

Pulling Apart Two Key Factors: Offense and Grief

The golf story kind of preaches itself. Most of us know what it’s like to have our metaphorical golf balls chucked into the woods.

But I want to take this a layer deeper.

If you Google it, you’ll find a book written around this very idea, Play the Ball from Where the Monkey Drops It, that focuses on grief and resilience. What often gets skipped, though, is our relationship with the Lord when our golf balls get taken.

As I've reflected on this topic, also looking at stories in the Bible, I've slowly come to this conclusion:

There is a difference between offense and grief.

Offense stems from entitlement.

Grief stems from love.

They’re often tangled together and can feel indistinguishable, but let’s pull them apart.

With offense, there is loss, but we turn our pain into an accusation, often aimed at God (even if we never say it out loud). That accusation shows up in silence toward him, stiff-arming community, or emotionally shutting down.

When offense spirals, it takes our thoughts with it. We talk to ourselves instead of God, and that self-talk—especially in pain—is often riddled with lies. (Adam and Eve. Israel in the wilderness. Job. You get the idea.)

It’s like following your chucked golf ball into the woods and, instead of grieving, becoming enraged. We don’t want perspective. We don’t want God’s voice. We don’t want people close, because we’re hurting and offended.

Offense can feel like regaining control, but it’s actually a loss of perspective.

Offense feels powerful—like slamming a gavel in court. I have been wronged. And maybe you have. Sometimes we hit a bad shot and end up in the woods, and it’s partly on us. Other times, the monkeys grab the ball. Either way, it hurts. It can knock the wind out of you.

Grief without offense looks different.

It feels different. Grief stays open to God’s presence, God’s perspective, and God’s comfort. It stays connected to people. It allows pain without surrendering to the lies that want to take root in our hearts.

Let me make this personal for a second.

When I was sick in the early days of high school, I was grieved and offended. I was offended God did not heal me on my timeline. I was offended when he brought a guide dog pup to train instead of healing my body. I was offended to the point I lost perspective.

It was only when that offense began to fade, and raw, unfiltered grief finally entered the picture, that I began to heal.

So I’m not blowing smoke here. I know the searing pain of losing your golf ball in the trees. I’ve lost many over the years.

But offense is not the same thing as grief.

I'll stand ten toes down on that, in the woods, beside you and your golf ball. Offense will not help you heal. It'll actually keep you stuck.

Why Do We Choose Offense Over Grief?

Short answer: Grief is far more uncomfortable.

With grief, we feel vulnerable. We can feel hopeless. We can feel dependent. Not feelings we like. They put a big old dent in our pride.

Offense, on the other hand, feels strong. It’s like winning an internal court case: I was wronged. They’re at fault.

But there are deeper reasons worth examining.

Crack your knuckles and buckle up for this list. We're not holding any punches.

01/ Unrealistic Expectations

Unrealistic frameworks lead to unrealistic expectations.

And unrealistic expectations lead to disappointment.

If you thought life was supposed to go a specific way, your ball was supposed to fly down the course at specific angles, with a specific number of hits...and no one told you about monkeys or sandpits or trees...it’s hard not to feel offended when you’re digging through bushes for your ball.

We sometimes call this moment disillusionment. In other words, the way you thought life worked… didn’t.

This is especially tricky when our expectations for life were set up by faulty theology. We don't have time in this to unpack this completely in this post, but when you've believed false doctrines about God and life, whether ideas about prosperity gospel, neo-prosperity gospel, or subtler distortions, these ideas set us up for offense when life doesn’t follow the map we were handed.

You might blame yourself for not knowing about the monkeys. Or other people for not telling you. Or you might blame God.

Wrestling through offense is often part of the journey, but I cannot recommend you camp out there.

There’s a quote we love around here. It stings a little:

"Mental health is the dedication to reality at all costs." - Jim Cress

When our busted frameworks get...well...busted, we have a choice: offense or grief.

02/ Family Expectations and Pressure

Our families often put unrealistic expectations on us. And real talk, it doesn't help when a delusion about life seems to work for someone else in our family.

You know, that relative that was effortlessly successful.

Their ball got down the course fine.

No trees.

No sandpit.

No monkeys.

Your family starts looking at you like you got five heads when you keep ending up in the jungle. And maybe they also blame God. Maybe they laugh or snicker or get on you about it.

Offense can creep in with this added pressure from the folks who are supposed to love you best. Intentioned or unintentional.

03/ Demi-God Complex

We humans struggle to let God be God. We'd rather live that demigod life, in Yahweh's place.

When we set out with our agenda, our expectations, and present God with our "good, beautiful, and perfect plan for our lives," and the monkey grabs a hold of that plan...this demigod complex gets triggered, big time.

(Speaking again from plenty of personal experience.)

Somewhere along the way, we seem to have lost the truth that those who follow after God almost never get the life they were expecting. They don't get the people they expected. Timelines are out the window. Circumstances don't exactly measure up to "comfy." It honestly is a lot more like flying blind, with the presence of the Lord for step by step guidance.

But we don't want that. Not really.

And sometimes we don't realize how much we've ordered God around until it becomes apparent he's not taking orders.

That's an awkward moment.

But if you lean into it, it's also a healing one.

04/ We Don't Think God Can Work With Chucked Golf Balls

If we believe God only works on the course, a detour into the jungle will overwhelm us.

That's simple math.

And this is where we need to challenge ourselves. Remember, our brains will choose what's familiar over what's safe. Trusting God in unexpected circumstances will feel like a threat.

And if we don't have a personal experience watching God redeem a chucked golf ball, we will often soothe ourselves with offense.

Grief requires an openness to Yahweh and others.

Offense does not.

Moving from Offense to Grief

So, if the offended life is the place you feel stuck in, don't shame spiral. Breathe deep. Tell the Lord the truth of where you're at.

Repentance is a lifestyle––a patterned way of pivoting back toward God after we've crashed out.

Start with repentance.

God's not standing there with a pitchfork. He knows how much it's hurt to have life spin out sideways. He sees. He's listening when you're ready to speak.

Shift your focus.

I was reading in Psalms this morning, and came across these few lines from Psalm 119:23-24.

Even though princes sit plotting against me, your servant will meditate on your statutes. Your testimonies are my delight; they are my counselor. (Psalm 119:23-24 ESV)

When we lose our golf ball, we tend to fixate on the ball itself.

Life is darkest when our perspective is smallest.

Did you know you're not meant to determine the trustworthiness of God through your life alone? Pride will destroy the comfort that God's presence and activity in someone else's life could have brought you. It's a discipline to shift our hearts to meditate on the testimonies of others, and not just ourselves. Our ball. Our circumstances.

With offense, we quietly ascribe to the Lord:

• Incompetence  –– He forgot me.

• Cruelty –– He doesn't care about me.

• Deception –– He lied to me.

It is one thing to grieve a lost dream.

It’s another to accuse God of sabotaging it.

Closing Pep Talk

Storing up offense at God will not help you heal.

Scanning the course to see where everyone else's ball is at won't help you heal either.

With one exception: When you scan looking for God, it can expand your perspective and reignite your hope.

Don't focus on the monkeys.

Don't focus on the other golfers.

Don't even focus on your ball.

Monkeys induce rage.

Golfers spark envy.

Your ball’s location can crush your spirit.

Focus on Yahweh.

You don't have to play your ball from where the monkey dropped it alone.