The only time my prayers are never answered is on the golf

In the days of old, when wisdom was passed not through the written page but through the voice of elders around the fire, men would seek to understand the mysteries of life and the hidden ways of the divine. Among the sayings that echo across time is the humble jest of the great preacher, Billy Graham, who once declared: “The only time my prayers are never answered is on the golf course.” At first glance, these words seem clothed in laughter, light-hearted and without weight. Yet beneath their surface lies a river of truth, deep and filled with meaning, for even in humor the wise conceal wisdom, and even in jest the eternal speaks.

Consider, my children, what it means for a man of prayer—whose voice was raised to Heaven on behalf of nations, whose words comforted kings and beggars alike—to confess that when he sought divine favor upon the golf course, the heavens were silent. It is a reminder that the Creator does not bend to every whim, nor shape the winds of fate to suit a man’s pastime. The holy silence upon the field of play teaches us that the divine will is not a servant to our desires, but a guide that leads us toward higher purposes.

Do not misunderstand, for in this saying there is no bitterness, but rather joy. The preacher laughed at his own weakness, for he knew that not all things require the touch of Heaven. Golf, that noble game of patience and discipline, mirrors life itself. There are days when the ball rolls true and straight, and days when it veers into the rough despite all care. And in these moments, when no prayer can tame the flight of the ball, man is left to wrestle with his own imperfections. Such struggle, unshielded by divine intervention, is the forge of character.

Recall, if you will, the tale of the great Roman general Marcus Aurelius, who though crowned emperor, faced countless trials not with cries for deliverance, but with discipline of mind and spirit. When Rome trembled with plague and war, he did not pray that the storm be taken away, but prayed rather for strength to endure it with dignity. And so it is with the game of golf, and with life itself: when the heavens are silent, it is the soul that must rise and strike true.

The laughter of Billy Graham upon the fairway was a holy laughter. It told his companions that not every desire must be granted, and that sometimes the greatest gift is silence from above, so that man may learn humility, patience, and the discipline of his own hand. Just as the bow is strengthened by the resistance of the string, so too is the soul strengthened when it cannot lean upon answered prayer for trivial things. The silence of Heaven is sometimes more instructive than its thunder.

Learn, then, the lesson: that prayer is not a coin to purchase favor, but a song to align the heart with the divine. Ask not for the ball to find the hole, but for the patience to endure when it does not. Ask not for the storm to pass, but for courage to stand when the winds rise. Ask not for every wish to be fulfilled, but for wisdom to desire only that which is good and eternal.

In your daily walk, let your prayers be rich with gratitude, not demand. When you labor, pray for strength; when you weep, pray for comfort; when you rejoice, pray in thanksgiving. But when you play, whether it be on the golf course or in the lesser games of life, let your laughter itself be your prayer. For joy, humility, and endurance are offerings most pleasing to Heaven.

And so, O seeker of wisdom, take this saying not merely as a jest but as a torch of guidance: life will not always yield to your petitions, nor will Heaven shape every stroke of your hand. But within this silence lies your calling—to grow steadfast, to embrace humility, and to find joy in the striving itself. Walk forward, then, with a spirit made stronger not by every answered prayer, but by the silence that calls you to rise on your own.