Anything Worth Doing and Remembering Is Exceptionally Hard

(View of the course: https://www.youtube.com/watchv=EpKApNVPhTI )

The lie was terrible. The bunker was deep. The wind was still howling. Then he hit one of the most beautiful golf shots I have ever witnessed. The ball exploded out of the sand, climbed into the wind, landed softly on the green, and rolled to within three feet of the hole. For a brief moment we simply stared at it before erupting like two little boys who had never grown up. A few moments later, Brett tapped in for par on one of the most difficult holes in golf.

As we walked off the green, I found myself thinking about something Brett taught me years ago: anything worth doing and remembering is hard. It would not be meaningful if it wasn’t.

This trip was Brett’s idea of a final hoorah before departing for three years of service working with youth. As I reflect on those six days, I find myself thinking less about the golf and more about the brother.

Many of you have heard me talk about Blood Brothers and Blood Sisters. These are not simply the people you love. They are the ones you would give a kidney to without a moment’s hesitation, and the ones you know without any doubt would give one right back. Brett is one of mine, not only because he is my only full brother and we share DNA, but because our relationship has been tempered by the impossible. Life handed us things that would have fractured lesser bonds, and instead it made ours unbreakable.

Our story has never been simple. When Brett was four and I was six, our mother spent years caring for our brother Von at Primary Children’s Hospital. We learned early that life was hard and that you figured it out anyway. We boiled eggs. We solved problems. We leaned on each other. Looking back, I believe those early years forged something between us that never left.

Over the decades we have celebrated victories and carried disappointments, watched each other become husbands and fathers, and navigated more than a few unexpected turns together. Every hard season seemed to deepen rather than diminish the bond. That is one of the quiet paradoxes of a shared life. When you face difficulty with love and honesty and a little grace, the hard things do not break the connection. They become part of it. The struggle becomes part of the story. The fire becomes part of the forge.

For six days Brett and I shared a room, laughed until our sides hurt, celebrated great shots, mourned terrible ones, and pushed ourselves well beyond anything reasonable. Somewhere between the first tee and the final green, I was reminded how grateful I am for this brother of mine.

The golf was wonderful. The courses were unforgettable. But the real gift was the time.

Life moves quickly. Children grow up. Careers evolve. Callings change. And opportunities to spend uninterrupted days with someone you deeply love become increasingly rare and increasingly precious.

Brett has spent his life choosing meaningful things over easy things. He chose it in medicine. He chose it in family. He chose it in service. And now he is choosing it again.

I have had a front-row seat to that life for decades, and I am a better man because of it.

Thank you, Brett, for the adventure, the memories, and the example.

Life is short. Enjoy the beach. Sip the fruity drink. Watch the sunset.

But also climb the mountain.

Play the extra round.

Take the adventure.

Push the boundary.

Because anything worth doing and remembering is exceptionally hard.

With grit and purpose,

Rich Christiansen