"In life, as in this game, when we give into the drive to do more, to do it as quickly as possible, and to cram as much into one day as we possibly can, then it would seem to me that it's time to slow down. Changes need to be made if we are going to survive, and not only survive but enjoy living. My life came to a screeching halt in June of 2004. I was just bee-boppin' along, minding my own business, doing my job, doing my job, and, oh yes, doing my job. Golf? Well, at that point in my life I had not swung a club in over a year. And, as far as my boat goes? It had been sitting under my carport, untouched for over a year, just like my golf clubs. Then one day I sat down, took a bite of my lunch, and BAM! The food stopped right at the center of my chest and refused to go down. The pain was the worst thing I had ever experienced in my entire life. A week or so later I went in for some tests, and the doctor told me that I had a golf-ball-size tumor in my esophagus, right where the esophagus meets the stomach. (Oh, the irony.) Seven months of chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery later, my entire outlook on life was different. The surgery, commonly called an esophagectomy, was suppose to be very major to begin with. The fact that there were complications during surgery and the two or three days after brought me close to death's door and inflicted an incredible amount of trauma to my body. Ask anyone now, and they'll tell you that I'm a walking miracle. I am not anywhere near understanding how this experience has changed me, but I do see myself doing everything, and I mean everything much more slowly. I don't feel as rushed or preoccupied when I'm with people as I did before. I tend to speak and preach more slowly. I pray more slowly and deliberately, whether alone or with my congregation. And, yes, I play golf three times a week now, go to the range once a week, and I play slow enough to enjoy it. And all the while, I actually do see myself getting
"In life, as in this game, when we give into the drive to do more, to do it as quickly as possible, and to cram as much into one day as we possibly can, then it would seem to me that it's time to slow down. Changes need to be made if we are going to survive, and not only survive but enjoy living. My life came to a screeching halt in June of 2004. I was just bee-boppin' along, minding my own business, doing my job, doing my job, and, oh yes, doing my job. Golf? Well, at that point in my life I had not swung a club in over a year. And, as far as my boat goes? It had been sitting under my carport, untouched for over a year, just like my golf clubs. Then one day I sat down, took a bite of my lunch, and BAM! The food stopped right at the center of my chest and refused to go down. The pain was the worst thing I had ever experienced in my entire life. A week or so later I went in for some tests, and the doctor told me that I had a golf-ball-size tumor in my esophagus, right where the esophagus meets the stomach. (Oh, the irony.) Seven months of chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery later, my entire outlook on life was different. The surgery, commonly called an esophagectomy, was suppose to be very major to begin with. The fact that there were complications during surgery and the two or three days after brought me close to death's door and inflicted an incredible amount of trauma to my body. Ask anyone now, and they'll tell you that I'm a walking miracle. I am not anywhere near understanding how this experience has changed me, but I do see myself doing everything, and I mean everything much more slowly. I don't feel as rushed or preoccupied when I'm with people as I did before. I tend to speak and preach more slowly. I pray more slowly and deliberately, whether alone or with my congregation. And, yes, I play golf three times a week now, go to the range once a week, and I play slow enough to enjoy it. And all the while, I actually do see myself getting
