I'm Just Happy to Be Here!

I haven't said much about golf during these days of sabbatical, frankly because there are those who imply in their questions that sabbatical may be nothing more than golf. I play when I'm home on a regular schedule, and I play on sabbatical, but at neither time do I play enough.

Two of the great things about playing while on Sabbatical have been the opportunity to play with my son, Logan, who lives in Virginia, and the opportunity to play in wonderful weather. (I missed Houston humidity, but only in the sense that we didn't have it in Virginia, not in the sense that I longed for it.)

Golf often affords you the opportunity to meet folks, and our times to play in Williamsburg were no exceptions. Most of the time, I can say with a straight face, you meet the nicest people on the golf course. Occasionally, you get paired up with a jerk. But it doesn't happen often, and it didn't happen at all while I was in Virginia.

The last day I played in Williamsburg, I met one of the most memorable and inspiring individuals I've ever played with. He didn't hit the ball far, and occasionally he missed it badly. I invited him to feel free to hit from the shorter tees early on in the round, but he refused. He was by himself, and he did not say a word during the entire round.

The starter told me that one of the guys I'd be playing with that day could not speak, but I wasn't sure if that was due to vows of silence, or an injury, or if perhaps he was deaf (often deaf people are uncomfortable speaking, even if they're able to.)

The other twosome and I arrived at the first tee about the same time. We introduced ourselves to one another, and got ready to hit. At the last minute, John drove up. He motioned for us to go ahead, and we did, and then, when it was his turn, John hit his tee shot. Not very far, but we were off. When he made a putt, I gave him a thumbs up. (I still thought, in my ignorance, that he was deaf.) At some point, I went out on a limb and asked him where he was from, and he opened a notebook, and pointed to one of a series of prepared answers to common questions: "I'm John from Philadelphia, PA."

On the back nine, I finally asked about his condition, and he opened his notebook again. He had been diagnosed with ALS, or Lou Gehrig's disease, as it is commonly known, about a year earlier. He said he could not speak or eat. I told him of my friend and wonderful UBC churchman, Don Blevins, who was playing golf in a foursome with me pretty regularly when he was diagnosed with the same condition. I told him how I admired Don, and how Don had used stick-um on his glove to try and hold on to the club, when he could hardly grip at all. I told him I admired him too, for keeping on, keeping on.

At that point, John pulled out a machine, a device that, when he punched in a series of words, and pushed a button, spoke for him. And the machine said, in a typical, computer-generated male voice, "I'm just happy to be here."

When we finished the round, I wished John well, and told him that I would pray that he would have many more good days on the golf course. He nodded. We shook hands, and drove back to the clubhouse.

I'm just happy I had the chance to meet and be with John for a few hours on the golf course.

Care-full-y,
rick