Sunday, February 10, 2008

no need to compete



I had a rare experience this past Wednesday. For nearly an entire golf game, I was free from the need to compete.

It didn’t start that way. Bruce and I were in Cancun, Mexico, at the signature Jack Nicklaus course at Moon Palace Resort. We were paired with a couple of guys from the Rex Sales group—both of ‘em pretty darn serious golfers who brought their clubs, shoes, and gloves.I remember the feeling as I teed up (rented clubs, running shoes, no glove—and without golfing all summer). Nervous. Would I embarrass myself, especially being the only woman? A solid hit off the first tee. Whew.

By the fourth or fifth hole, I was hitting if I felt like it, picking up if not. Or playing best ball off Bruce’s. Not counting the whiffs. After all, it was a beautiful, breezy, sunny day. The sights and sounds were new. A flock of seriously turquoise birds clamored loudly and called for a photo. A crane posed serenely in the water.

I didn’t realize until the game was over that I wasn’t competing. Mind you, I compete all the time--mostly against myself, but often against others at work, or running... Or heaven forbid, even at church. I have some impossibly high standards for myself, and I’m my worst enemy.

The absence of competition meant that I was present in the moment. I enjoyed the scenery. I celebrated the good hits of the others in our foursome. It wasn’t about worry or being better or anything except having fun, and that I did.

There was a big lesson for me in this. Competition is stress, continual comparison, and a robber. It steals my joy on a regular basis. I’m grateful for the lesson—and hope to bring it from the golf course into daily life.

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

from kansas to oz


Subtitled: From Kalamazoo to Cancun

Imagine the sensory overload after living in various shades of black, gray, and brown for the past months. As we walked through the resort in Cancun yesterday, it was beyond technicolor. Emerald Bermuda grass, deep green palms, glossy black mynah birds, and the azure and cobalt of the ocean.

Our room overlooks the ocean, and I can lie in bed and watch the palms blowing in the brisk breeze as the sun comes up. I sit on our little patio in the morning with my cup of coffee and my Bible, and smell the unfamiliar tang of saltwater and hear birdsongs that are totally new.

It reminds me that God has created all this, and that once again, I need to stop and experience the glory of a different landscape.