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When someone says, “That guy looks like he’s walking around in circles,” it’s never a compliment. It’s usually an observation that someone is walking around with no purpose, going nowhere. But actually, I walk in circles for a living. And I love doing it.

Let me explain. It’s called a “loop,” and it comes from the description of the routing a golf course architect would devise to plan the route a golfer would take as he or she plays a round of golf. Most courses have 18 holes, a front 9 and a back 9, and usually, each nine takes a circular route around the property, starting and ending in the vicinity of the clubhouse. I’m a professional caddie. When I get assigned to accompany a golfer around my course and carry his golf bag, we will walk approximately 15,000 steps together (sometimes less, sometimes more, depending on the skill of the golfer) following a big circular route around the front nine and then doing it again on the back. In caddy lingo, one round of golf carrying a bag is called a loop.

So, I guess you could say, I walk in circles for a living. I don’t mind that description. As I said, I love doing it.

I started caddying at 41, long after most caddies begin at 13 or 14. I was a high school English teacher and drama director in the western suburbs of Chicago when my son Matt turned 13. My first wife, Pamela Joy, suggested Matt get a summer job, so we went to Butler National Golf Club for caddy training. While Matt trained, I overheard the caddy master mention that caddies could play the course twice a week after 4 p.m. – a big draw at one of the top 100 U.S. golf courses. I asked if they’d take older guys like me, and to my surprise, they said yes. That summer, I caddied each Saturday with Matt. It was a great bonding experience and, as a bonus, I earned enough to buy my first new set of irons. Both of my sons caddied through high school, learning life lessons while earning money and gaining responsibility.

A few years ago, I thought I’d quit at 70, but that came and went, and I’m still going at 76. Now I say, “I won’t stop until my body tells me to.” I’d miss it too much, and as they say, “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

If someone asks me why I caddy, I like to talk about what I would call my three R’s: revelation, relationships, and revenue.

Growing up in my Grand Rapids hometown in the wonderful CRC culture of the 50’s and 60’s, you would never have seen me on a golf course on a Sunday. Sunday observance was pretty strict, to the extreme of “You can dip your feet in the water, but you can’t go swimming,” or “You can play catch, but no running the bases.” But in my enlightened elderly years, I have had some of the most moving moments of stirring general revelation on a golf course. No, it’s not a mountaintop near Pikes Peak or the crashing waves off the shores of Maine, but a golf course can be a spectacular place of beauty. True, it’s man-made and artificially groomed. But it can be stirring and inspiring all the same. I am privileged to walk Butler National, which I like to tell people is the prettiest walk in the Chicago suburbs. Never a blade of grass out of place, the green sheen on the entire landscape, the trees, the water, the white sand of the bunkers, and the resident red-tailed hawk keeping watch. Whenever I start a loop walking down the dew-frosted first fairway early in the morning, I can’t help but breathe out a “Thank you, Lord” as I begin walking in a circle.

Golf is a game, a competition, and a pursuit of perfection that can never quite be reached. Mark Twain called it "a good walk spoiled," and while my buddies and I sometimes joke about that after a rough round, we always remind each other that it isn't about the golf; it's about the fellowship.

Relationships matter, especially between a player and his caddy. When a caddy is paired with a player, the caddy master takes great care in matching personalities. Over the years, I’ve learned that as a caddy, I need to be an instant analyst, quickly figuring out what kind of player I’m working with. Some want advice on every shot, while others just need a mule to carry their bag. I enjoy the moments when I can tell my advice is genuinely helpful. The intensity of a hard-fought match play situation can certainly raise your blood pressure, but for me, that’s the pinnacle of caddying. To get the yardages right, to estimate the wind correctly, to keep the player focused and in the moment, and then to watch those crucial putts drop in—there’s nothing quite like the sense of accomplishment and satisfaction that comes with it.

There’s another side to this relationship thing, too, from a caddy’s perspective: the other caddies in your group. I remember early on, before I had earned my stripes, being assigned to a group with three “lifers”—full-time caddies. As I set my bag down on the first tee, Johnny United leaned over and whispered, “This is a good loop, TD. Don’t screw it up!” That was all I needed to hear. My mantra for the day became “Don’t screw it up.” But what struck me that day was the instant camaraderie among the four of us. Even though we were strangers, thrown together for the next four hours, we became a team. It’s a strange thing—at Butler National, with over 250 caddies on the roster, you’re constantly meeting new guys. Yet when you hit the course, the teamwork has to be perfect, or the loop won’t go well. You want to help your golfer, but you also want to help the other caddies do their best, too. One unhappy golfer can ruin the day for everyone. That’s why teamwork is essential. If one caddy is tending the flag on the green, the others are already fore-caddying down the next fairway or raking bunkers. For four hours, those other caddies become your best friends.

I often tell the guys in my Bible study that the caddy shack is “my mission field.” It’s a place where relationships are formed, where teamwork thrives, and where I have the privilege of interacting with people from all walks of life. I’ve made some incredible connections and heard stories that I’ll never forget. If only the walls of the caddy shack could speak! But there’s also the matter of tips—caddies make their living this way. If you do a good job, you’ll know it right away when the caddy master calls you up to get paid. It’s the ultimate “atta boy” when your player leaves you a generous tip. I joke with my wife that it’s not about the money—though I’ve been known to complain when I don’t get the tip I expected. But in truth, caddying offers more than just a paycheck. It provides a cushion for unexpected expenses, a way to treat the family to dinner, and—of course—a way to fund my weekly golf habit. Above all, it’s the relationships I’ve built over the years that I value most. My life is rich with caddy stories—so many that even the Dewey Decimal system (does that still exist? Asking for a friend) couldn’t keep up! And I wouldn’t trade them for anything.