God Loves to talk to boys while they'e fishing
Back when I was a child, during the hot summers visiting grandparents in Brownsville, TN, my granddad would take me fishing at farm ponds outside of town. Not with a rod and reel, but with an old cane pole, bobber and hook. He always carried a spade in the trunk of his old Oldsmobile, so once we arrived at the pond, we’d go digging for worms underneath the trees.
Once our can had enough worms, we’d walk over to the pond, talking about the lunkers we were sure to catch.
Granddad put a worm on my hook. His big rough hands showed me how to skewer those little red wigglers on a hook so they wouldn’t easily get off. It was always a slimy, messy, sometimes dangerous proposition dressing a proper fishing hook—I poked myself plenty of times, still do.
Once finished, I’d cast my pole with a whip listening for the bobber to go plop. No sooner had it hit the water than it started popping. All those greedy little bluegills with their teeny weeny lips were munching on my worm just beneath the surface.
They usually picked me clean but Granddad was quick to put another worm on my hook. Being eager to get that hook back in the water—I whipped the line on my pole and accidently caught his finger with my hook.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, boy,” he said. “Hold your horses—you got me, you got me.” He laughed, but I bet it hurt. He got unstuck easily enough and got me rigged again. Because that’s what grandpas do. He wasn’t there to catch fish; he was there to watch me fish; it was a fishing of a different kind.
He was always humming a tune or making up little songs. I remember him singing a twangy, funny little tune, “God loves to talk to boys when they’re fishing… that seems to be the time boys listen best…”
"Be still and know that I am God."
Attention spans were longer then, it seemed, but I burst with excitement when my bobber plunged and my cane pole bent dramatically. I had caught a sunfish about the size of my hand—pretty big thrill for an eight-year-old—and as I drew it in, it flicked and dangled from the line, its fins flared up as it jumped to get off the hook.
Granddad said, “I bet that fish didn’t expect that when he bit into that juicy worm.” He had a funny way of saying things. He laughed and reached for the fish.
“Let me show you something, Rusty,” he said, as the fish dangled from his hand. “There’s a way to handle a fish so you don’t get poked.”
“See those raised dorsal fins on its back, and those spiny fins along its side? If you grab hold of those, it’ll poke you right through. It’s painful. But here’s what you do: open your hand wide, slide your fingers down over the back collapsing those spines underneath, then hold the fish firmly between your fingers and thumb, and it will relax.”
He showed me what he meant, and the fish complied wonderfully in his large, rough hands.
With his other hand, he grabbed the end of the hook and pushed it backward into the fish’s mouth until it popped free, and he removed it with a smile. “See? Easy peasy.” And he threw the fish back, with a splash.
The next time I caught a panfish, he talked me through taking the hook out myself. “Go slow. Slide your hand down over the dorsal fins. Hold him firmly. Then, with your other hand, push the hook backward until it pops, and pull it out.”
My fish wiggled too much—probably because I didn’t hold it very tight. My hands were small and unfamiliar. But after some practice, I got pretty good at it, especially with the little fish. We had a great afternoon together catching and releasing dozens of little bluegills and sunfish, all the while singing Granddad’s little song. “God loves to talk to boys while they’re fishing—it seems to be the time boys listen best…”
Granddad said, “I think God wants us to be the kind of fishermen that the fish can trust. You see, the fish is completely out of its element when it’s hanging off our lines. No wonder they’re scared. He doesn’t know that in our hands he’s not in any danger—he just needs to be calmed with firm, steady hands so we can get hook out. If he knew we were just going to throw him back unharmed, I suppose he wouldn’t raise his spines and flap around in panic.”
“We’re good fishermen. We know how to calm the fish.” And so, we were—and have been ever since.
God loves to talk to boys while they’re fishing. Sometimes God’s voice sounds a whole lot like Granddad’s.
Feeling panicky, out of your element, perhaps? Flapping about probably isn’t the answer. Why not give way to the firm grasp of the “Fisher of men.” His grip is sure, and he’s working for your release. Just be still, your salvation is coming.
Happy Easter!
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KINGDOM PRAYER INITIATIVES
This is the ministry and financial platform for the assignments God is setting before us. We anticipate that this will give us a broadening scope of ministry in the city and around the world. Rus is involved at Northstar as an elder and presides over prayer ministries, and also serves around the city as a pastor, elder, and leader in the movement of prayer.