It has been ten years since this fisherman put his pen to the paper and the night would be well aged with many stouts in the telling of the tales and adventures which he has seen. Friends have come, friends have gone, and children have grown. The Current has taken him through some wild rapids, good runs, and now to a calm pool of the clearest water which could not be surpassed on God’s good earth.
I have a new partner in crime, and I have not yet subjected her to the madness that inflicts many a men – mindlessly fidgeting at water’s edge with glittery gadgets in an attempt to outsmart a creature with the brain the size of a peanut. No, this ol’ fisherman’s waders and vest are gathering dust in the garage and have been traded for gardening gloves, a rake, and shovel. No mourning shall be shed at this loss as I admit that while I may protest the work I don’t actually mind it all that much… after all, she’s pretty sweet on me and I on her.
Upon return to this dusty journal, with its torn and weathered pages, I began to reacquaint myself with the musings of my past. One entry in particular caught my attention – one in which I asked myself the question, “What does it mean to be thirsty?” At the time my answer went something like this:
“Many times it isn’t just our bodies that need replenishment, our souls need to be fueled as well. When I am fishing I enter a frame of mind in which there is no time and space and the worries of everyday life disappear… what I am really after is that moment of peace when angler and nature merge into one and time stands still. This is what replenishes my soul, this... is what I thirst for.”
It occurred to me that I now see the world through a wildly different pair of spectacles. For as I descended the mountains and cut the valleys which brought me to where I rest today, I heard many a wonderful tale. One such story happened a long time ago, about a man you may have heard of, Jesus.
This story takes place on the outskirts of a little town where there stood a well. On this particular day, the air had a sultry feel and the sun was at its peak, radiating a heat so vivid that the strongest of men could not help but recoil.
It was here by the well that Jesus sat resting as a woman was filling her jars with water for the day. He told this downhearted woman that the water she was drinking would always leave her thirsty, and that if she drank His water she wouldn’t be thirsty anymore. She believed and while skipping away shouted the Good News to all who would listen.
I happen to like Jesus, you see He was fond of fishermen. In fact, his right hand man was one. As I eluded to before, we aren’t the sharpest hooks in the tackle box. Sometimes we don’t listen too well - we don’t do what we’ve been told to do and we do what we’ve been told not to do.
Maybe it’s because we’re thirsty. Maybe we’ve been drinkin’ too much of that barely water. I don’t know, but for some reason in spite of the tangled mess of crankbaits we are, He still calls us to get in the boat.
I don’t miss my time in pursuit of that state record largemouth because like Simon Peter – whose tales I will save for another visit - I have been called to be a fisher of men. Fishing alongside the Master has changed me - I no longer seek to quench my thirst by the same waters where I used to wander. It is in Him that I find relief.
Well, the clock has run long and my reunion with you dear friend must come to an end. I do promise in the not so distant future to return, Amen Ale in hand, to this fishin’ hole where we can find joy in each other’s company again. God Bless!!!
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No generative artificial intelligence (AI) was used in the writing of this work.
