What Lurks Beneath

Two anniversaries ago, my husband and I took a fly-fishing lesson.  That morning, we stood in the side-yard of a tackle shop and practiced casting a fake lure into the grass.  Later that day, we waded knee-deep in a mountain stream to try the real thing.  I lost about a half-dozen lures, snagged in branches and on rocks.  As the afternoon progressed, I felt more and more like I did in high school gym class when the tennis ball kept flying past me, and no matter how hard my arm was swinging away, the ball remained unhit.  My interest in fly fishing was sinking faster than my lures.  But Bill was caught. 

That Christmas, I purchased him a fly-fishing rod.  He was excited to try it out, but the occasion eluded him until about a month ago.  He went to the store and bought a few lures, and we were off.  It was perfect timing.  As I had just completed a marathon, I was looking forward to sitting by the stream to catch up on some reading while he fished.  We drove to an area where a lively stream tumbled down for miles alongside a narrow road.  He would drive a bit, pull over, look over the stream, and then drive on.  “Too much sun,” he commented.  “The water is running too fast,” he added, after another stop.  “Too many trees around,” he said, later yet.   At one bend, he actually got out of the truck, walked down to the stream and watched it for a while.  “This is it,” I thought.  Four minutes later, he was back in the truck.  “I don’t see any fish,” he concluded.  I turned my head to look out the window so that he would not see that I was rolling my eyes.

Finally, he pulled onto a gravel shoulder and went down to the stream with his rod and lures.  I settled into my book, my feet propped up, the sun warming my skin, a soft breeze rustled the spring green of the trees.  And then in the quiet, I heard a shout, “I caught one!”  I jumped up and ran down the bank.  Sure enough, hanging from his line was a tiny rainbow trout, too small to keep but not too small to give him hope.  I took a picture to commemorate the occasion, and he let it go.  He did not just catch a fish; he netted the encouragement he needed to continue.

 

How often do I find myself timid and unsure, dancing around a new opportunity instead of wading in, one foot following another?   Am I paralyzed into inaction just waiting for something,  a neon sign from God, perhaps, or complete assurance of victory before I take a single step?   I am reluctant, and yet I know full well that like Bill’s effort in fishing there will be no results at all unless I throw my line into the water.  

I just need to try. 

 

Jesus said to them,

“Children, have you any fish?”

They answered Him, “No.”

He said to them,

“Cast the net on the right side of the boat,

and you will find some.”

So they cast it,

and now they were not able to haul it in,

for the quantity of fish.

                                  John 21. 5-6