The BIG One

And Jesus said to them, "Follow Me and I will make you become fishers of men."
Mark 1:17

This is one of those "heaven on earth" spots where I have enjoyed many fine rendezvous with my family and friends...and my Creator. This tranquil inlet of liquid peace was created on my folks' farm about 10 years ago; since that time, countless "blood pressure lowering" memories can be brought to mind with a slight smile and a sigh.

My Dad and I were in the boat one day and watched a huge fox squirrel scurry down a hardwood headfirst and dip his mouth in the pond for a cool drink. He did this several times to our delight, and the short fishing excursion ended with my Dad landing a 7 pound bass, which we promptly released so he could grow into a 10 pounder.

I have fished seriously for over 20 years. I went through the whole boat and motor thing, fishing big lakes and rivers, but have just settled on puddle-jumping with a Jon boat. I find I can always catch fish and it is a whole lot easier (we have two little boats ready to go on the shore at anytime).

Now anyone in my family will tell you that I am the best fisherman in the bunch. I am not bragging here, it is just a fact. Maybe it is due to the fact that I will take any opportunity to wet a hook. I have caught and released a number of largemouths in the 8 lb range and have one 10 lb fish to my name, the ‘holy grail" of bass fishing. During holidays when the men are fixing fence lines, I will disappear to the pond, and "sacrifice" for the family to make sure we will have enough fish fillets in the freezer for the next fish fry.

I love to bass fish with a plastic worm and can easily tell the difference in the bait being dragged over an underwater branch and the live "tap-tap" of a fish. It is a skill that does take some time to develop, and I have set the hook in many a log in my day, a common occurrence to a neophyte angler. It is this particular hazard that causes many kids to want to throw the rod and reel in the water and quit.

Not my niece, Katie. She and I are alike in one distinct way. We both like to get off by ourselves and recharge our batteries. Several years back, she started fishing with me during family holidays and I began to teach her the fine art of fishing with plastic baits. She has a competitive nature that won’t quit, and soaked it all in, for one reason: to "out-fish" Uncle Mark. She went through those tedious and frustrating times of hanging that barb on trees both underwater and above, as she learned how to cast, and the repetitious statement, "Uncle Mark, I’m hung again!" was heard on many a trip. This has never been a real problem for me, it just comes with the territory, I am not attached to my fishing gear, so I easily break it off and rig her another one.

On a steamy July morning two holiday gatherings ago, we were just about follow our stomachs and head to the bank for some breakfast. I heard the familiar, "Uncle Mark, I’m hung again," so I turned the trolling motor off and looked around. She was hung alright. At that moment, the sight that bass fishermen wait for all their lives shot before our eyes. The open mouth of a Florida strain largemouth broke the water, one whose mouth was the circumference of a Chicago softball!

My first thoughts were: "Please God, help her land this fish!" I had been secretly praying for this moment for years, wanting her to share in one of those lifetime memories that I have tucked away in my heart, that I can bring to mind with a dreamy sigh. I had wanted her to "out-fish Uncle Mark" for years! My second thoughts weren’t nearly as positive. From experience, I knew by the gear she had in her hand (an ultralite spinning combo, with 8 lb test), that the mighty fish had a distinct advantage. I also realized that quick maneuvering of the little boat would help the situation immensely, by keeping her line free from the motor, etc. So we began a five minute fight that seemed like an hour and finally got the tired old warrior to the side of the boat. I gripped her firmly by the mouth and lifted her securely to the sounds of Katie’s squeals and my shouts.

We decided to keep this fish, as Pop had wanted a "wall hanger" for a while, so we took the short trip back to the big house and woke the family up. It was like a high five session after a touchdown. One of those special moments that neither she nor I will ever forget. The beauty officially weighed in at 8lbs 8 ounces. I actually was able to get her picture published in Alabama Fish and Game Magazine, which was a hoot that next Christmas, as we looked at this little city girl, postured next to Mable the Cable Girl, holding her 25 lb flathead catfish. The gorgeous mount now hangs on Pop’s wall in his study, and a quick glace brings back a lifetime memory.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Now, my trophy fish was much bigger than hers, and the memory is even more precious. This trip was an evening fishing trip, and Annie was my partner. This fish was actually an 11 year old boy, our son Stephen (The pic is him at age 2, with his first fish). Sitting between his Momma and I on our couch, as we opened the Bible, he opened his heart to the tugging that had been going on for a couple of weeks by the Holy Spirit. Christ became alive to him that night as we prayed together, and he was baptized one day before his 12th birthday by our Pastor a few weeks later.

OK...there is a slight fib in this story, as fishermen are apt to do. You see, Annie and I didn’t catch him at all. We were just the bait. God caught him, as it is written in Eph. 1: "just as HE chose us in Him before the foundation of the world". There are so many stories in the Bible involving fish. One actually has a fish catching a man! (Jonah). My favorite has to be when Jesus told four rough old fishermen to drop their nets and follow Him (Mark 1:16-20). The results were immediate; two of them even left their dear old daddy to fend for himself. If my one task on earth was to drop my net and let Him use me to point my son towards that path of eternity with Him, I can die a happy man. I have a feeling though, there will be other fish stories to tell...both the swimmin’ kind...and the eternal kind.

I dedicate this blog to my dear buddy Mac S., who entered into God's presence last week. An avid outdoorsman, Mac taught me a great deal about hunting and fishing, but more importantly, he was a fine Christian gentleman who reeked of Kingdom optimism. Save a few big ones for me, dear brother!

Mark
Prov 17:22