I love being
around water. In fact, it's a part of my most treasured memories. In my mind, I can go back even now to the 1960s, lying on an feather stuffed matress . . .
It was four o’clock
in the morning and my granddaddy is leaning over me trying to coax me out of
the bed where I slept. As a child, I was a hard sleeper, especially at that
time of the morning. "Get up son, we’re going fishing!"
Sleepily I stumble to my
feet and put on my clothes. That would be the last time he would ever have
difficulty getting me out of bed to go fishing with him. I was about to meet a
mistress who would capture my heart for a lifetime.
We drive the
ninety minutes from Savannah, GA to Pomona Lake. My cousins, Eddie and Mike,
are crammed into the front seat with my granddaddy and me. The back windows in
his blue Plymouth Valiant are rolled down. Bamboo poles wrapped with lines and
adorned with red and white floats stick out of the car. The back seat is filled
with trot lines wrapped around square wooden frames. There is a big galvanized
tub in the trunk of the car to bring home the treasures we will pull in from
beneath the still waters of the lake. An adult man may earn a lot of money in
his lifetime, but one has to be a young boy to possess this kind of wealth.
After arriving
at the lake and setting our trot lines in the water, we return to our campsite
at the water’s edge. The crickets, frogs and katydids who welcomed us a few
hours earlier are now hushed by their anticipation of dawn. In those ephemeral
moments which are neither night nor day, we four sit together on the dock
talking and laughing and waiting for the sun.
Our
conversation might appear to be superficial to the casual observer, but
something is happening at a deeper level that took me many years to understand.
In that isolated setting at those moments in time, we shared our lives
together. It was communion pieced together not through words, but a union forged
by three young cousins receiving unconditional love from their granddaddy. We
had nothing to offer in that context except our childlike ability to receive
from a man who found great joy in sharing himself with his offspring.
That
interaction pictures the essence of our walk with Christ. It isn’t the rote prayers we
mindlessly recite which connects us to God. Nor does our religious activity
join us to him any more than three boys trying to fish bound them to their
granddaddy. It is the willingness to simply receive his unconditional love.
There will be both words and actions, but the essence of the relationship is in
our receiving all that He offers.
We had no
resources to offer our granddaddy when we fished. We ran over trot lines with
the trolling motor. We tangled our fishing lines. We turned over the minnow
bucket. We dropped his reel into the lake. It was quite obvious that our
granddaddy just wanted our company, not our abilities. (That’s how it is
between God and you.)
With the
rising of the sun we boarded our little fishing boat and with the help of a
small trolling motor inched our way toward the trot lines. We were seldom
disappointed when we checked the lines. "Look at it! It’s a big as a baby!"
my Granddaddy exclaimed as if were the first time in his life he had seen a big
fish.
Four decades later, I still smile about it - not the big fish, but
his response to sharing the experience with us. I’m sure he wouldn’t have
reacted the same way if he had caught the fish while he was alone. He took
pleasure in our joy while himself being the catalyst, if not the very source of
our joy at that moment.
I have come to
discover that same quality in my heavenly Father. He often takes me to the
place of blessing, sets me in the right place to be blessed, baits the hook,
tells me to pull in the blessing and then becomes deliriously happy right along
with me as I enjoy the benefits He has provided! On days I don’t catch any
fish, nothing changes between Him and myself. Catching fish may be my priority,
but just being with me is His.
I didn’t know
in those days that God was beginning to teach me about Himself through the
water, my granddaddy and my cousins. Of the four of us, two have since gone on
to heaven, but I’ll never forget the elements of an authentic life that began
to be gently laid within me in those days.
I must admit
that the days of youth are gone. Now I’m a man rushing toward the 60 year mark.
I battle lower back pain and an expanding waistline. Many years have passed
since the intuitive insight gleaned at that lake has become actual knowledge in
my mind, but the matrix for understanding unconditional love was partially
formed there. Thanks, granddaddy.
Will you pause
as you finish this article and reflect on the great love your heavenly Father
has for you? You bring Him great pleasure. What He wants more than anything
from you is just you! Don’t worry
about how many fish you catch or how many times you knock the minnow bucket
over in the boat. Those aren’t the big issues to Him. He just wants you to
enjoy being with Him. Your Father has an exciting journey awaiting you, so just
relax and enjoy the day He has planned.
Thank u for sharing Fathers Love it stirred my heart! I loved it! Bless u.
ReplyDeleteSo good Steve thanks for sharing your understanding.. this is gold
ReplyDeleteI realised years ago that the only real difference between people who call themselves Christians is the degree to which each of us can personally accept and surrender to God's Love for us. Its taken ten years of battling to even begin applying this Truth to myself, but your post expresses it so perfectly Steve - "We had nothing to offer ... except our childlike ability to receive". Thank you and bless you brother.
ReplyDeleteWow. Very poignant. This story brought a tear to my eyes....
ReplyDeleteDad before he went to Heaven used to help put bait nearby and even showed me how to dig in the earth to bring worms fishing, some fresh, and even salt water fishing. I 've had fun fishing knowing a godly Christian Dad, my Dad was teaching me. Emotions carry me high feeling blessed! Wonderful True Story of Your's brings tears Steve. Dave C
ReplyDelete