A professional angler named Mark taught me the difference between surf fishing in the Atlantic and cane pole fishing on the banks of our small Kentucky pond.
Mark plunged a large metal spike into the sand, cast a thick weighted line into the surf, and slid the pole into the spike. He returned to his chair and waited, eyes trained on the high, thin end of his pole.
Day after day I watched him. Cast and wait. Cast and wait. Soon, the rhythm in my mind turned to cast and faith, cast and faith. The phrase applied to everything in my life at that season—parenting, writing, ministry. Forever casting. Forever waiting. When would I land a catch? When would I see the goodness of the Lord?
On day three, Mark’s faith was made sight. The pole bent until it nearly doubled. He catapulted from the chair and grabbed the pole. For the next fifty-five minutes, he reeled and rested. After a time, he handed the pole to me. To me!
“Here, I wantcha tah feel that.” He puffed, the strain showing in his tattooed shoulders and the tendons in his neck.
“What if I lose it?”
“Then yah lose it.”
I white-knuckled the pole, tucked it hard against my thigh, and followed his instructions. Fear and exhilaration coursed through my body—not a long stretch of time, but enough.
Right before he took the pole, he asked, “Do yah feel that?”
I nodded and thought, This is like fishing for men—like parenting, writing, ministry.
On the beach that day, we reeled in a black-tipped reef shark, snapped a few pictures, and then released it back to the ocean. In my heart, all those buckets that seemed so empty were filled with more than fish. They were filled with the promise of God’s goodness, no matter the catch.
When you look across the waters of your ministry, consider the potential of those depths. Then, choose to cast and faith.
(Photo courtesy of pixabay.)
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