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Fishing now there is something I have not did in years. My dad used to take us fishing every summer. We would take a weeklong fishing trip to his “old stomping grounds”, as he called them. It was a tiny holler in the hills of West Virginia with dirt roads and some of the most beautiful scenery the Appalachian Mountains has to offer. Along the dirt road that guided visitors into the holler was a small creek lined on each side with large pine trees at the end of the creek was a large waterhole. This sea blue waterhole is where my dad spent many lazy summer days fishing as a boy. The “ Old Waterhole”, as it was called for the old pine trees that lined its banks. The “Old Waterhole” also was a substitute local swimming hole as well. Within minutes of arriving me my seven brothers and sisters alone with several friends that we talked mom and dad into bring along would headed for the “waterhole” to swim. Right behind us would be dad-saying kids lets fish first and swim later. Sometimes dad won and we would fish but the temptation of that water sometimes was just more than any kids could bear.
Looking back I cannot remember a summer that we did not take a camping trip to the “Old Waterhole”. I can see the large trees that gave way to the peaceful meadow where we would pitch our tents and the smell of the campfire as it sizzled with the catch of the day. At night we all gathered around the campfire to hear stories about the place my dad once call home. Even though we had heard some of the stories over and over they were still exciting to hear again. Dad also would give us a day hike to his old home site and to a little one-room building that was his school. The tiny school was also the town hall and local church.
Sometimes fishing comes in many different forms. For me it was not just the fishing for food at the "Old Waterhole" that feed me. It was the stories that my dad told so many years ago about life growing up poor in the hills of West Virginia where some days his only meal was what he fished for that day. With those stories my dad was fishing and we were the fish. He gave us something that money could not buy, His time. His stories about his faith in God and his love of others helped mold me into the person I am today. See God is fishing and we are his fish he feeds on us and us on him. His love and the stories he blessed us with in the bible help make us fishers for him.
I have never had the chance to take my girls to that “Old Waterhole” but I have shared many of stories about it with them. Just as I share my stories about how God has give his blessings in my life and the lives of my family. What an awesome God we have. I am truly blessed from his fishing.
COPYWRIGHT 2004
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