Devotionals

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Born fisherman! Can’t say that’s ever been my dream. Squiggly worms put me off – more than a bit. But not my son Justin! He was born a fisherman, though the first body of water he saw, apart from the ocean, was a cattle tank outside my parent’s mountain cabin. Just six years of age, my father put a pole in Justin’s hand, set him in a rowboat on a small rain-filled tank within reach of their cabin porch, and my son was hooked. A few days every two years fishing became Justin’s life. From pre-dawn light to moon-lit nights, he would be found adrift in the boat, line in water, and whether the catch was slim or abundant, he was content.

When my children and I finally moved, nine years later, to a country community, Justin would always find a patch of water in which to drop his line. Town’s people chuckled to see this ‘city kid’ fishing dried up streams, water no more than ankle deep. But chuckles soon turned to gasps of astonishment when he held up his catch. It was in Justin’s blood and he gloried in it.

I don’t know what won out more the days he took me fishing with him those last few months. His wide-eyed wonder at my ineptness? Or the ring of his laughter at my near hopelessness? His greatest joy proved to be my greatest challenge. Casting!

How could something so basic, so seemingly simple, prove such an obstacle to this fishing-challenged woman? I don’t know, and my son couldn’t understand it either, for the swing of Justin’s rod sent the line sailing effortlessly to whatever patch of water his eyes picked out. Me, on the other hand? Well, I got nailed with the hook flying back into my face more times than I could begin to count. Or at its best, it would do a little dancing jig six inches from the tip of my pole.

Finally, I began to understand it had everything to do with the release. You know, RELEASE! Why would anyone release something you’re flinging with all your strength, unless you want the pole to sail forth with the line? Been there, done that! Fishing for the pole’s not nearly as rewarding as fishing for rainbow trout.

Thus the laughter, floating down around us in the morning mist, blanketing us with memories to cherish and hold close to the heart for a lifetime. I must confess, I got really good at reeling back in my feeble attempts at casting. My arms fairly wore out with the effort. But every once in a while the release would be perfect, and the line would soar across the expanse, and exhilaration would flood my soul. Restful, relaxing, intoxicating exhilaration. And I began to understand the peacefulness reflected on my son’s face.

Another fisherman comes to mind. A fisherman who knew the Sea of Galilee well. He, too, knew all about casting. The casting that counts. It was in his blood. His familiar words have been a life-line to me over the years. I’ve quoted them, clung to them, wrapped myself in their promise during the stormy seasons of my life. But I didn’t understand them until today.

Cast your cares upon Him, for He cares for you.

The apostle Peter spoke from the knowledge and the heart of a fisherman. And to a land-lubber like me, I only thought I understood. Thus explains the years of frustration, the lack of peace, at my attempts to cast my cares upon Jesus. It’s still all about release! Even now I’m so accustomed, so enamored with the feel of reeling the line back in, I’ve missed the essence of casting. The practiced art of releasing that line of cares into the hands of Jesus, and just letting it ride there, resting in the waters of His ability.

I’m so thankful to the years God lent Justin to me. I’m even more thankful for the days God allowed us at the water’s edge. I look back at the peace Justin experienced during tremendous times of trial, and I come to understand that he practiced the art of casting every day of his life. He understood so well the message of Peter’s heart, and he couldn’t wait to pass the secret on to me. Not content with just making memories, he wanted to make certain I knew how to cast…to cast well my every care upon Him who so lovingly cares for me.



(1 Peter 5:7)


© 4 April 2005

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