A Line in the Water And A Worm on the Hook

I’m thinking, today, about when my sisters and I were kids and the family would go fishing — sitting, waiting quietly for a bite — something that comes to you while you do nothing but enjoy the moment. My dad fished as often as he could. He taught us how to bait a hook, cast out. But more importantly, how to sit and wait, taking it all in and savoring our surroundings — how pretty it all was, the birds we could hear, the feel of the breeze. I believe it is because of this that I will soon get a call from my sister, Jayne, asking if I see the early signs of spring, or if I notice the shadows changing. Or we will talk about the different song of the birds in the morning.

But waiting — that’s the hard part. There are plenty of opportunities to practice waiting all the time. There’s waiting for the weather to clear up, waiting for a doctor’s appointment, waiting for a delivery, waiting for change, waiting for answers, waiting for time to pass.

I once read, on one of those silly plaques in a novelty store, “there is a fine line between waiting for fish to bite and just plain looking stupid”.  And isn’t that the truth! To sit quietly waiting … while the most I am investing in the game is a line in the water and a worm on the hook, — well, isn’t that just ridiculous? Shouldn’t I, at the very least, waggle the line and wiggle the worm? Entice the fish to bite? Cast, and re-cast? Most times, for me, waiting peacefully is impossible, although I love the idea of it. Then:


comes to me, and there is something to this. A peace that my mind cannot comprehend. A knowing that all things work together for good. A trust. A revelation. And, with that, I am reminded how to wait: surrender.  To the moment.  I don’t just give up, I move out of the way.   I let it all fall into His hands.  I don’t just let it go, I let God. And, in that place, I find


which is what I think dad was trying to show us with a line in the water, and a worm on the hook.


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