A quick check of current bass fishing lures at a major retailer lists 937 types. With each type, there are size and color variations on the average of 22 per type. Multiply those together and you need a tackle box that can hold 20,614 items.
What's a fisherman to do? Unless he is on speaking terms with a largemouth bass (and I know a few people who ARE), he is forced to guess. There are, however, different levels of guessing.
Take Homer and his wife, Etta, for example. Being the romantic husband that he is, Homer decided to take Etta fishing on Valentine's Day. Actually, he had planned on taking her to the Dairy Queen but it wasn't his fault the bass began their pre-spawn activity on Valentine's Day!
So the two lovebirds hopped into the john boat and headed to the north end of the lake. Being the generous and loving husband that he is, Homer rigged Etta's pink and purple female-type fishing pole with a Texas-rigged, super killin', hog smashin' craw-worm. He told her to chunk it on out there, let it hit bottom, and then slowly crank it in, giving the rod an occasional pop. Even though Etta never said, "Huh?" - Homer knew the look. Being the patient husband that he is, he chunked it out there for her and demonstrated his prior instructions.
After a long ten minutes of fishing and catching nothing, Etta went to fiddling around in Homer's tackle boxes.
"What are you doing, sugar muffin?" asked Homer.
"I'm looking for something else to fish with. Something with a little bling to it," answered Etta. She looked up at him with her one good eye and grinned that gorgeous, albeit toothless, grin that always melted his heart. He returned the grin with a nod and a half smile, then turned where she couldn't see him smirk.
Homer thought to himself, "Bling? Did she say bling? It's a tackle box, not a jewelry box. She ain't gonna catch nothin. And when I catch me a hawg on this here craw-worm, she'll be sorry she didn't listen to the master!"
Homer prided himself on knowing exactly what the fish were biting. He even bragged to his buddies that God blessed him with a fish's brain and he "knowed what they were thinkin'."
Etta pulled a ten-inch worm out of the bottom of Homer's tackle box and held it up. "Can I try this one?" she asked.
Homer had no idea how such a worm ever made it's way into his tackle box. That worm was a sight! It looked like a mardi gras parade puked all over it. It had every bright-colored, glittery speck you could imagine imbedded into it's black and motor-oil colored body.
Homer spit. Then he spoke. "Apparently, that old worm has set too long on the bottom of my tackle box," he said. "And all the glitters and sparkles from other baits melted into it. That's the ugliest thing I ever saw! The fish ain't gonna hit that thing. In fact, it'll probably scare 'em all away...honey pie."
She batted her eye, squared her jaw, and tried to stand up in the boat so she could put her hands on her hips (a posture Homer knew all too well). "But, but, but, if my four-leaf clover darlin' wants to fish with that," Homer corrected himself. "Then, by golly, she's gonna fish with it."
Etta sat back down and grinned like a giddy school girl. Homer took the bling mardi gras puke worm from her hand and put it on her hook. It went against every fiber of his being and he hoped no one could see him. Etta cast the worm about two feet, making an awful splash as that big worm hit the water right next to the boat.
While Homer was shaking his head and whispering his good-byes to all the bass in a two-mile radius, Etta's pole went to bending and Etta went to screaming, "I got one!"
"No way!" Homer shouted before he could stop himself.
"Yes, way!" Etta yelled back. "Stop standin' there gawkin'. Get the net!"
"You sure it ain't a stump or a gar or a trot line?" Homer asked and instantly regretted asking it. Before that sentence got to "trot line," Homer knew the answer. A bass so big it would be a wallhanger in Jimmy Houston's house (pause for a moment of silence at the mention of his name) jumped straight up out of the water, did a hula dance in mid-air with five inches of puke worm hanging out of her mouth, and headed straight back down.
"Hang on, Etta! I'm gettin' the net. Give her some slack or she'll break your line," Homer shouted.
Etta leered at him and said, "I got this! You just get the net."
Homer did the husband hunker that all men are familiar with. The one that says, "Yes ma'am" without the words.
The fish was longer than the mouth of the net, but they managed to get her into the boat. After a dozen high fives, a thousand hoops and hollers, and a couple of pictures with the polaroid, Etta turned to the crowd that had gathered at the bank and held her lunker hawg big momma bass up like Jay Yelas at the Bassmasters (another pause). She could hear the folks whistling and shouting.
When she turned back around, Homer, being the humble husband that he is, was digging in the bottom of his tackle box for a ten-inch black and motor-oil worm with some bling on it.
The lesson of Homer and Etta is three-fold: 1) Take your dog - NEVER your wife - fishing on Valentine's Day. 2) If you DO take her fishing and she catches a bigger fish than you, DON'T go to the Dairy Queen right after that. 3) No matter how good a guesser you are when it comes to fishing -- everyone occasionally guesses wrong, and anyone can occasionally guess right.
Fishing is guesswork. But you can improve your chances of guessing right by learning patterns, studying the seasonal behavior of fish, discovering what is and is not working from other experienced fishermen (and knowing whether they are lying to you or not), and by following the three P's: practice, practice, practice.
However, even a first-time fisherman can crawl into a boat or stand on a bank and be in the right place at the right time with the right bait. The guesswork factor in fishing is what makes it fun.
Unless you're fishing for answers to life's questions.
Life was never meant to be a guessing game. The Creator of life did not create haphazardly. He created with purpose, design, and compassion. He not only planned YOU, He has a plan FOR you. You don't have to guess. You just have to search.
Where do you begin searching? The first place to search for God's plan for your life is in the Bible. It is God's instruction manual for man. In it, you will find truth. Truth is the guide of life that we all need. Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father but by Me" (John 14:6).
The truth of the Bible also tells us that "God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life" (John 3:16). That's not a guess. That's a guarantee from the Manufacturer.
A second place to search is in prayer. Prayer is simply opening your heart to God and talking to Him. You can tell Him how you feel. You can ask Him to show you what He wants you to know. You can ask Him anything. He longs to hear from you. A third place to search is in a healthy church. Being around other followers of Christ gives you people just like you to talk to, lean on, and learn from.
This life and the one following is too important to leave it all up to chance. God wants you to know. He hasn't put 20,614 options in front of you. Just one. His Son. I pray you will accept Jesus as, not only the Savior of the world who died for the sins of the world, but as YOUR personal Savior who loves you and died for you.
Googling Really Large Tackle Boxes,
Perry Crisp
Showing posts with label fishing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fishing. Show all posts
Monday, February 21, 2011
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Man Fishing
Jesus said, "Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men." Seems simple enough. Followers of Jesus have been given a clear task: Go fishing to find others who will become followers of Jesus.
Oh my, how we have complicated that call! We have become species specialists, selectively fishing for certain fish. The Sunday morning boat ramps are filled with favoritism. The Bass Boat Baptists hit the boat ramp first. While they are content to leave the Crappie to the Charismatics and the Catfish to the Catholics, they are divided even among themselves over how to fish for bass, selective about which bass is worth catching, and suspicious about other fishermen who are more successful.
Some want to bed fish and yank those sinners right out of bed on Sunday morning. Others want to finesse fish and lure them in without them realizing they're caught until it's too late. Still others are looking only for "keeper fish." They go after the big fish. Oh, they don't mind catching an average fish, but they eventually toss it back and forget about it. Let them land a lunker and they'll parade that catch in front of everyone! It'll even make the "Baptist Mess-O-Fish-enger" paper. They are quite proud of their trophy fish.
It is dangerous to get the Bass Boat Baptists together for too long. It won't be long before they'll divide up amongst themselves arguing over everything from which bait is better to which species of bass is better. The topwater lovers will cluster and preach against the crank baiters. The largemouth crowd will speak derisively about the smallmouth. Before long, another new club will be formed.
To make matters worse, the Bass Boat Baptists won't share a boat ramp with Pontoon Presbyterians because they have more than fish in their coolers and the Canoeing Church of Christs won't even use the same boat ramp as any of the others because they don't believe in motors.
It is puzzling to observe such behavior. The call of Jesus seems simple enough. Yet, instead of fishing, much of our time is spent maintaining and polishing our boats, admiring our gear, bragging about last year's catch, fussing over favorite fishing holes, fuming at another boat because they took one of our fish, and taking classes on everything from better knot-tying to what color boat cover to use.
The craziest behavior of all takes place away from the water. In alarming numbers, fishermen sit cross-armed at the boat ramp or on the bank or in their driveways with their boats still on the trailer, wondering why the fish won't jump out of the water and flop toward them! It's as if they expect the fish to jump in their boats and baptize themselves in their livewells!
Jesus didn't call us to fish for men for the pleasure of fishing, but for the importance of the men. It's not about our pleasure. It's about His passion. We've made fishing for men too much about the act of fishing and not enough about the lost condition of man. Jesus doesn't care what your boat looks like or whether you use the same spinner bait as Peter. Jesus isn't judging you by how many fish you catch or how big they are. He just wants you to fish.
If we'll do the fishing, He'll do the catching.
Oh, and by the way, Jesus doesn't practice catch and release. Why should we?
Hooked on Jesus,
Perry Crisp
PS: The reason I am being harder on the Baptists than the others is because I are* one.
*(Intentional use of poor grammar)
Oh my, how we have complicated that call! We have become species specialists, selectively fishing for certain fish. The Sunday morning boat ramps are filled with favoritism. The Bass Boat Baptists hit the boat ramp first. While they are content to leave the Crappie to the Charismatics and the Catfish to the Catholics, they are divided even among themselves over how to fish for bass, selective about which bass is worth catching, and suspicious about other fishermen who are more successful.
Some want to bed fish and yank those sinners right out of bed on Sunday morning. Others want to finesse fish and lure them in without them realizing they're caught until it's too late. Still others are looking only for "keeper fish." They go after the big fish. Oh, they don't mind catching an average fish, but they eventually toss it back and forget about it. Let them land a lunker and they'll parade that catch in front of everyone! It'll even make the "Baptist Mess-O-Fish-enger" paper. They are quite proud of their trophy fish.
It is dangerous to get the Bass Boat Baptists together for too long. It won't be long before they'll divide up amongst themselves arguing over everything from which bait is better to which species of bass is better. The topwater lovers will cluster and preach against the crank baiters. The largemouth crowd will speak derisively about the smallmouth. Before long, another new club will be formed.
To make matters worse, the Bass Boat Baptists won't share a boat ramp with Pontoon Presbyterians because they have more than fish in their coolers and the Canoeing Church of Christs won't even use the same boat ramp as any of the others because they don't believe in motors.
It is puzzling to observe such behavior. The call of Jesus seems simple enough. Yet, instead of fishing, much of our time is spent maintaining and polishing our boats, admiring our gear, bragging about last year's catch, fussing over favorite fishing holes, fuming at another boat because they took one of our fish, and taking classes on everything from better knot-tying to what color boat cover to use.
The craziest behavior of all takes place away from the water. In alarming numbers, fishermen sit cross-armed at the boat ramp or on the bank or in their driveways with their boats still on the trailer, wondering why the fish won't jump out of the water and flop toward them! It's as if they expect the fish to jump in their boats and baptize themselves in their livewells!
Jesus didn't call us to fish for men for the pleasure of fishing, but for the importance of the men. It's not about our pleasure. It's about His passion. We've made fishing for men too much about the act of fishing and not enough about the lost condition of man. Jesus doesn't care what your boat looks like or whether you use the same spinner bait as Peter. Jesus isn't judging you by how many fish you catch or how big they are. He just wants you to fish.
If we'll do the fishing, He'll do the catching.
Oh, and by the way, Jesus doesn't practice catch and release. Why should we?
Hooked on Jesus,
Perry Crisp
PS: The reason I am being harder on the Baptists than the others is because I are* one.
*(Intentional use of poor grammar)
Monday, March 29, 2010
In Full Spring?
Spring is having a hard time springing and staying sprung here in east Texas. Passover is here. Easter is nearly here. The flowers, grass, trees, and bass all know it's time. They are trying to do their spring thing, but the weather is a bit temperamental and uncooperative.
One spring day barely clocks in a full 24 hours before cold winds, cold rain, and white, fluffy stuff shoves spring aside. Somewhere in Minnesota a young child must have prayed for Texas weather, and God answered by swapping theirs with ours.
Be not disheartened! This one thing I know --- Spring will prevail! The grass will need mowing. The flowers will need photographing. The bass will need a few moments of oxygen and a photo op with a proud fisherman.
Fear not, grandpaw! You WILL get to wear the plaid shorts over your belly button and your black socks over your calves. Fret not, biker friend! A day is coming when you can ride sleeveless again without your teeth chattering. Keep the faith, everyone. Spring will spring and stay sprung.
How do I know? Because that's the way God set the seasonal table of earth. God is a God of order, not chaos. God set the earth and all other planets in perfect order. God scheduled the rotation precisely so that spring would follow winter, summer would follow spring, autumn/fall would follow summer, and winter would follow autumn/fall.*
It is no coincidence that Jesus died and rose again in the spring. Spring is symbolic of new life returning to barren ground, branches, vines, and limbs. In the spring, stuff underground breaks out of earthly graves and rises to fulfill its purpose. So did Jesus.
Like the seed in the soil, Jesus was buried. But only for three days. On the third day, the Seed split, Life burst forth out of that grave, and the Lily of the Valley arose!
Hallelujah! Christ arose!
Just as surely as He arose, He will return. Just as surely as spring will win out over winter, Jesus will come back for His bride, the Church. Just as surely as the allergists among us need to refill their prescriptions soon, so the redeemed of the Lord need to renew their faith that Jesus is risen and coming again soon.
Sprung Free,
Perry Crisp
*Translation for Men: Spinner bait and spawn/Turkey season follow jigs/Duck/Deer/Quail season, worm/topwater fishing follow the spinner bait and spawn/Turkey season, crankbait/Dove season follow worm/topwater fishing, and jigs/Duck/Deer/Quail season follow crankbait/Dove season.
*Translation for Women: Shopping for Easter clothes follows Christmas shopping, Memorial Day/4th of July/Back to School sales follow Easter shopping, Labor Day/pumpkin/turkey sales follow Memorial Day/4th of July/Back to School sales, and Christmas shopping follows Labor Day/pumpkin/turkey sales.
One spring day barely clocks in a full 24 hours before cold winds, cold rain, and white, fluffy stuff shoves spring aside. Somewhere in Minnesota a young child must have prayed for Texas weather, and God answered by swapping theirs with ours.
Be not disheartened! This one thing I know --- Spring will prevail! The grass will need mowing. The flowers will need photographing. The bass will need a few moments of oxygen and a photo op with a proud fisherman.
Fear not, grandpaw! You WILL get to wear the plaid shorts over your belly button and your black socks over your calves. Fret not, biker friend! A day is coming when you can ride sleeveless again without your teeth chattering. Keep the faith, everyone. Spring will spring and stay sprung.
How do I know? Because that's the way God set the seasonal table of earth. God is a God of order, not chaos. God set the earth and all other planets in perfect order. God scheduled the rotation precisely so that spring would follow winter, summer would follow spring, autumn/fall would follow summer, and winter would follow autumn/fall.*
It is no coincidence that Jesus died and rose again in the spring. Spring is symbolic of new life returning to barren ground, branches, vines, and limbs. In the spring, stuff underground breaks out of earthly graves and rises to fulfill its purpose. So did Jesus.
Like the seed in the soil, Jesus was buried. But only for three days. On the third day, the Seed split, Life burst forth out of that grave, and the Lily of the Valley arose!
Hallelujah! Christ arose!
Just as surely as He arose, He will return. Just as surely as spring will win out over winter, Jesus will come back for His bride, the Church. Just as surely as the allergists among us need to refill their prescriptions soon, so the redeemed of the Lord need to renew their faith that Jesus is risen and coming again soon.
Sprung Free,
Perry Crisp
*Translation for Men: Spinner bait and spawn/Turkey season follow jigs/Duck/Deer/Quail season, worm/topwater fishing follow the spinner bait and spawn/Turkey season, crankbait/Dove season follow worm/topwater fishing, and jigs/Duck/Deer/Quail season follow crankbait/Dove season.
*Translation for Women: Shopping for Easter clothes follows Christmas shopping, Memorial Day/4th of July/Back to School sales follow Easter shopping, Labor Day/pumpkin/turkey sales follow Memorial Day/4th of July/Back to School sales, and Christmas shopping follows Labor Day/pumpkin/turkey sales.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Non-Fiction Fish Story...Really...I Promise
Fishermen tell three types of stories: 1) True stories, 2) Lies, and 3) Stories that start out true, but grow in creativity and length. The size of the fish, the bait, the boat, or the waves may increase with each telling.
The following story falls under category number one. It is 100% non-fiction. A few years ago, I stumbled onto an opportunity to fish at a pond and I was unprepared. It was a family get-together, cookout, reunion thing. They mentioned the pool to swim in, but failed to mention the pond to fish in. So there I was...bypassing the pool to contemplate the fish population of the pond.
The urge to fish was strong. But first I had to hunt. In the garage attic of our family reunion hosts, I found a rod and reel. The rod and reel had a cork and a hook. Fantastic! But I had no bait. I rummaged around for a fishing lure of any kind and found none.
The reunion hosts lived in a subdivision within a city. They had a well-manicured lawn (about as big as a phone booth) and a few tiny flower beds. Similar houses surrounded the large pond. I resisted the urge to dig up the flower beds in search of worms, but I needed some kind of bait.
A thought came to mind. I quickly hid the fishing pole and went back to where the humans were grazing around a food table filled with sandwiches, chips, and dip. It was there that I found the bait I had hoped for: bologna! Pronounced "ba-lo-ney," bologna is a refined slab of delicious round steak. It's an aquired taste. It's also a word commonly used by those who just heard a politician speak.
This was a rather fancy affair, so the sandwiches were trimmed of bread crust and cut up into tiny squares. I guess rich folk can't eat a whole sandwich. Trying not to draw attention to myself, I stuffed a few sandwich squares into my mouth and a couple into my pockets.
I chatted with a neice or two and headed back to the garage where I had stashed the rod and reel. I tried to make my way to the pier that went out over the pond unnoticed, but a couple of youngsters in the pool saw me and followed.
I tore off a piece of bologna and put it on the hook. Almost immediately, the cork started bobbing up and down. It wasn’t long before I caught a small perch. With a few more pieces of bologna, I caught a few more perch. But I'm not much of a perch guy. It was sorta fun catching them, but it didn't satisfy the fisherman in me nearly as much as a bass would.
When I started running low on bologna, an idea came to me. I caught a tiny perch that was no bigger than the palm of my hand, took the hook out of the perch’s mouth and stuck it through his (or her) back under the dorsal fin. I cast my live bait with baloney-breath out into the pond.
The perch made the cork bob up and down as it tried to swim away from the hook in it's back. Then the cork went straight down and disappeared! Whoa baby! The fight was on!
In order to keep this story on the non-fiction level, I will admit that when I reeled in the bass, he was not a wall-hanger (for the outdoor illiterate, that means he wasn't a big fish). The bass weighed a little over ten -- I mean, two pounds. But it was the way that I caught the bass that made it so much fun. Thankfully, I have witnesses.
Let's get out of the pond for a minute and into the parabolic significance of this story. Isaiah 25:8 predicts the atoning death of Christ on the cross and says, "He will swallow up death forever." Paul quotes this prophetic statement in 1st Corinthians 15:54 to reinforce the fact that Jesus saved us from the curse of eternal death.
With those Scriptures in mind, think of the Christian as the bologna, the perch as death, and the bass as Jesus. Before Jesus died on the cross, we (humans) were dangling on a hook without hope. Death feasted on us and continually swallowed us up. When Jesus died on the cross, He looked like another bologna-victim of death. But while in the grave, God removed the hook from Jesus, stuck it in death, and when Jesus rose from the dead, He swallowed death, like the bass that swallowed the perch, and ended death's pursuit of all who believe in Jesus.
To the unbeliever, it looks like death swallows life. But the believer knows it isn’t so. Death doesn’t swallow the Christian. Christ swallows death and gives the Christian eternal life!
Hooked on Jesus,
Perry Crisp
The following story falls under category number one. It is 100% non-fiction. A few years ago, I stumbled onto an opportunity to fish at a pond and I was unprepared. It was a family get-together, cookout, reunion thing. They mentioned the pool to swim in, but failed to mention the pond to fish in. So there I was...bypassing the pool to contemplate the fish population of the pond.
The urge to fish was strong. But first I had to hunt. In the garage attic of our family reunion hosts, I found a rod and reel. The rod and reel had a cork and a hook. Fantastic! But I had no bait. I rummaged around for a fishing lure of any kind and found none.
The reunion hosts lived in a subdivision within a city. They had a well-manicured lawn (about as big as a phone booth) and a few tiny flower beds. Similar houses surrounded the large pond. I resisted the urge to dig up the flower beds in search of worms, but I needed some kind of bait.
A thought came to mind. I quickly hid the fishing pole and went back to where the humans were grazing around a food table filled with sandwiches, chips, and dip. It was there that I found the bait I had hoped for: bologna! Pronounced "ba-lo-ney," bologna is a refined slab of delicious round steak. It's an aquired taste. It's also a word commonly used by those who just heard a politician speak.
This was a rather fancy affair, so the sandwiches were trimmed of bread crust and cut up into tiny squares. I guess rich folk can't eat a whole sandwich. Trying not to draw attention to myself, I stuffed a few sandwich squares into my mouth and a couple into my pockets.
I chatted with a neice or two and headed back to the garage where I had stashed the rod and reel. I tried to make my way to the pier that went out over the pond unnoticed, but a couple of youngsters in the pool saw me and followed.
I tore off a piece of bologna and put it on the hook. Almost immediately, the cork started bobbing up and down. It wasn’t long before I caught a small perch. With a few more pieces of bologna, I caught a few more perch. But I'm not much of a perch guy. It was sorta fun catching them, but it didn't satisfy the fisherman in me nearly as much as a bass would.
When I started running low on bologna, an idea came to me. I caught a tiny perch that was no bigger than the palm of my hand, took the hook out of the perch’s mouth and stuck it through his (or her) back under the dorsal fin. I cast my live bait with baloney-breath out into the pond.
The perch made the cork bob up and down as it tried to swim away from the hook in it's back. Then the cork went straight down and disappeared! Whoa baby! The fight was on!
In order to keep this story on the non-fiction level, I will admit that when I reeled in the bass, he was not a wall-hanger (for the outdoor illiterate, that means he wasn't a big fish). The bass weighed a little over ten -- I mean, two pounds. But it was the way that I caught the bass that made it so much fun. Thankfully, I have witnesses.
Let's get out of the pond for a minute and into the parabolic significance of this story. Isaiah 25:8 predicts the atoning death of Christ on the cross and says, "He will swallow up death forever." Paul quotes this prophetic statement in 1st Corinthians 15:54 to reinforce the fact that Jesus saved us from the curse of eternal death.
With those Scriptures in mind, think of the Christian as the bologna, the perch as death, and the bass as Jesus. Before Jesus died on the cross, we (humans) were dangling on a hook without hope. Death feasted on us and continually swallowed us up. When Jesus died on the cross, He looked like another bologna-victim of death. But while in the grave, God removed the hook from Jesus, stuck it in death, and when Jesus rose from the dead, He swallowed death, like the bass that swallowed the perch, and ended death's pursuit of all who believe in Jesus.
To the unbeliever, it looks like death swallows life. But the believer knows it isn’t so. Death doesn’t swallow the Christian. Christ swallows death and gives the Christian eternal life!
Hooked on Jesus,
Perry Crisp
Thursday, October 9, 2008
You Gonna Fish or Fight?
I remember well the great pond war of 1972. My fellow 10-year-old fishing buddies and I made our way to our "secret pond" to enjoy some afternoon fishing. We walked for miles back into the deep woods of the Big Thicket National Forest in southeast Texas. It was a long, hot walk, but it would be worth it to sneak up on those unsuspecting fish and ease our lines into the water.
It would have worked, too, if there hadn't been another group of boys our age already there fishing! They were on the other side of the pond. Five of them. Four of us. The shouting ensued.
"What are ya'll doing fishin' at our secret pond?"
"What are WE doing here? What are YA'LL doin' here?"
Diplomacy was out of the question. This was war, pure and simple. We dropped our poles and picked up rocks. A direct hit was when you tossed a large rock and it landed in the water right in front of the enemy causing him to get hit with the splash. The enemies returned fire. The pond became a war zone of massive splash explosions on both sides.
We came to fish. We ended up fighting. Then a miracle happened. My friend, Jody, got tired of throwing rocks and started fishing. None of us knew it. We were all still heaving rounds across the battlefield.
Had I noticed Jody fishing, I would have ridiculed him with my professional opinion: "The fish ain't gonna bite now! We done scared 'em into lockjaw with all these rocks" (yes, I was a minnie hick in those days).
But I didn't notice. Neither did anyone else. Until we heard splashing over by Jody that didn't sound like rock-splashing. It sounded like fish-splashing. Like BIG fish-splashing! We looked over at Jody. His pole was doubled over and he was struggling to get that fish to the bank. When he finally landed the fish, he held up a 5 pound bass! Spinner baits and plastic worms from eight other fishing poles hit the water within seconds. The war was over. It was time to fish!
Jesus said to His earliest disciples the same thing He still says to His followers today, "Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men" (Matthew 4:19).
What is the church supposed to be doing? Fishing. What are most churches known for? Fighting. What do we need in our churches? Jody. We need someone to get tired of fighting and start fishing. When one person catches a fish, it inspires everyone else in the boat or on the bank. And when one person gets saved, it inspires the whole body of Christ to go after more.
"Father, I lay down my rocks and I pick up my gear. Show me where they are and guide my every cast."
Tying on my cross-shaped, crimson-colored sinner bait...
Perry Crisp
It would have worked, too, if there hadn't been another group of boys our age already there fishing! They were on the other side of the pond. Five of them. Four of us. The shouting ensued.
"What are ya'll doing fishin' at our secret pond?"
"What are WE doing here? What are YA'LL doin' here?"
Diplomacy was out of the question. This was war, pure and simple. We dropped our poles and picked up rocks. A direct hit was when you tossed a large rock and it landed in the water right in front of the enemy causing him to get hit with the splash. The enemies returned fire. The pond became a war zone of massive splash explosions on both sides.
We came to fish. We ended up fighting. Then a miracle happened. My friend, Jody, got tired of throwing rocks and started fishing. None of us knew it. We were all still heaving rounds across the battlefield.
Had I noticed Jody fishing, I would have ridiculed him with my professional opinion: "The fish ain't gonna bite now! We done scared 'em into lockjaw with all these rocks" (yes, I was a minnie hick in those days).
But I didn't notice. Neither did anyone else. Until we heard splashing over by Jody that didn't sound like rock-splashing. It sounded like fish-splashing. Like BIG fish-splashing! We looked over at Jody. His pole was doubled over and he was struggling to get that fish to the bank. When he finally landed the fish, he held up a 5 pound bass! Spinner baits and plastic worms from eight other fishing poles hit the water within seconds. The war was over. It was time to fish!
Jesus said to His earliest disciples the same thing He still says to His followers today, "Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men" (Matthew 4:19).
What is the church supposed to be doing? Fishing. What are most churches known for? Fighting. What do we need in our churches? Jody. We need someone to get tired of fighting and start fishing. When one person catches a fish, it inspires everyone else in the boat or on the bank. And when one person gets saved, it inspires the whole body of Christ to go after more.
"Father, I lay down my rocks and I pick up my gear. Show me where they are and guide my every cast."
Tying on my cross-shaped, crimson-colored sinner bait...
Perry Crisp
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