We
took the traditional cousins’ fishing trip the other day. That meant setting up one of those tent-shade
things (Nathan had one) for some shade at a little canal fishing area in Jamaica
Beach. It also meant having snacks and
plenty of water. It must have been 160
degrees out there.
All
in all the trip would have to be considered a successful one. Every one of the grandkids caught a fish of
some kind (if you count Luke’s shrimp that he realized was on the end of his
line and the piggie that Noa lifted out of the bait bucket with the dip
net). All eight of them seemed quite
happy with their individual results, and all are looking forward to the fish
fry at lunch today.
When
the fishing part of the day ended and everyone headed home, Nathan and Josiah
and I stuck around to use up the last of the bait and load up the truck. Josiah made a pretty good catch – a nice
sized croaker – but he had something philosophical to say about the whole
fishing experience. Ready for this one?
“It’s
difficult for me to know that something has to die for me to eat.”
Wow. Now that is a deep thought for a six year
old. It’s a pretty profound way of
saying it as well. That wasn’t the only
expression of concern. Every time he
reeled in his line and it still had the bait on it, he loudly proclaimed, “We
have a survivor.” Now how do you cast a
survivor back out to eventual certain death?
We don’t want survivor shrimp, Josiah.
We want willing sacrifice shrimp that result in keeper fish.
We
were all tired after the trip and the extended time in the heat. The two girls and occasionally Luke crawled
into Uncle Nathan’s lap and watched videos of people opening tiny toys. For hours.
And I think good ol’ Uncle Nathan even watched for two or three. Minutes.
Romans
13:7 says, “Give everyone what you owe
him: If you owe taxes, pay taxes; if revenue, then revenue; if respect, then respect;
if honor, then honor.”
Father,
thank you for fun times and for tiny little creatures that help us catch bigger
ones so that we can eat. Amen.
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