Devotion 13: How can you not?

Genesis 1;1 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

It’s completely dark and way too early but this is the last day of the trip and it’s one of those rivers I’ve wanted to fish for a long time. And besides we’ve been here for three days and I’ve been a little bit beaten by this river but I am determined to finish strong. Not that it matters, it doesn’t matter to anyone but me.

I sorted my gear the night before, laid everything out that I would need (and more), and tied on two perfectly chosen flies. Now it was time to go to the river in the still dark morning. I have unfortunately aged a bit over time so the eyes are not quite as sharp and the feet not quite as sure and this slows me in the darkness but I find the spot described to me last night by one of my friends. He had caught several nice trout in this spot the day before and wanted me to have a good morning so I went directly to the hole from his directions and began to unspool some fly line.

All my friends on this trip are believers but I have others that aren’t. As for those that aren’t -we don’t argue anymore but I still get a gentle plug in whenever I can. And I still pray for them and have hope for them. Sometimes they’ll bring up geology and evolution and all the other scientific theories that they say explains away the world. I’ll listen quietly and think to myself that they’re missing the point. Sometimes they’ll ask me how I can believe as I do when all the “evidence” points in different directions. Many of these men love the outdoors as I do so we agree to disagree, but I still pray.

It’s dark still, but just barely. The sun is beginning to move over the treetops as I stand in the water, the river flowing silently around my legs. I start false casting as the sky lightens to a point where I can see the indicator on the water, completely focused on the rhythm of the rod and the expectation of a striking trout. Then, just as I prepare to lay the first cast on the water the sun moves completely above the tree line and the whole river is bathed in early morning sunlight of golds and reds and mist. I look up and my rod stops mid-cast, the line dropping to the river’s surface, the flies forgotten and I ask myself, “How can you not believe?”