By Ken Laue

I was putting another nightcrawler on 6-year-old Abby’s hook because the fish were biting and I wanted her to experience the thrill of catching her own fish. At that moment, I admit I wasn’t thinking of Jesus’ words, “Follow me and I will make you fishers of men.” Only later was I able to relate that day at Parker Canyon Lake to spiritual pursuits.

Parker Canyon is one of my favorite places in the world for a number of reasons.  I’ve been there a few times when the fishing action was good . . . and many more times when the only ones catching anything were either the great big gangly herons or the ospreys.  Sometimes in the winter you can see a bald eagle, and they are good fishermen, as well. Since the fish were biting on this particular day, and it was a weekend, the dock was crowded with fishermen of all ages and sexes. Whenever someone caught one, the small crowd would acknowledge it. But almost all that was being caught were bluegills, which are tough little scrappers, but not spectacular.  The main attraction to bluegills is that when they’re biting you can usually catch enough of them to make a good fish fry.

We got Abby’s bait back into the dark hole in the middle of the seaweed patch, and bam!  Something nailed her hook. Something big! Like an adrenaline-filled mother hen, I coached little Abby on setting the hook, keeping the line taught, keeping the rod tip up to absorb the impact of the fighting fish… along with a lot of extemporaneous, useless advice. From the fight it gave and the bend of the rod I judged it to be a bass because none of the small bluegills that day could possibly have fought that hard. After a long fight – with the drag slipping and making that whirring sound I love to hear because it means you have a fighting fish on – Abby retrieved the monofilament line and dragged the fish out of the depths. Imagine my surprise when Abby pulled up into the air, up onto the dock, wiggling and flipping, the biggest doggone bluegill I’d ever seen – practically as big as a bass. We called it a “bull gill” instead of a “bluegill,” in honor of its size.

Everyone on the dock, wizened-old-fishermen types, men, women, girls, and boys all agreed it was the biggest bluegill they had ever seen. Even Tim, our children’s church pastor, also fishing that day with his sons, had to agree it was a monster… for a bluegill, that is. And the nice thing (for me) is that I caught that fish’s mate, a specimen slightly smaller, say 7/8 its size, within a few minutes of Abby’s catch. Ounce for ounce, bluegills are the fighting-est fish!

I surprised Abby and her big sister Leilani with quality rod and reel combos, and I have begun the task of passing on to them a love for fishing and a care for the environment. I’ve seen blurbs in fishing magazines saying that the number of fishing licenses and the general interest in fishing is dropping. These articles cite a need to pass fishing on to this generation of kids – a generation lost in a world of technological wizardry; a generation that seems to have become isolated from the real world of nature. Several organizations seek to address this problem. An organization called Take Me Fishing in Arizona is one with a lot of good resources. The goal is to pass on an unfinished task: that of caring for the environment, and of raising up a generation of young people who will enjoy the outdoors, be good stewards of natural resources, and take over when their parents and grandparents pass on.

The line Abby and I used to reel in our catch was monofilament, mono- being “single” and filament being a “slender strand or fiber.” So what we have in modern fishing line is a very thin line with great strength for its thickness. I’m thinking that what Jesus was imparting to His disciples in the Fishers of Men directive was a single-minded purpose to life: a small but very powerful or strong strand woven throughout our everyday lives. In other words, everything we do in life should be done in such a way that we are always setting a good example and pointing people to Christ. Whether being a good worker on the job, giving another motorist a break, or passing an invitation to church on to someone. Whatever it is, the bait is something attractive that people may see in us as we let the life of Christ shine through. That is the real monofilament: the single, strong strand that will reel them in.

Yes, I know Jesus’ boys did not have monofilament line in their day. That’s a modern invention. But He knew we would have it, and I think the illustration is still a good one. In the natural realm, we oldsters that love fishing and out-of-door stuff are engaged in the yet-to-be-finished task of trying to pass on the love of these things to our kids and our grandkids. In the spiritual realm, our church is engaged in the unfinished task of being fishers of men, and reaching a lost world for Jesus Christ. You know, while obviously I enjoy fishing in the natural world, I am all about a lot more than just passing that on to my kids and grandkids. I want them to see me being a fisher of souls and having a good spiritual catch, too.

One of my greatest joys and unexpected accomplishments is in having set a good example for my granddaughters in one particular area. Now, Papa has more than his share of flaws and screw-ups which the girls have also seen, but it’s always nice when you’re caught setting a good example; an example that really matters. My wife Bonnie has done a great deal of babysitting for Abby and Leilani since they were babies (they are 7 and 9 as of this writing). As a result, they have stayed the night over on a number of occasions over the years. Papa has had a habit of getting up at 0-dark-hundred hours for the last thirty-something years. On weekdays I have to get up at 3:30 or 4:00 for work, and on weekends or holidays I sleep in till 5:30 or 6:00. But I always fix a strong cup of coffee and sit down in my favorite easy chair with my bible open on my lap to read and pray. A number of times – unobserved, quiet as mice – the girls have slipped out of their bunk beds and hidden in the darkness of the adjoining living room to watch Papa do his devotions.

You can explain to a kid all day long how to cast with a rod and reel, but until they get to watch you cast several times, and try it themselves, they just don’t get it. Similarly, I had spoken to the girls about the need to “talk to Jesus” every day, but when they actually caught Papa in action, it made more sense. Now when they stay over, and they get up, I ask them if they talked to Jesus before I let them play. They get to participate in saying grace over meals, or in saying sorry to Jesus when they do something bad. I’m glad to reinforce lessons their parents are trying to teach them at home, and I’m blessed to be able to teach them “fishing” techniques.

Between church services one Sunday the girls had a practice for the Christmas play, so I took them to the nearby fast-food establishment for a quick lunch. On the way in, we noticed homeless people begging. I don’t like giving money to homeless people, but I will buy them a meal if I have enough money. The girls and I picked up a couple of combo meals and gave them to a man and a woman, who seemed to be “partners,” along with a church flyer and a quick witness about giving your heart to Jesus and being part of a good church. Another fishing technique was taught, and the seed of the Word of God was planted.

I still have to put the worms on the hook for the girls. But there will come a day when they will be doing that for themselves, and catching nice fish on their own. Like that nice bass I caught at Roper Lake as night was falling. I had a nightcrawler suspended from a bobber on the dam-side of the lake. I’d been getting a lot of little annoying nibbles from bluegills, when all of a sudden… that bobber went scooting around and got pulled under…! But that’s another fish story.