To say my Granny was a tough old bird would be a tremendous understatement. She was a smart lady with a sharp wit and a battle-hardened determination that came from a tough life in a bygone era. Visiting her was a joy.
She loved to work in the garden and she loved to fish. Her dedication to her family tempered her no-nonsense way, such that we grandkids knew we better mind, and that we could expect some treats while we were there.
Fate had dealt us a long weekend and we decided to go visit Granny. Granny was already in her eighties by now but far more spry than was probably good for her. We walked in the door to find her seated, as always, in her favorite chair at the end of the dining table.
“Well, would you looka there.” She announced. She knew we were coming but it thrilled her all the same when we showed up. After hugs were squeezed and cheeks were pinched I noticed she looked a tad bit harried.
“Hey Granny, you look a little rough. You okay?” She looked like she tried to jam a bobcat in a backpack. She was scratched and bruised top to bottom.
“I’m fine,” she said, “I hurt myself fishing.”
“Fishing, what kind of fish did that to you?”
And so she began telling this story–
“You know I’ve been going down to the rock quarry and fishing in the ponds. I hadn’t caught anything in hours last Saturday so I decided to leave. On my way home I passed that pond on the corner behind that big white farm house. As I rode by I could see fish jumping like crazy so I stopped. I had to park down the street because that thing has no trespassing and posted signs all around it. I grabbed my rod and tromped out through the woods to the back side, away from the road. I didn’t want anyone to see me going in. When I got close, I saw it had a barbed-wire fence around it. Well, I got about halfway over the barbed wire and slipped. I got hung up in the wire and fell on top of a pile of rocks.”
“No!” she exclaimed “I fell in. I figured since I’m already here I may as well fish a little. Besides, it hurt worse when I fell going out.”
Regrettably, I find myself endlessly calculating and measuring. I want to avoid all manner of risk. I don’t think God necessarily wants us committing misdemeanors for pleasure fishing, but He doesn’t want us huddled in a corner scared to move either.
I want God to give me my 50-year life plan in advance. I don’t like relying on faith. I want to know what’s coming.I want to prepare myself for His plan. I want to check off on it, give my approval. I like to be in the circle of decision.
That shows an exemplary lack of trust in God’s sovereignty. Is He who He says He is? If so, can He handle running my life? I think He can, I just don’t live like that everyday.
Do you trust God enough to take what seems to be risks? Have you trespassed to go fishing?