August 10, 2023 - Memories

     Knowing that I am less than three weeks away from being out for a while, I am trying to get some things done.  I obviously don’t know what it is like to be pregnant and nearing childbirth, but I think there would be some similarities in the thinking, knowing that there is coming a major change soon.  There is motivation to put some stuff in order.
     I have three boats.  I think everyone ought to have three boats.  Before you jump to conclusions, the combined ages of the three boats is almost 90 years.  All three of them are 1996 models.
     I have a small Bass Tracker that I bought when my dad was alive.  Unlike some bass boats, this “pan fisher” model has no platform.  It was far less likely for my dad to fall out of the boat than typical bass boats.
     I wanted to get the bass boat in storage for the winter which meant that I needed to run the fuel out of the motor.  I failed to do that last year in the motor of the small pontoon and it was a costly mistake.
     I took the boat to Cynthiana initially with the intention of backing the boat down the boat ramp, starting the motor, and running the fuel out of the motor.
     As I drove to Cynthiana I thought a lot about fishing in the South Licking River.  I grew up in that river.  In more than on.  Dad had a snall row boat with a 3.5 horse motor.  I can count on one hand how many times we used it.
     Dad and I were in that river at least a couple of times a month when I was a kid and a teenager.  We waded wearing blue jeans and old tennis shoes.  We’d put a rubber band on the bottom of the pants’ legs to keep the leaches from crawling up your leg.
     None of us knows what the future holds.  I know what the doctors have told me, but I also know that stem cell transplants are risky.   There are no guarantees.
     By the time I got to the boat ramp I had decided to launch the boat into the river.  Who knows?  It might be the last chance I would have to fish in the river that was such a part of my life growing up.
     It was middle of the afternoon, the river was murky, and a bit higher than normal.  I only fished about an hour.  You might guess how many fish I caught.
     What I caught were memories that have long been tucked away.  Hearing the noise of the water rushing over the dam reminded me of fishing one day with Dad at the A Keller Dam. 
     There were lots of people fishing there that Saturday morning.  Dad and I caught way more fish than anyone else that day.  Dad knew where the ledge was.
Dad knew that river like the back of his hand.  He and his two younger brothers were great fishermen and hunters because of one main reason.   Their dad died when my dad was only nine years old.  They grew up in the Great Depression and they were as poor as you could be.  What they caught or what they shot was the only meat they would have.
     As the “man of the house” at age nine, dad worked hard to help his single mom with four kids be able to make it.  I have no doubt that is one of the reasons that I have had a desire to help the working poor as a pastor.
     As I casted an old Mepps spinner around some weed beds I thought about how many times I had done that as a teenager.
     Memories are God’s gift to us.  I realize that not all memories bring back the good feelings that I had as I fished.  Most of the bad memories for me are of bad decisions that I have made that I wish I could go back and redo.
     There is no delete button that erases those from our memories.   There is the blood of Jesus that washes away the sin associated with those bad decisions.
     Lord, thank you for the gift of memory.  Help me cherish those memories that have been blessings in my life.  Help me to allow you to heal those memories that weren’t blessings, by your mercy, grace, and power. 
     I need to take a grandkid fishing.  Maybe it would be a memory they would long cherish.