I loved to fish. Looking outside on this unusually warm April day, it begins to stir that old feeling. There is a reason I do not fish anymore, but that is another story. The fish story that comes to mind today, however, is probably more interesting.

         I always had my stuff in the trunk. If I was driving along and saw a likely spot, I would stop and get into my trunk for one rod and reel and a couple of lures and I would make my way to the water’s edge. Back then, and in that part of the country, a minister’s ‘uniform’ was dress clothes and a tie. When you got to where you were going, you put on the suit jacket. Because of this, I couldn’t get too crazy. No climbing down steep embankments to get to a river, no wading out into a stream. But, if you could get to the water’s edge without trouble, you were good to go. I had a few places I would just be driving by on pretty days and find I had a few minutes. Catch and release. Just for the fun of it.

         It was one of the very few things I shared with my father. We could go fishing and spend the day and just exchange a few words. Really, my best memories of my father were wading through a fast moving river and fishing for bass.

         I tried to get Marsha interested and she was, to a degree. So long as she didn’t have to bait a hook, take a fish off the hook, clean them back home or fry them up. Fishing was fun so long as she could talk. And talk. And talk. “Would you believe that daddy quit taking me fishing because he said I talk too much? Can you believe that? He can be so stupid sometimes!” She particularly like going out on a boat. My father and I were once making plans to go fishing. “Now, boy, don’t be telling that woman of yours that we’re going out on a boat. She’ll want to come and I can’t stand that mouth.” She had a bit of a reputation.

         I tried to get my son interested, but sitting still for more than a couple of minutes was more than he could do. He would fidget, he would pull out a comic book, he would complain. He once ran a hook deep into his finger, and that required a trip to ER. No point making him suffer for something he didn’t enjoy.

         One Christmas my father-in-law gave me a brand new rod. Not just a new rod, but a rod that was being marketed heavily. It was featured on all the fishing shows I watched during the winter when everything was frozen over. All the bells and whistles. Able to bend and flex, the eyelets were mounted in a secure way and were made for the easy passage of the line. And the price was definitely big league. Not something I ever thought about getting for myself. But there, on Christmas afternoon, was this wonderful beauty.

         As I said, everything was frozen over. Not the kind of rig you would take ice fishing, and I didn’t ice fish anyway.  But I went out and bought some new line, a couple of really nice lures and transferred my really good reel to the really good rod and then waited until it thawed out enough to have some really good fishing.

         April, 1988. One of our people was in a hospital in Greenville, Pennsylvania. I was going to go see him and decided the way to go was over the causeway at Pymatuning Lake. A man made lake, it was around 20 miles long, north to south, and around 2 miles wide, east to west. On the east side of the lake was Pennsylvania and on the west side was Ohio. A causeway crossed the lake running east to west, connecting the two states. There were pull-offs along the causeway for people to pull over and fish. I decided that since I was going to Greenville anyway, I would go the causeway and see if the ice was melting. (Actually, the lake was quite a bit out of my way. I was just indulging myself.)

         I started crossing the causeway and was surprised to see the lake was mostly ice free. Also, the pull-offs were empty. It was pretty cold with a northerly wind blowing. I pulled off, just to watch the white caps. I wasn’t going to try out my fabulous new rod. To cold and the only coat I had was my suit coat. Otherwise, just shirt sleeves.

         But it would just be a few casts. I had grown up in the land of snow and ice. Fifteen minutes in just shirt sleeves would be easy. Rod and reel were in the trunk. One of my new lures attached. New line begging to get in the water. Before I knew what was happening, I had pulled the keys and had gotten out of the car. I walked around to the trunk and opened it. There lay the rig, begging to get out and play. “15 minutes, my friend. That’s all the time we have.”

         Oh, it felt good in my hands. It was ready for the water. I got to the water’s edge. Assuming the correct stance, I set the reel and let fly with my first cast. Oh, wow! It was perfect! I started to reel in, playing the lure, but what I really wanted was to cast again. I didn’t actually want to catch anything. Just feel the cast.

         In Pymatuning there are blue gill, crappie, bass, perch, walleye and a few other species, like carp. There are also muskie, or muskellunge. The muskie is the largest of the pike family of fish. Commonly, an adult grows to four feet in length and forty pounds, although they can grow to six feet long and seventy pounds. And they are mean with serious teeth. Fortunately, there are very few in Pymatuning.

I had reeled in my lure about 2/3s of the way when I hit a snag of some sort. Submerged log, large rock, whatever. I was snagged. I was probably going to lose my lure. I started to whip the rod from side to side to loosen the lure when the snag started to move. OK, submerged log. But then it changed direction, and then again, and again. There was nothing in the lake that could move like that. And then it did that little move that lets any fisherman anywhere know that it is a living fish.

Had to be a muskie. One hadn’t been caught in the lake in almost ten years, but some had been sighted. Still, a muskie is more lively than this critter. So, maybe a big snapping turtle. But it was yet too cold for them. And the cold would affect the fish, too. Makes them slower. But this fellow was waking up. He was starting to move. I was trying to play him, but he was a strong dude. (For you feminists, I am not saying the fish was powerful and therefore a male. It just saves time. Chill.) My pole began to bend and then….

Snap. The new, fabulous pole snapped right in two pieces right at the halfway point. (I failed to mention that this pole came all in one piece and was not able to be disassembled. Although it disassembled pretty quick.) A second or two later the line snapped. Without the flexing action of the pole the line is not going to last long. I fell over backwards and landed on my rear. There was a disturbance in the surface of the water as my fish took off.

I was angry. I still had the back part of the pole in my hand. When it snapped it dropped the front part right at the water’s edge. I snatched it up and looked at where it had broken. The pole was hollow, but right at the breaking point the inside of the pole had been extruded wrong and was very thin. A manufacturer’s defect. The pole was great except for that one place, where it was weak.

I can laugh about it now, but at the time I couldn’t see any humor. However, there is a great truth here. Anything is only as strong as its weakest point.

Our church is moving forward. Doing things we haven’t done before. Everything is going to require a strong congregation. Don’t be the weak point. Now is the time to strengthen your resolve. To follow God’s will requires real Spiritual readiness.

And, if you care to hear it, I have an amazing story about a muskie. Later.