I’ve heard it said that a child’s view of her Heavenly Father is shaped by the Dad she had on Earth.
Maybe that’s why I know that God loves me so much.
My dad was the biggest, strongest man I knew — and no matter what I believed about him (I was a teenager, after all), he never stopped believing in me.
I grew up with a Dad who was not stingy with his affection or his time. Growing up, Dad and I spent hours on the driveway basketball court playing HORSE, or tossing the Frisbee out back by the evergreens. He carried me to bed every night on his back, and woke me up singing “Wake Up Little Susie.”
But the best moments with my father happened while fishing. You can’t help but grow close in the confines of an 18-foot Lund fishing boat. That’s especially true if the catching is slow. Now, if you’re a fisherman, you know that fishing and catching are not the same thing. When you’re fishing, hours can go by without catching a thing. So, you pass the hours reconnecting in ways that you never could on land.
Sure — fishing folk love to talk about the weather, and the cloud cover, and the “chop”on the water. We analyze water depth, weed cover and “bait presentation.” But on swivel seats in an aluminum boat — three feet apart, and hundreds of feet from shore — you go deeper than tomorrow’s forecast. You talk about the stuff that really matters: growing up and growing old, and doing both with