On Gunnison
This past summer, I was part of a team of five missionaries, sent to minister to the community of Gunnison, Colorado. My first reaction was, "wow, real mountains." Having never seen real mountains, my heart was romanced as I saw them decorating my every movement. No matter what street I cycled down, I could see mountains in front of me; behind me; beside me. Enjoying this creation, I was reminded that "God made it all for me."
Along with the mountains was the sound of the Gunnison River. The river flows through the town so that every neighborhood and every home has a little ditch at the fringe of their driveway. In the mornings, I would sit outside by the little ditch, and think about God's voice that is like rushing waters (Rev. 1:15). I never felt so alive.
One of my many adventures with the Gunnison River was fly fishing. It is such a bittersweet endeavor, in that fly fishing is both frustrating to get right, but extremely rewarding when you make the perfect cast.
Before fishing, the current of the water is inspected cautiously, every ripple is a potential spot for bait and every movement you make could determine a bite or not. Once the fishing spot it picked, you waddle through the muddy banks and bait up.
Unlike lake fishing, fly fishing is all about instinct. You cannot see if your rod is bent or if the line is tense. You have to feel the line for a bite or watch the floaty bop and immediately yank the line outta there! You have to be patient and keep casting, having the exact amount of line to cast far away, yet not too long that it will get caught on leaves and twigs as you cast (this happened to me frequently). When the line is led by the current in a waltz, you have to separate them and gently cast the line again. When casting, it is a simple motion of the arm, without bending your wrist at the end of the cast or the line will curl and not reach the distance that was intended.
In between perfecting the art of casting, looking for fish and hoping I would not catch pneumonia from the melted-snow-water, my heart was at peace. I thought about Jesus calling fishermen to be his disciples and I thought about all the things that fishing entails. Patience, endurance and skill are essential. Maybe that is why Jesus called fishermen to expand the Kingdom (Matt 4:19).
As a missionary, I often felt like a fisherman. I met a 6th grade kid named Jeremy who had such a great heart for others. I tried to reconcile what I saw when I was with him and what other kids were saying about him: “He gets into a lot of trouble.” “He got kicked out of summer school.” “He hid drugs.” I found it hard to have the patience with him. I just wanted to tell him to be better, to do better, because I saw all this potential in him. Yet all I could do was hang out with him and be his friend. Patience is important because often times, you are planting a seed and not harvesting it. Only God makes the seed grow.
Endurance (James 1). In all my years of fishing, I have only ever caught one fish (age 9). Yet I love fishing so much! Some people think I am crazy for enjoying a sport that does not even yield anything for me. But I have resolved to understand that even when things look discouraging, you have to continue to press on, believing that all that you do does not go to waste (1 Corinthians 15:58).
Cast it again.
Again.
Again.
Farther this time.
It is for the kingdom and not my glory (1 Corinthians 10:31).
Skill. A lot of non-believers use the line, "Christians are hypocrites." Being a missionary does not make you any less susceptible to being a hypocrite. In fact, your whole life and witness is on the line. Knowing how to love is a skill. Being able to expand your heart towards someone, regardless of what they have done, where they come from, how they treat you…that is love. And love is so much more important in expanding the kingdom than preaching AT someone (1 Corinthians 9:19-23).
I leave you with a question about your faith.
Are you fishing?
Rachel Ng
