On a beautiful, sunny day, dad would drive up to the lake with me. Mom always suggested that I go with him. We would get a can of baked beans, and some hotdogs. While we were on the lake, we would find a place to build a fire. We would cook our hotdogs, and drink a Coke. He always stopped at a shop to buy worms, and we would fish as long as the fish were biting. We finished talking before we put the lines in the water. Dad watched over the worms at first. I didn’t mind putting them on the hook. It was catching the fish that was hard for me. I would get too, excited. He would help me.
Often I would pray while I fished. Dad would choose Friday to go to the lake. This way he had another day to study, and rest up for church. He didn’t preach long. He studied much longer than he preached. His sermon could have been four, hours long, but he kept them to a limit of 25 minutes.
I don’t know what fishing has to do with resting, or getting inspired to fish. I prayed for all the fish I ever caught, including a catfish that he threw back. In Missouri, you don’t throw catfish back in the river. I lived within driving distance of 10 minutes from the Mississippi River for four, years. We fished along there, but I caught nothing except when I prayed for something to bite. Ed’s dad loved ducks, but he didn’t fish much. Ed’s sister, and brother- in- law, love to fish. They caught 38 fish once when we fished with them.