Hey Dad,

Wabaskang Lake, Perrault Falls, Canada.

Summer of 2012.

No cell reception (not that I had a phone at the time), miles away from shore, probably at least a 30-minute boat ride back to camp, and I’ve casted my lure for at least the thousandth time of that trip. Every summer my dad would take a week-long trip up to Canada to fish with friends, but when my two brothers and I were old enough he would take us with him. Pop Tarts, pudding cups, bite-sized Snickers, Slim Jims, and Mountain Dew were our sustenance during the daytime, and our catch was what we had for dinner.

We’re fishing for Northern Pike hoping to catch something at least to eat for dinner, possibly something that is worth stopping for a photo-op. I’m sure my dad could remember all the details of this catch, what rod and lure I was using, whether we were casting or trolling, but what happened that day on the lake was a memory to last a lifetime.

My line jerked just like it had dozens of times on that trip, so I started to reel in making sure the line was tight just as my dad had taught me. The lure was taken about 50 feet from the boat when I cautiously exclaimed, “got something!”

I’d reel in when there was slack, and when the fish fought against it I pulled back on the rod, bending it intensely, waiting for the fish to give up momentarily so I could continue reeling in. This one fought harder than others, but nothing I didn’t think I couldn’t handle. A couple rounds of fighting and reeling later, the fish was about 20 feet away from the boat. My dad put his rod down to retrieve the net in the back of the boat where I was. I was reeling the fish in closer, hoping that it had taken the lure hard and that it wouldn’t release itself suddenly.

Then, like in those fishing magazines my dad would read on Sunday mornings, it flung itself out of the water and into the air, wriggling its body back and forth trying desperately to rid itself of my lure.

My dad was over my left shoulder when his demeanor and excitement changed once he saw that fish, “Holy cow! You’ve got something there!”

You can tell in their tone when a parent or a coach is patronizing to their child. Trying to be encouraging and not diminishing the moment, even though it’s nothing special to them and something they’ve seen a hundred times. This was not one of those times. My dad’s expression was purely genuine. He could tell as soon as the fish left the water that this was a once-in-a-lifetime catch.

He sprung into action leaning over the boat, eager to get the fish in the net. He’s coaching me magnificently as I reel it in the last ten feet and giving my brothers instruction on what tools to get, and we’re all locked in, working together to get this thing in the boat. It was exhilarating, and, for my dad, this was the moment I knew he wanted to give us.

My dad snatches the fish in his net, holds his breath until he can place it in the boat securely and let’s out a sigh of relief, but also pure joy, as he cries, “Woooo!”

Laughter and joy came from his mouth, utterly enthralled that this fish was in his boat, and probably shocked that his least competent fisherman was the one to real it in. Once we got the lure out of the fish’s gills, we start to measure it’s length and weight.

44 1/2 inches long, 23 pounds heavy.

Another bellow of excitement comes as my dad reads out the measurements and gives me a fist bump, “Ohh yeahh!”

It was the biggest Northern Pike our family had ever caught (and still might be). I was ecstatic to hold that honor above my brothers — like any youngest boy of the family would feel. We took the catch back home to Indiana, my dad paid to get it mounted, and it’s hanging up in the home I was raised in along with all the other great catches my family has made over the years.

But, as time passes, when I remember about the catch, I think less about the measurement of the fish, and I think more about the measure of joy my dad had for me in that moment. Fishing is his favorite hobby, and I know how much it meant to him that he could give me that moment. His pure expressions of fun and elation were because I was sharing in something he loved. What a great memory.

It’s Father’s Day today.

Yesterday, I had a taste of what my dad experienced 13 years ago. My daughter, Carter, and I have started exploring our neighborhood more this summer. She will take her toddler bike and I’ll walk beside her. We got to the edge of our neighborhood and I told her that it was time to turn around and go back home. She looks up at me and says, “all done.”

She got off her bike, looked up at me again and said, “run!”

She pointed down the street and took off before I could say anything. I guess we’re running now! I love running; I just ran a 5K that morning, so I was down. Expecting her to run for about 10 seconds or less and then give up, I just trotted alongside her and waited for her will to break. 10 seconds became 30, 30 became a minute, and before I know it we’re halfway home and she is still going!

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Very often she will go on runs with me, but she is in a running stroller. Well, this time she wanted a turn. Like a little Forrest Gump, she just felt like runnin’!

About 2 minutes into running she is started to get out of breath, but that doesn’t stop her from identifying everything she sees:

“Car!”

“Woof!” (that means dog)

“Bike!”

“Water!”

We’re almost home and that gives her the extra motivation to finish it out. She ran about a quarter mile non-stop and was asking to keep going. I was amazed by this little girl. Keep in mind that she’s not even two yet.

What my dad felt that day I was able to get a small taste of yesterday, and it was very sweet.

I know that God has those very sweet moments with his children as well. When we suddenly fall in love with what He loves, there is possibly not a greater feeling than that for Him. God as Father is a powerful reality, and one we should remember every day and not just today.

He’s someone who loves us unconditionally, who wants us to grow in maturity and wisdom in His Son, not afraid to discipline us with purpose, and he’s there to comfort us when bad things happen.

Too often He is mistakenly thought of someone who is annoyed, inconvenienced, or always angry with this children. Last night, Carter was throwing up in her crib. By God’s grace, I (and my wife) was able to hopefully emulate an image of how our Heavenly Father comforts us. I soothed her as she cried, cleaned her up, sang her a song, changed her sheets, and stayed with her until she could fall asleep — only for her to do it all again.

A bad father, and a bad God, would have flipped on the lights and started berating their child, making this accident all about them and how it’s inconvenienced them.

My sin is bad. My sin deserves eternal damnation, and the ransom for my soul was God’s own Son, Jesus Christ. I do not want to minimize God’s hatred for sin, but hatred and anger are not the only emotions God has when I sin. God’s grace is greater than my sin, and I think that God looks upon me more like a child who is throwing up in their crib than someone to make a lesson out of.

Because His character is one that is graceful, He comes in and gives comfort, cleans me up, sings me songs in my heart, changed my life, even though he knows I’m going to throw up all over myself again.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)

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