Good morning, I pray this message finds you well rested from the weekend.
We just got back from our annual family fishing trip, so a little exhausted but refueled in other ways.We don’t leave the farm very often. Animals still need feeding and summer is one of the busiest seasons of the year. But every June, thanks to my dear sister Ruthie holding down the fort, our family packs up and heads north to a little fishing resort that has become part of our family story.
Benjamin’s family has been making this trip for nearly 40 years. His grandpa started the tradition long before I was part of the family, and over the years it has become something much bigger than fishing. Looking at it from the outside, it probably doesn’t seem all that glamorous. I spent a good share of the week putting worms on hooks, cleaning fish and picking Y-bones out of northern pike, along with plenty of sunfish.But the fishing isn’t really the point.
The best part is hearing the stories come alive again.When one of the kids catches a northern too small to keep, someone always remembers Grandma saying, “You keep that one. It fits just right in my fry pan.”
When a fish hits the bait but gets away, Grandpa’s famous response comes back out. He’d snap his fingers, throw his arm forward, and say, “Aw shucks.”
And according to Grandpa, if the fish are jumping, they aren’t biting.
They also don’t bite on Sunday morning during church.
So every year we pile into the vehicles and make the drive into Bemidji for worship before heading back to the lake.
One evening I sat watching the sun sink toward the horizon while bobbers danced on the water and cousins laughed in the boat, anchored in a bed of reeds. We were full and relaxed after a big meal caught together, cleaned together, cooked together, and shared around a table.
Those moments remind me how hungry we all are for connection.
Late one night, while mosquitoes buzzed around the fish-cleaning house, another guest shared his story with us. For years he and his dad had made this same trip together. Last year they were here side by side. This year his father had passed away.He admitted they almost canceled the reservation. His wife encouraged him to come anyway.
“I’m glad we did,” he said. “
Being here brought back so many good memories about dad.”I thought about that conversation much of the way home.
So much of life passes quickly. Children grow up. Parents grow older. Traditions that seem ordinary become precious. The places and people we love don’t stay with us forever.
Yet as Christians, we know there is something greater than even our sweetest memories.
Jesus stepped into our world, died for our sins, and rose again so that our story doesn’t end at a graveside. Because of Him, we have the promise of a family reunion far greater than any fishing trip—a home where death, sorrow, and goodbyes are gone forever.
The older I get, the more grateful I am for the simple gifts God gives us along the way: laughter on a dock, stories told for the hundredth time, fish frying in a cast-iron pan, and the people we love gathered around us.
These are the things we keep.
Grace and peace,
Leah
P.S. We came home to happy animals, a thriving farm, and plenty of gratitude for Ruthie, who made this trip possible for our family once again.
