Fishing with Jesus

I was sixteen and somewhat stupid, and I was working that summer on the Amite River at Ben & Nita’s in Port Vincent, Louisiana.  I was responsible for mowing grass around the marina’s boat slips and helping to repair boat hulls in the dry dock when people ran their boats up on stumps or needed repair from neglect.  People were known to wait until the bulge pump couldn’t keep up with the leak before getting it fixed. That seemed to be a south Louisiana tradition to do only the bare necessity to keep the old boat afloat.

Ben & Nita’s was a marina and bar. It was a place on weekends to buy beer, gas, and snacks during the day and experience some wild parties in the bar at night, as a band played rock & roll of the era 1972.

So, I worked around the marina during the week and facilitated the party animals on the weekend. I pumped gas and delivered beer to the boats until late afternoon and then worked behind the bar at night. It was a different time as I never thought anything about being sixteen and working behind the bar.

It was my job and I loved it.

The bar was a unique place to hang out on the river as it was built around the front half of a shrimp boat and the band would play up on the boat. Of all things, the craziest night of the week was Sunday night. That was the last party night of the week for most working-class Cajuns and they partied!  And, so did I!

During the week, the head marina slave, Mike, and I would try to think of ways to make extra money as the marina owners were paying me a dollar per hour plus tips on weekends. So much for minimum wage, probably $3.00 at the time.

Mike and I decided to start running trot lines in the river during the week and sell the catfish to the fish house across the river from the marina. For those of you who don’t know what a trot line is, it’s a line run across the river with hooks about two feet apart hanging about eighteen inches below the main line with each hook baited with something that a catfish would like. The line is anchored in a few locations with anything heavy enough to sink the baits within a few feet of the river bottom. We had agreed to sell our fish for a dollar per pound to the restaurant and we were excited to get started.

We would bait the lines, about a dozen of them, after work every evening and then run the lines in the morning to take the fish off the lines and run them to the restaurant.

We were using Mike’s boat, an old bateau or john boat, with an equally old 18 HP Evinrude engine. The boat had a small console for the steering wheel and the ignition switch was attached to the inside wall of the hull beside the driver’s seat. This stuff is important to remember when you hear the rest of the story.

Mike and I had run the lines for a few weeks and had made some money, but weren’t getting rich by any stretch. We decided to bait the lines on a Friday night for some reason as usually the weekends were terrible for fishing because of the heavy boat traffic on the river.

We got to our last line as daylight was fading and got it baited as fast as we could, as we were ready to get back to the marina to eat something and get some sleep before an anticipated busy Saturday.

Mike told me to pull the rope on the motor as he was standing beside the console and had turned the key on. I asked him if the motor was in neutral and he said yes and told me to hurry up.

This is when things got interesting, as we had a coonass, or Cajun to the ignorant, and a dumbass, that’s me, in a hurry to get home.

Well, I pulled the rope and all Hell broke loose as Mike had the motor in forward and the throttle wide open. I flew out of the back of the boat over the motor and Mike was thrown out the side by the steering column as the boat turned to cut a tight donut. The first time the boat circled it came just past me flying, or let’s say going as fast as an 18 horse Evinrude can push a bateau in a circle.

I was treading water dressed in my work clothes, cutoff overalls and cowboy boots. Little did I know that Mike was hanging on to the side of the boat for dear life trying to reach the key to cut the motor off.

And here it came for round two and it ran right over me as I struggled to keep my head above water. I guess it’s time to admit that I was a weak swimmer if you could call what I did as a child swimming. I grew up around water and would swim all the time, but I knew I was pathetic when it came to any real endurance.

So here I am with the boat coming back around and I push up on the front and hope the prop doesn’t get me.  Well for some reason I didn’t get scratched and was still able to get back to the surface after the boat passed.

But my luck would soon turn to what luck is all about. Something bad was about to happen. I believe we confuse luck with favor, as I don’t believe luck is ever good, but favor is always good as it comes from the eternal source of good, God.

Here the boat comes again and I’m exhausted. This time, the boat runs over me and when I push off something gets me.  It was probably not the prop, as I still had my arm, but it was sliced at the elbow enough to render my right arm useless and I began to sink as my boots had filled with water and I was giving up.

The muddy Amite had me where she wanted me. I really can’t say that I had any emotions about drowning in the river that day, I was just resigned to the fact that it was a likelihood.

But when God has a purpose for our life, even the life of an unsaved idiot who didn’t have a clue who God was and didn’t care either way, we cannot keep Him from rescuing us.

It’s impossible.

Mike said that after the last turn, he was able to reach the kill switch and climb into the boat. Exhausted and scared that he had lost his buddy, he stood in the boat looking for me, then turned to the last place he had seen me and dove in.

Somewhere between 5 and 8 feet down, he ran into my body and drug me to the surface. He then tried to get me to help swim, but I was only somewhat conscious and was mostly dead weight.  He got me to the side of the boat and I somehow grabbed the side and as he pushed, I pulled myself in, with Mike climbing in after me.

We both sat in the boat for a few minutes and stared at each other. Mike pulled the rope and we headed back to the marina.

The possibility of me surviving the experience was ridiculously remote, so what happened?  How did he find me in one of the muddiest rivers in south Louisiana?  I can’t answer the question with human logic, because it doesn’t make sense.

But I know God has His favorites and I believe I am one of them. He has never told me why, but He has told me yes. If you’re one, you probably know or suspect it. If you’re not, you’re probably annoyed that I’m so certain of something that some believe none of us should know. But you don’t know my life…yet. And when you do, you may not want to be one of the King’s favorites as the lessons I have learned are painful…sometimes excruciatingly painful!

THOUGHTS OF THE HUNTER KIND:

 Mike and I were anticipating supper, but I don’t think I ate anything that night. I can’t honestly say that this was a time God was trying to reach me. I don’t know that. But I can say, that under most circumstances like this, I would have drowned. So when I say I’m one of His favorites, I’m not proclaiming that I live in a spiritual bubble of protection. I’m saying that He knew all along the way that I would turn to Him, and when I did, He would use me for His glory. And one day I said, “Here I am, send me!”

Prayer of the Hunter Kind:

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” and I
said,” Here am I. Send me!”    Isaiah 6:8
Father, I know You want the best for me in all circumstances, and I trust You are always with
me even when I feel totally alone. I also know that others don’t always feel that way, so send
me as a witness to Your unending patience and relentless love, grace and mercy. Amen