A Different Kind of Easter Story…

“Son, get behind me.”

It was a hot Saturday morning in the Summer of 1969. Dad had taken us boys out fishing. We were standing on the shore in the shade, under a grove of trees. I had just cast my Zebco 202 into the tank (a manmade pond used by ranchers to water their cattle) out on ‘Ole Farmer Meacham’s land northwest of Clinton.

It was my 18th cast in the last 25 minutes.

On the end of my line was a red & white bobber, a hook, and a small weight. I had threaded a nightcrawler earthworm onto the hook, to tempt any channel cat or bass or crappie that might be lurking in the deeper water where the now-dry creek emptied into the tank.

At 6-years-old, I was very impatient. Cast my pole. Wait for 90 seconds. Let out an excited scream: “My bobber went under!” (It probably hadn’t, but you know how quickly a 6-year-old can fire up his imagination when he is bored.)

I started reeling in my line.

(At least I hadn’t cast my line into the tree branches, or hooked Holland’s jeans, during my last two throws. Both Holland and I were grateful for that. Of course, every time I brought my hook in, it needed a new worm. I spent more time threading worms and untangling my line than I did waiting on my bobber to go under.)

But this time was different.

There was definitely something on my line. It tugged hard against my reel.

“Dad, I got something!”.

Dad had moved about 40 yards away so we didn’t scare off the fish where he was casting.

“Quiet, son. Just reel it in nice and easy. No jerking too hard.” He was trying to say it loud enough for me to hear, but not too loud. He wanted that 8-pound bass that was always teasing him to stay close by.

My bobber had been under for a while. That was unusual. Did I hook a turtle?

Then I saw something break the surface. GOL DOGS! I recognized the evil black, triangular-shaped head immediately.

“Cotton-mouth!!!”

Billy and Holland quickly shuffled back as far from me as they could get. I pushed the button on the reel to let out the line. I looked around for the needle-nosed pliers so I could cut the line.

Dad moved toward me quickly. I think he started jogging. I couldn’t tell, because my ADD brain was focused on one thing: cutting my line.

What I hadn’t noticed was a very angry water moccasin swimming directly toward me.

Cutting my line would do no good. Letting out line was also useless. But my 6-year-old mind didn’t understand that. All it knew was to set the snake free.

“Look out!” Holland yelled.

I looked up and saw a swimming serpent, aggressive and hissing nastily. He was maybe 10 feet away, his eyes locked on me, coming in hard and fast.

I threw my rod down.

As I started to turn and run, I felt a strong hand on my shoulder.

“Son, get behind me.”

Dad had his hatchet out, gripped firmly in his left hand. He took his right hand off my shoulder and picked up a big rock.

The snake never stood a chance.

**********

That was more than 50 years ago. The memory is still fresh in my mind.

More than 16 years after Dad passed, he is still fresh in my mind.

And I still miss him.

**********

I am the luckiest man on earth. I had a Dad who loved me more than himself. He showed it in countless ways.

And I have a Savior who loves me more than that.

Someday, I will have to face God. I will be looking down, knowing my guilt and feeling my shame. His perfection will magnify my selfishness and rebellion.

“Kelly, why should I let you into my presence?” He will ask.

I will be speechless. I will want to run and hide.

Then I will feel a strong hand on my shoulder.

“Son, get behind me.”

I will turn and look into the gentle, loving eyes of Jesus.

Just like Dad, and even more so, He has always loved me more than Himself.

And at that exact moment, I will never be afraid again…