Matters to Me
It is funny how the Holy Spirit works at times. Yesterday, right in the middle of my morning
rosary I thought of my wife’s uncle Bill.
He’s one of those “you gotta like him” people. He was a God-send for me, especially when I
had just started dating my now-wife Michelle.
Michelle grew up on a dairy farm, her sister had married a farmer, and
many of Michelle’s relatives were either farmers, or they were involved in work
that had connections to farming. I am
not a farmer. So, you start with an introverted
personality, and add that I had nothing to contribute to most of the men-folk
conversations, and that added up to a lot of quiet time where I nodded my head
as if I was following along.
Bill and his family at the time lived on the shore of Lake
Wissota near Chippewa Falls, so I didn’t actually meet him until Labor Day
weekend. Every little town seems to have
its main celebration. For the little
town of Suring where my wife grew up, the big celebration was Labor Day. It was vintage Americana, with carnival rides
in the park, and a baseball tournament for the kids, and the big parade down
Main Street that always included the huge steam tractor that some of the
old-timers somehow got running each year for its annual mile trip. Bill is married to my father-in-law’s only sister,
Mildred. So, they always would drive across
the state to celebrate Labor Day.
Bill, it turned out is an avid outdoorsman. He especially likes to fish for muskies. While I was mainly a trout fisherman who had hooked
into just a couple of muskies quite by accident when fishing for bass, we still
connected. Bill had a multitude of hunting
and fishing stories that he eagerly shared.
But, more importantly for me, he genuinely listened to my own
stories. Besides my wife of course, with
Bill I finally felt like I mattered when it came to the conversation. I wasn’t just there for the head nodding.
I think it was the second Labor Day weekend that Bill
brought his boat along. They had come
early in the week and he had fished with several family members. Michelle and I couldn’t make it until
Saturday and Bill was already gone fishing.
But that evening he asked if I wanted to try fishing for muskies on
Labor Day on Caldron Falls. I can’t even
say how much it meant to me to be included.
Since I didn’t know much about muskies, Bill selected a lure
for me. It was a jointed floating lure
that was about as big, maybe bigger, than the brook trout that I usually
pursued. We fished along the shoreline
for an hour or so without any action when Bill suggested that we try the
submerged rocks on the other end of the lake.
He slowed down as we neared the area where three granite rock bars
surfaced like a pod of freshwater whales.
There was already a boat in there and the two occupants were
casting. There were also two other boats
staged and waiting their turn. I
expressed some doubt, but Bill was undeterred.
“We’ll give it a try.” And so, after
about a half hour the other boats moved on and Bill cautiously steered us
nearer the rocks. “None of those guys
were throwing topwater lures,” Bill said to reassure me. On my first cast the big wobbler bait hadn’t
swam halfway back to the boat when the water around it erupted. I instinctively set the hooks and the fight
was on. He wasn’t a monster, but he was
legal and I was pretty relieved and happy when Bill was able to slip the net
under him. I’m sure that Bill was
smiling wider than I was.
My actual fishing trips with Bill have been limited by the
fact that we were a state-width apart, but I did fish with him on Lake Wissota
a number of times, and we fished several more Labor Day weekends back in
Suring. Although I never boated another
muskie on those trips, I enjoyed them all.
Yesterday afternoon, when I had just sat down to write this
Friday Embers post, Michelle received a call from her cousin in Chippewa
Falls. Uncle Bill had fallen and broken
some ribs, but worse yet, his heart had stopped and they needed to shock him to
get it beating again. He was released by
the hospital, but only to go home with hospice care as his heart is
fragile.
Now I know why Bill came to mind as I prayed yesterday
morning. I’m grateful that the Holy
Spirit has taught me to pay attention to His nudges. It was important to pray for Bil yesterday,
and to now keep him in daily prayer, because he matters to me.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
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