Jasmine's Journal: The Fisherman

Jasmine's home, August 6, 2011

Dear Spirit,

            Let me begin with a story.  It’s a story about a fisherman. You've mysteriously placed an experience into my life that maybe the fisherman will help You catch.

            A fisherman lives for the great catch.  Many Saturdays, early in the morning, he will be found in the water with his rod, reel, bait, and heart bursting for a great catch.  Sometimes he’s alone with the river, other times, with his buddies.  Sometimes he’s standing in a river, wearing his fishing boots, other times, in a rowboat.  On this day, he’s in a mid-size boat with a dozen others on a three day excursion with a tour group, mostly strangers, led by a captain.  The fisherman smiles that the captain looks almost like Mark Twain, except with less hair, and also roughly 60, like that iconic picture of the famous author and steamboat captain.  The captain anchors, says the spot is good for fish, and invites anyone who is interested to borrow a rod, reel, and bait and try for a catch.  “Maybe one of you will get lucky for us all and catch our dinner tonight,” he says.

            The fisherman has come prepared.  He has his own rod, reel, and bait, and he casts.  He makes some new friends, especially one fishing next to him named Jack.  Jack and a few of the others successfully reel in a few fish.  The fisherman’s patience pays off -- really pays off – and he reels in a great catch, the largest, most glorious fish of his life.  He is beaming and the other boaters applaud his catch.  The captain comes over to him, examines the fish, sighs, and says, “That fish is protected.  You have to throw it back.”

The fisherman looks at him stunned.  The captain can’t be joking.  This is the catch of his life.  “Sorry,” the captain says again, “It’s a beautiful fish, but it’s protected.”  The fisherman starts to well up, but he manages to hold back the tears.  Jack tries to help, points to the other fish caught and says, “It’s OK.  We’ve caught these.  We already have enough fish for dinner.  No worries, Dude.”  The fisherman is hesitant.   His phone is in a cubby; he didn’t think he’d need it, so he doesn’t even have his phone for a selfie.  The others see his hesitance and agree with Jack.  “It’s OK.  It’s a beautiful fish, but we have enough.  Don’t worry about it.” 

They don’t get it.  They just don’t get it.  Now, the pain of being told he has to throw the fish back is compounded by the indifference of his new friends.  The fisherman can no longer hold back his tears. 

One of the other boaters, thankfully not one of the ones he considers a new friend, mocks him for the tears.  “Come on, Buddy.  Just throw it back before you torture it.  We have enough fish for dinner.” Now mocked, and in tears, the fisherman can’t even muster the courage to ask any of his new friends to snap a photo of him on their phone to send to him so he can show his fishing buddies back at home.  The fisherman takes a deep breath.  He exhales a kiss to his great catch and he throws it back.  It’s a moment of great courage, great triumph, and great anguish. 

And no one who witnesses it gets any of that.  “Good job, Buddy!” one of them cries in his own limited understanding, and the others cheer.  “Right! Great catch and great job throwing it back!  Now let’s cook up what we can keep!” The others all cheer, and the captain announces he’ll steer them all to shore to cook up their meal.

Once they reach land, the fisherman points to the woods beyond the shore asks the captain if he can go for a walk while the others cook up the fish.  The captain looks into the eyes of the fisherman.  Someone finally gets it. The captain nods and says, “You did a good thing today, Son.  You made a great catch, and your fish was protected, and you threw it back.  Take as long as you need, Son.  We’ll be anchored here all night.”  Finally feeling understood, the fisherman exhales a deep breath, nods, and takes leave into the wooded trail to release his anguish.

My wooded trail, Spirit, is this journal.  I know I’m not the fisherman.  I haven’t gone out looking for a great catch.  A great catch found me.  And it’s protected and I have to throw it back.  And no one even knows I’m doing it.  But You know it, and I hope you understand.

You’re the captain, Spirit.  For a while, You’ve felt nonchalant to me, indifferent to the waters You steered me out to.  Lately, I’ve sensed Your understanding.  But I still want to know why?  Why did You steer me to a catch so beautiful only to tell me it’s protected and I have to throw it back?  Why, Spirit, why?

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