Faithful Fishing: in Supermarkets and Lakes

Once I observed a fellow hiker on a church backpack launch his line into a high-country lake…

My wife, loving life partner that she is, does 99.99% of our laundry.

As her self-sacrificing spouse, I shop for groceries. I am so thankful she handles the cold-water-only and take-it-to-the-dry-cleaner decisions. According to a reliable resource, she is equally grateful that I—influenced by primeval hunter-gatherer genes—wander the supermarket for our daily bread.

We each have our tasks.

The other day, my task meant that I spotted a kid, hunkered like a stowaway in a shopping cart with the milk and lettuce, wheeling toward the checkout as his Mom steered the cart. The kid’s orange-stained hand dug inside an open bag of Pepperidge Farm goldfish crackers.

Yummy!

And yes, a fish story.

At most four years old, he was seriously fishing. His Mom was grinning. The clerk was making small talk as he scanned items. Like a plane waiting to land, I stood next in line. I understood what was happening. There have been times, say with a cold drink on a hot day, when I handed a grocery clerk an empty bottle. Yep, scan it, let me pay for it, and then, please, recycle the container immediately. Gulping it down was a higher priority than any supermarket etiquette. Continue reading →

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Occasions for Hope

Matthew 4:12-23  – The Third Sunday after the Epiphany – for Sunday, January 26, 2014

“’Follow me, and I will make you fish for people…’” (Matthew 4:19)

Pepperidge GoldfishMy wife, loving life partner that she is, does laundry.

I, her self-sacrificing spouse, shop for groceries. I am so thankful she handles the cold-water-only and take-it-to-the-dry-cleaner decisions. Apparently she is equally grateful that I, like a primeval hunter-gatherer, wander supermarkets for our daily bread.

We each have our tasks.

The other day, my task meant I saw a kid, tucked inside a shopping cart with the milk and lettuce, head for the checkout as his Mom steered the cart. The kid’s hand pawed inside an open bag of Pepperidge Farm goldfish crackers.

Maybe three or four, he was seriously fishing. His Mom was smiling. The clerk was making small talk as he scanned items. I was next in line like a plane waiting to land. I understood what was happening. There have been times, with a cold drink on a hot day, when I handed an empty container to the check-out guy. Yep, scan it, let me pay for it, and then, please, recycle it immediately. I had to have it then.

It was time to scan the cheesy, fish-shaped crackers.

No way. The kid hunkered low in the cart, a bear in a cave, a cat in a corner. There was more to eat. No one was getting his fish.

I smiled. The clerk smiled. Mom wasn’t smiling anymore. Continue reading →

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