My husband, Tim, absolutely loves to fish. Me, not so much. I have a difficult time sitting still, I don’t like the quiet either, and I am coordination challenged.

One evening, Tim asked me to go fishing with him and a couple of his friends in Bull Run Creek where it flowed through Papaw’s field. I didn’t want to go, but Tim was insistent and told me I could use one of his fishing rods. He thought if I actually caught something that I would not only understand the thrill of fishing, but I may want to do it more. And that meant he could go fishing more. Boy, was he wrong.

The four of us camped out by the creek. I did my own bait. Since I had grown up digging up worms and other bugs, that was no big deal to me. I was proud of the fact that I wasn’t squeamish. Tim showed me how to cast a rod and I was halfway decent at placing the hook where I wanted it in the water. Every time I slung the rod back, the guys ducked or scrambled away.

The problem was sitting a hook. For one thing, I couldn’t tell if I was getting a hit or if the current was making the lure bob up and down. Apparently, I missed some “good hits”.

Tim helped me watch my line. When he saw one, he yelled, “You’ve got a hit! Jerk the rod!”

To me that was the hardest part. Not only did I have to jerk the fishing rod, but I had to do it quickly and in a manner that set the hook in the fish. And then I had to reel it in. Getting all those movements in sync was a struggle for me. A few times, I gave a heroic jerk on the line and my empty hook came flying back out of the water. I almost hooked Tim and his friends.

Tired of all the ducking and the comments about my fishing skills, I walked further up the creek bank for some privacy. Seeing a good spot not far from the bridge, I walked up to the bank with the fishing rod reared back. I stepped and cast. Well, that’s what I meant to do. The next thing I knew, I was in the cold creek.

I remember looking up through the water at the guys standing on the creek bank. For a second, I panicked. Then, I remembered that I could swim. I held my breath and placed my feet on the creek bed and stood up. To most people it would’ve been waist deep, but it was up to my mid chest.

One of his friends was laughing so hard that he almost lost his breath. Tim had his hand out, but I didn’t take it. I wanted to have some dignity and get out myself.

Many years ago, I was baptized in that spot. I looked over to the old stairs we used to get in and out of the creek. They were very rusty and I wasn’t about to try them. The embankment was too step for me to climb out of on my own. To do that I would have had to go further down the creek and I wasn’t about to do that either.

I held my arms up and Tim and one of his friends lifted me out of the cold creek. I sat down on a blanket and took my wet shoes and socks off. As for the rest of my clothing, that would have to wait until I got back home.

“I guess my rod is gone,” Tim whined. He felt around the foliage by the creek. “Here’s the line,” he said. He had it in his hand. The end of the line was in a low hanging limb, but the rest of the rod was in the water. He couldn’t pull it up because the line was still loose. Since I hadn’t finished casting, the line hadn’t caught. “That was a good rod and I’m not leaving it.”

Everybody turned to look at me. I got the hint loud and clear. “Alright, since I’m already wet, set me back in.”

Tim took one arm and his friend took the other arm and they lowered me back in. As soon as my feet touched the floor bed, I realized I hadn’t put my shoes back on.

Remember me saying I wasn’t squeamish? The creek bed floor beneath my feet was slimy and gritty. I was standing on thousands of years of dead things and their poop. Yep, I was actually disgusted. I still don’t like thinking about it.

The creek was very muddy, so I had no idea what was really in there with me. That being said, I held my breath, reached down, and picked up the rod. I handed it up and they lifted me out for the second time.

I didn’t take the plunge because I was in a hurry or I lost my footing and slid off the bank. Nobody shoved me. When I walked up to the edge of the bank, I saw grass and thought I was stepping on land. Nope. The grass had grown out and over the edge. So, I literally stepped out on to nothing.

My focus was literally on the wrong thing. I was looking at the water instead of where I was stepping. Nothing wrong with looking ahead at where you want to be as long as you know where your footing is now. Better safe than soaking wet from a nasty, germy creek.

Now, I just tag along when Tim goes fishing. He sits up my lawn chair a good distance from the water and gets me whatever I need to be comfortable. If I had known he was going to do all of that so he could fish in peace, I would’ve fallen into the creek years earlier.

“See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise.” Ephesians 5:15 (KJV)