BEAUTIFUL FRUSTRATIONS
The fish were being quite kind considering my horrid casting. I had caught a handful of bluegills and one nice bass. In between fish catches, though, I managed to snag every tree, lily pad and piece of emergent vegetation within my limited casting range. It was my first time out with my new six-weight outfit. I learned to cast on an eight-weight and even used the word “easy” while speaking with my instructor. Now I could see that one casting lesson doesn’t make a fly fisherman!
Leaving the pond I felt the conflicting emotions of elation and disappointment. I was elated at having caught my first few fish on a fly rod. Some anglers I’ve read about and spoken with took a few seasons to accomplish this task. On the other hand, I was disappointed at my inability to put my fly where I wanted it when I wanted it. Maybe I was being too hard on myself, but I really needed this fly fishing thing to work out. I got into the sport at a low point in my life. After close to three years of successful ministry as pastor or a small church, relationships began to crumble. I left not really knowing what happened. In the months that followed I bounced from job to job as my marriage suffered and my faith in God waned. I eventually did find my way back into ministry, but I wasn’t the same. The joy I had once felt helping others along their faith journey was lost as I wondered in my own wilderness. Fly fishing, I had decided, would be a tool on my road to recovery. The beauty of seeing line, leader and tippet work as one drew me in and I was determined to produce a similar beauty in my own life. But my lofty ideals of weren’t with me on this outing! Had I failed again at something important to me?
I have the tendency to give up on things I’m not immediately good at, but this time I found myself with fly rod in hand heading for my back yard. I analyzed my cast (as best as a month-old fly fisherman can) and discovered I wasn’t abruptly stopping on my forward cast. The resulting tailing loop created a loss of distance and knots I first attributed to the wind. With this problem solved the beauty of fly casting slowly returned. With every cast my confidence increased and hope was rekindled.
I like to think that fly fishing and faith struggles are beautiful frustrations. In both, beauty cannot be realized if struggle is absent. The process of becoming better is what matters most. Beauty doesn’t mean getting things right 100% of the time. Instead, true beauty is trudging forward when we can’t see a reason to do so. I will always doubt my abilities, in life and fly fishing, but I’m beginning to see that even doubt is a thread in the tapestry of learning. Thank God for a six-weight fly rod, accommodating fish and the lessons they teach!
ND Alexander