The story we're living in matters.
For better or worse, it's not always clear WHAT story we're living until it comes to a close. Or, at the very least, until a given chapter resolves. But in either case it is the end, the resolution, that turns back in on a story and imbues it with its moral, its meaning, its enduring significance.
Earlier this week, the family and I took a couple of days in the great north woods of Pittsburg, NH. A favorite place of mine, the summers there are tailor made for deep quiet, for kids splashing amongst the stones of forest lakes, for big northern skies and, not inconsequentially, for good fishing. As a husband, father, and aspirational fly fisherman, let it never be said that I lack in the discipline of creative recreational multitasking.
Plans to hire a drift boat for a expedition down the deeper stretches of the Upper Connecticut River were foiled on Tuesday by some impending rough weather. The storms were slow to develop in the afternoon, however, so I decided to sneak in some wade fishing in the shallow, freestone pocket waters of the northernmost reaches of the river, just as long as the skies would allow it. A well known stretch of fly fishing water, the trout in this area have seen more than their fair share of fishermen, and over the years I have come to know them as particularly wary and often challenging to catch. As has often been my experience, the afternoon began slowly. Swinging flies through promising pockets of water to no response, an hour ticked by. As the storm clouds began to gather overhead, I took a moment on the bank of the river; sitting in the frustration unique to fishermen on a timeline, internally knotted in the age-old, existential wrestling match with non-compliant trout.
I will spare you the comically overwrought conversations I share with the Lord in such moments.
The storm clouds continue to gather and darken, and distant rumblings are heard from beyond the tree line. I circle back to the most promising pool, changing flies to give my elusive quarry a different look. A light rain begins to fall. And there, in that moment, something has changed. Whether it was having struck upon the right combination of fly and depth, or because of the quickly dropping atmospheric pressure, fish began to respond. A fallfish hits the dry fly on the surface, and is caught. A missed strike. A small, acrobatic landlocked salmon is hooked on a nymph and landed. A large, strong rainbow trout attacks the subsurface fly, and is hooked for a moment, holding in the deep pool before diving beneath a nearby rock and throwing the line. Things are getting good.
Things are also getting darker, and windier, and progressively wetter. The rumblings continue overhead. The downstream horizon is lit by a quick and muted flash. I stop to detangle a knotted leader, and it is in that moment that the thought occurs to me: "I wonder what the story of this moment will turn out to be." Will it, in the end, be a story of the bravely committed sportsman, staring down the elements, rod bent over in combat in the midst of driving rain, ultimately victorious in landing the river's elusive, best offerings? I do like the thought of that. Or, will tomorrow's headline read, "Idiot standing in river with long stick dies in lightning strike."?
Let's be honest, most of our heroes are just the idiots that natural selection didn't catch up with.
But here's the point: if we KNEW what story we were living, at the time we were living it, it would change how we lived. If I could know with certainty that I was in the midst of a hero's story, would I not press in with all the more daring, courage (and perhaps, dramatic flair)? Conversely, if a peek into the future revealed an unkind (if not mocking) obituary piece, I'm fairly certain I would be convinced to change course, post haste. But, we do not generally get such glimpses, prisoners of the unfolding present such as we are. We must do our best with the perspective we have. And sometimes, we take risks, just hoping we wind up the hero. Or, at the very least, not a cautionary tale.
The perhaps greatest gift of scripture - as the Creator God's self-revelation to us - is that it TELLS us what story we are, all of us, living. It tells us about the beginning, it declares to us where the story is headed. In unveiling to us the directed unfolding, and ultimate end of history, we are no longer left to wonder at the meaning of our present. Because the end, the resolution, turns back in on a story and imbues it with its moral, its meaning, its significance. And in scripture - in Christ - we know the end of the story. We know the story, and so we are set free to truly LIVE it, in joy and courage, in grace and power and in love. We no longer need fear that our story will turn out poorly, in the end. Because in the end, we find the unveiled, glorious, victorious Christ, and a world made altogether new in the worship of its Creator, Savior King.
It's a good story. The BEST story, in fact. And all of us, and all our lives, are found written within. This Sunday, in our TABLE groups, we continue together exploring the big, unfolding story of God. It is our story, beautiful and profound inasmuch as it is also HIS story. More and greater things are yet to come. Thanks be to God!
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Oh. I did catch that rainbow, in case you were wondering. Rod bent over in the driving rain, trout tearing on runs and leaping over the pool, brought to the net for a perfect ending. I've got to say, it makes for a great story ;)