Bluegill, A Broken Outboard, and Community
The fishing was good—no, it was fantastic! My husband, Moody, and I were easily catching our limit of bluegill in the big waters of the St. Johns River in Florida. Bird watchers, artists, and other nature lovers revel in the variety of wildlife around its shores. A plentiful and frightening array of alligators grunt and play and chew on their prey in the inviting waters. What a beautiful spring day it was! Moody and I were thoroughly enjoying this rare day of pursuing one of our favorite pastimes together. The bluegill even seemed anxious to let us catch them. And because of their cooperative spirit, we stayed as late as we could. As the sun set, filling the sky with hues of scarlet, magenta, ocher, and persimmon, we decided to head back to the dock, seven miles away.
To our surprise, and a first in all of our years of fishing, the 115-horsepower outboard motor on our red Ranger would not start. Nothing we tried brought success. Not even a sputter. We knew we were too far away to get back to the boat landing with only a trolling motor, especially with the rough waters. We were perplexed, frustrated, and concerned. When we heard a boat in the distance, we prayed, anxiously looking for any sign of a rescue. As the craft approached we waved wildly, and I let out a shrill whistle that people all the way in Jacksonville undoubtedly heard. Thankfully, the men in the boat noticed our signals. When the guys maneuvered their boat beside us, we explained our dilemma. They tried to charge the Ranger's battery, but to no avail.
"Don't worry, folks," the boat driver said. "I'll tow you to a landing near my home. After we dock your boat, I'll take you to your truck and trailer. Then we'll come back to get your boat. You'll be fine." As this river-wise man drove us to pick up our boat trailer, he said, "I grew up here on the river. So, don't worry about your boat. Nobody will take anything. We look after each other around here, and we help people when they run into trouble. This is a community of good, caring folks."
Later that night, Moody and I pulled our boat out of the river and bid our friend good-bye with a sincere "God bless you for your generosity." Our kind benefactor adamantly refused the payment we tried to press on him for his time and services. "Come on back to see us," he insisted. "I live five minutes south of the landing in the only two-story house by the river. Drop by—anytime." As Moody and I drove down the highway, we thanked God for His provision in our dire situation. And as we sped toward our own home, my mind overflowed with thoughts of the "community."
Christ's church is a community—a community of believers, a community of the redeemed, a community of people who are to be known for their love for one another.
The Christian community should be so inviting that even the worst on earth will sense God's love. With no reservation, Christ's community should be a giving group of people. Our rescuers that fateful night gave unconditionally of themselves—their time and resources—to meet our needs. Likewise for you and me, no sacrifice should be too great to show God's grace to others. I pray that the Christian community—and especially our Nazarene community—will consistently "look after each other" and always "help people when they run into trouble." Most of all, I pray we shall behave unfailingly in the ways of "good, caring folks." If we will covenant to be this kind of community, the fishing will be good.
Nina G. Gunter
Holiness Today, May/June 2006
Please note: This article was originally published in 2006. All facts, figures, and titles were accurate to the best of our knowledge at that time but may have since changed.
