Fishing
“I would much rather be standing in a river talking with Jesus than sitting in a pew thinking about fishing.”
My buddy Johnny K was fond of telling anyone who would listen: “I would much rather be standing in a river talking with Jesus than sitting in a pew thinking about fishing.” After three years of fighting like hell, he passed away in the Spring of 2025 from a glioblastoma. I cannot think about fishing, or friends, or rivers without thinking about Johnny K.
Johnny and I talked often about God, second only to fishing. He encountered Jesus later in life, through the love of his daughter, Jesse. We agreed that fly fishing is for the foolish. The degree of difficulty is laughably high, and the odds are rarely in the angler’s favor. Some luck into a lights-out day now and then. When the fish are on the feed, the right flies are in the box, and tight lines prevail. But we are constantly redefining what a “good day” is. The goal post is always moving. Terrible outings shifting instantaneously into the “best day we’ve ever had” when we finally net a fish. More often than any self-respecting angler would care to admit, we do more fishing than catching.
I believe we fools don’t fish for the chance at landing a world-class pig or stacking up numbers. I think we fish because there is a hole in our souls we are trying to sort out. Fishing keeps us both busy enough and quiet enough that we might hear that still small voice. It centers us in ways other outdoor endeavors can’t. It demands we hold many variables in tension all at the same time. Rhythm and chaos. Focus and whimsy. Knowledge and creativity. All those paradoxes may be why the most famous stories of Jesus usually involve a shoreline or a boat.
The best conversations I’ve had with other humans have been in a boat, floating down a western river. This is true of friends and strangers, family and foes. It is a captive audience. There is nowhere to hide. What a gift proximity is! The warts and the talents are on full display for your companions just a few feet away. How we handle disappointment and failure, how we celebrate, how we show gratitude. You can learn a lot about someone, and a lot about yourself, on a 12-mile stretch of water.
When my now 11-year-old son was 6, we went on an overnight fishing trip, just me and him. Boat loaded down with gear, Snickers bars, and root beer, we fished all day. About halfway through the day, we got to talking about God, which seems to happen often in a boat. My son turned around and said, “Dad, I’m ready to follow Jesus.” Caught off guard, I shrugged him off. An hour or so later, with increasing earnestness, he turned around and said, “Dad, I’m serious. I’m ready to follow Jesus. What do I do?” I was getting nervous as my mid-thirties male self at the time was struggling to nail down exactly what I believed that meant, and I couldn’t get my head around a six-year-old boy possibly comprehending the implications and importance of such a path. I shut the conversation down, mumbling, “Maybe when you’re older.” An hour or so later, he set down his fly rod, turned around, and said calmly with a twinkle in his eyes, “Dad, it is time. I’m ready.”
We pulled into the campsite as it was getting dark, ate dinner on the riverbank, and then lay down and looked at the stars. I asked him what he meant when he said he wanted to follow Jesus. He thought for a few seconds before saying, “Well, I know God loves me, and I know Jesus died for me. I’m ready to follow him, and I suppose I’ll figure that part out along the way.” We prayed together, laughed together, and counted shooting stars together. It was one of the best nights of my life.
I have learned quite a bit fishing on western rivers over the years, but not much stacks up with the lesson I learned that night. My skepticism, arrogance, and fear are no match for a good Father. I left that fishing trip with a slightly smaller hole in the soul. Maybe by the time I leave this earth, with enough river miles behind me, it will be half full.
Matt Thomas is the Founder and CEO at Marrow, which invests into small businesses and the humans that make them go. Matt lives with his wife Shannon and their four children in the Mt. Vernon neighborhood in Golden, Colorado.
“River” by Boone Thomas, age 9
River
God is the giver,
He gave us the river,
So don’t fear or shiver
Cause God is the giver,
God’s way goes
Like how the river flows,
He’ll always know,
If your good or bad,
But don’t be down
Don’t be sad,
He’ll forgive you,
He’ll make your life new.
