Tinker’s Creek Whirlwind

Something from the tackle box:

       “Go out and stand on the mountain,” The LORD replied.  “I want you to see me when I pass by.”

       All at once, a strong wind shook the mountain and shattered the rocks.  But the LORD was not in the wind.  Next, there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake.  Then there was a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire.

       Finally, there was a gentle breeze, and when Elijah heard it, he covered his face with his coat.  He went out and stood at the entrance to the cave.

       The LORD asked, “Elijah, why are you here?”  (1 Kings 19:11-13 CEV)

 Tinker's Creek Whirlwind

There’s a place where I go to fish for trout,

My favorite spot indeed,

A covered bridge spanning Tinker’s Creek

Shading pools where the browns wait to feed.

It’s a place where I go

For the mid-summer show

Of trout rising again, and again.

To my fly rising now and again.

That old bridge has witnessed a good many strikes,

Tight line and a deeply bent pole,

As I’ve cast to it’s pilings and tempted those trout

Up and out from the depths of their hole.

And, Oh how I’d crow

When up from below

One would offer to prance once again.

On the end of my line dance again. 

Sure, the weather is fickle here where I fish,

Windy days often keep me at bay,

And a season of wind will do even worse,

Weeks on end it might keep me away.

Yet the fish do not go,

And I know they will show,

The next time I fish here, again.

For I fish here again, and again.

But last night’s wind was greater by far,

A whirlwind has torn through my spot.

The shade-trees have toppled and dammed up the stream,

And the old covered bridge is just not.

Oh, how it did blow,

And wrench to and fro,

On that bridge I had come to again.

No more bridge to come to again.

I guess that’s the way of life in this world,

Many things once held dear pass away,

Yet, as with fishing so with life, as each rising sun

Brings the new light of dawn to each day.

The stream will still flow,

And the trout will still grow,

And I will come back here again.

Oh yes, I will fish here again. 

Something to take home in your creel:

       I’m guessing that it will be a season before I can fish my favorite spot again.  Yet, upstream and downstream, there are other good pools undisturbed by the storm in any permanent way.  The water will settle, the fish will rise, and even if the bridge in not rebuilt (although I certainly hope it will be) the stream will still flow, and the trout will still find their crannies to rise from.  God’s power may be shown forth in a whirlwind, but his love is shown forth in the life-giving waters.