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GOING FISHING

On a summer afternoon on a shaded sandy beach beside a quiet pool on Wolf Creek, two kids were busily unloading from a red wagon a wooden rocking chair, a cushion, a new issue of a magazine, a jug of water and some cookies. It looked like they were setting up housekeeping.

Not the usual way of going fishing, but these kids had a plan, and it was working.

My brother and I loved fishing in Wolf Creek that flowed along the whole north side of our farm in the hills. It had places of high banks and deep water, places of gurgling ripples and places of quiet pools with a bit of sandy beach alongside.

It was from these sandy spots by quiet pools that we loved to fish, but we weren't allowed to go to the creek without an adult going with us. Our Dad worked on the farm long hours every day but Sunday, and after chores and lunch he rested Sunday afternoons, so we didn't get to go fishing only once in a while.

But we had a plan. Mother didn't like to go with us because there was no comfortable place to sit and she didn't fish, so we couldn't very often talk her into going with us -- until we developed "the plan."

We loaded our red wagon with her rocker, cushion, magazine, water and cookies and we were ready. She was skeptical, but laughed at our enthusiasm and agreed to go.

It was a pleasant afternoon and Mom found she enjoyed the little outing. Of course, we never caught only a fish or two, little sun fish and small rock bass, but we were as thrilled as if they'd been record breakers.

Several times that summer we took Mom fishing with us and she sat in her chair on the sand, sometimes reading her new magazine and sometimes just watching.

The next summer we were assigned chores and helped in the fields during harvest time as it was war time and help was hard to find. Our work kept us too busy and too tired to go fishing.

Time just flew by and I graduated and went to work, and John enlisted in the Navy the next year, and our fishing times together were over ... but the memories lived on.

I didn't realize Mom had really enjoyed those fishing trips until shortly before her death when we were reminiscing, she remarked with a wistful smile, how much she had enjoyed those fishing trips to the creek. Did I remember? Yes, I remember -- they were the best of times.

by Dorothy Miller Birdwell

HOW AN EIGHT-YEAR-OLD SEES GOD

A third grade Sunday School teacher asked her class to explain God. The following is an 8-year-old boy's response:

"One of God's main jobs is making people. He makes these to put in the place of the ones that die so there will be enough people to take care of things here on earth. He doesn't make grownups, just babies. I think because they are smaller and easier to make. That way he doesn't have to take up his valuable time teaching them to talk and walk. He can just leave that up to the mothers and fathers. I think it works out pretty good.

"God's second most important job is listening to prayers. An awful lot of this goes on, `cause some people, like preachers and things, pray other times besides bedtime, and Grandpa and Grandma pray every time they eat (except for snacks). `Cause God hears everything, not only prayers, there must be a terrible lot of noise going on in his ears unless he has thought of a way to turn it off. I think we should all be a little quieter. God sees everything and hears everything and is everywhere. Which keeps him pretty busy. So you shouldn't go wasting his time asking for things that aren't very important or go over your parents' heads and ask for something they said you couldn't have."

Submitted by B. Jones