The Divide

Cruising up the Rockies to the Conti- nental Divide in Austin's pick-up truck, we decide to take a sharp left and head toward Cripple Creek, Colorado which is on the "back" side of Pike's Peak. Figuring it's another quaint, small town in the mountains, we're lured to divert and take another left weaving our way even further into the hills. A few more miles down the road we see a dirt road perfect for "off-roading", so we head down that way, suddenly finding ourselves in the perfect serenity we were searching for. Patchy clouds, mild temperatures, occasional gusty winds and budding Aspen's caught our darting eyes moving to and fro. "Austin, this far exceeds my expectations, and I couldn't think of a better place to be with you right now", I said to him. "I know, Dad. This is awesome", Austin replied. Shear drop offs into the valley floor to my right yield to streams flowing from fresh snow melt. About this time, Austin and I are thinking the same thing, "We've got to figure out a way to get down there and do some fishing." After venturing into the wilderness for several more miles, we find the perfect spot to park. After layering up with a few more articles of clothing, we head down toward the stream that we could hear flowing from the distance. Austin's got his fly rod and reel in tow and I've got a few munchies just in case we get hungry. We were determined to find fish, a spot to talk, a few of God's creations at their finest, and some place to pray.

The first beaver dam we came to created an eddy that pooled about ten feet across, fifteen feet up the stream and maybe two feet deep. With water as clear as glass we could see the river's floor as if there was no water at all. "Austin, there's got to be some fish in here", I said enthusiastically and hopefully. "Yeah Dad, but where are they?", he asked. We figured we better head further up the stream, and only about 50 meters or so away we found another beaver dam, only this one was perfectly crafted and undisturbed by the water's rushing. Still no fish. Then another dam, and then another, but to no avail. Finally we decided to try one more time by heading even further up stream and stumbled upon a beaver dam that was only partially damaged, but still sadly we couldn't find any fish. We figured it was simply too early in the season, so we sat down, ate a few snacks, and just talked about our favorite thing, our girls.

This was the sole purpose of my visit to see Austin just two weeks before he marries his sweet bride-to-be, Meagan. I figured this was it, my last opportunity to impart whatever little wisdom I had left and then let him go into manhood and independence. As we sat there, he asked me questions about his mother (Victoria) and my love for her, and I asked him questions about Meagan and his love. We had already shared many of those thoughts with each other on the drive up, but we just never ran out of talking material. Moments of silence were intertwined, neither one of us interrupting the other while quiet, comfortably knowing that it's just O. K. to not say anything for awhile. After sitting in that spot for some time, Austin said, "Dad, would you pray for me now." It was the perfect time, knowing that it just wasn't going to get any sweeter than that. I put my hand on his knee and slowly, but deliberately prayed for just about everything I could possible think to pray for him and Meagan. I sensed God's presence not only in my soul but also my surroundings. I kept my eyes closed the whole time and when I said, "Amen", Austin tapped my back and said, "Hey Dad, look!" Pointing his finger into the stream I could see what he was excited about, a perfect little mountain trout shooting from spot to spot across the river floor. It was almost as if the Lord placed him right there for our enjoyment. We smiled and said, "It's time to christen the new fly rod and reel." Austin wanted to pray for me before we threw a line into the water, so he laid his hand on my back and prayed. After his "Amen", I let him string his pole while I hunted for more fish. Sure enough, I then saw two little ones swimming synchronously together, almost symbolic of the content of our prayers. Austin crossed the stream, artistically flowing his line out with a simple, but light little fly on the end of the string, eventually working its way up the river with each fluid cast until I said, "Austin, right there is where those fish were." He then perfectly set that fly on top of that spot and "Whop!", the fish struck and he had his first one on. Reeling that one in, he happily posed for a picture (it was a baby one, but o' so beautifully colored), and then tried again. Sure enough another one locked on. He repeated this several times until he caught perhaps a half dozen or so. He then let me try, and I gleefully caught a few myself.

This is the crucible of fatherhood; reaching a point where you release your child (who's no longer a child any longer) into a place where you know they're totally and completely in God's hands. They're always His, but under our care we somehow think we have control, all the while forgetting that God was in control all along. My (our) job of "parenting" Austin is over, although we'll always be his parents. He'll now belong to another, as it should be, but we'll always think of him as our little "Austie".

Blessings to you our son, blessings.

Dad (& Mom)