Of Dogs, Fishing Poles, and Awkward Christian Dating {Part 1}

Next week I am celebrating my 8^th anniversary. I was thinking back through my memories of relationships before I fell in love with my husband and how fortunate I am that I often had some kind of awkward situation that would end a relationship prematurely. This is a story of one of those awkward situations and one good reason I am grateful for the man I married.

I was just shy of eighteen. I was newly on-fire for God and the most consuming thought I had involved meeting “the one.” You know that one amazing guy that God would have in store for me… a love story of epic proportions where we would “just know” and go riding off into the sunset and live happily ever after?

Yeah.

At the end of my senior year, I met a guy named Ryan at my college placement exams. He was leaned up against the railing outside the modular room during our break. He was handsome with his messy brown hair, big brown eyes and a sporty physique. I might have been too shy to talk to him, but then I noticed his shirt: Jesus Saves. He’s a Christian! (Okay, and with that thought I was also thinking he could be “the one.” Yes. I was so that girl.)

Our conversation led us to naturally do what any two zealous young Christians who were crazy about the opposite sex but had just read I Kissed Dating Goodbye by Josh Harris would do… we met for a Bible study.

We met weekly at a Starbucks all through the summer before my freshman year of college.

We would read the same passage of scripture through the week and take turns leading the discussion. Sometimes we would bring other people, but most of the time, it was just the two of us. Ryan and Amanda.

One day towards the end of the summer, I was complaining to Ryan about the 2 miles I had to drive down a dirt road to get anywhere.

At the time, my parents were renting a house in the middle of a pear orchard (and the middle of nowhere for that matter) while they were waiting for their house to be built.

As I began describing the house, I mentioned it’s location: right on a branch of the Sacramento River.

Ryan’s eyes lit up. “Wait. You live next to the river?”

 “Yeah. Like right on the river. Like I could walk outside, pick up a rock, and throw it into the river.”

His big brown eyes got even bigger. “Dude! Do you fish it?”

I told him how my family didn’t fish. He paused and then looked at me a little sheepishly, “Could I come fish?”

As calmly as a girl with a giant crush on the guy who wanted to come to her house could muster, “Yeah. You totally can come fishing.”

“Awesome! I’ll bring an extra pole and teach you how to fish too!” He didn’t bother with containing his excitement. I think I wrongly proportioned that excitement more to me rather than the fishing.

This seemed like forward motion to me. More than a Bible Study. Finally!

Now before I tell you about that “date,” I need to tell you a little more about where I lived. Our house sat right up against the levee. The levee was topped with a wide dirt path that went on for miles in either direction along the river. It was lush land. Pear orchards surrounded the house. Over-grown blackberry bushes flanked the sides of the levee. Giant oaks and poplars drank thirsty at the river’s edge. When the sun peered through the trees, it would catch dust particles and render them golden. It was a beautiful place. It might have been worthy of the lofty term “enchanted” if not for the hyper dogs that lived next door and the subtle stench of sulfur in the well-water caused by the agriculturally rich soil it sat in.

The house had one neighbor that shared the clearing in the pear trees. This neighbor bred hunting dogs: hound and lab mixes.   

At the time, our neighbor had 2 full-grown pups. They were beautiful dogs—shiny black coats, long legs, thick feet. They had the energy of a toddler 10 minutes after his first experience with candy. Once they chased a squirrel under my dad’s brand new pick-up. The dogs tore and tore at the underbelly of the truck trying to get at the squirrel, resulting in a mess of wires and not a single electronic function left in working order. My dad was not a big fan of those dogs.

Sunset on the Sacramento River

Enchanted woods by the river

……….

Ryan arrived on a hot August noon carrying two poles and a tackle box. He wore a t-shirt, basketball shorts and a sheepish grin. After greeting each other, we immediately got down to business: finding a fishing spot.

We walked up the levee and began searching for a decent clearing where I would have room to learn to cast.

As the levee took us along the back of my neighbor’s house, the two dogs bounded around us. They were leaping, sniffing, and licking and could not be persuaded to return home.

When we found a decent clearing, Ryan got the poles ready and gave me a lesson on the parts to the fishing pole and how to cast.

My first try, the line didn’t go anywhere. My second try landed in the bushes immediately to my left. My third try landed in the bushes to my right. My fourth try, the hook got caught high in a birch tree.

In the midst of this, two dogs ran around us, followed each cast, sniffed at our hands and the tackle box with interest.

After climbing out of the tree he had just tried to get a hook out of, Ryan was clearly frustrated. He explained and re-explained the arm and wrist motion. My mind got it; my body was not cooperating. I have always struggled with my coordination. Seeing his frustration I said, “How about I try one more time? If I can’t get it, I’ll just keep you company while you fish.”

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Click here to find out what happens on that final cast. Nothing could have prepared me for how wrong it could go.