On my fridge hangs a photo of me standing up in a boat. Laughing, and showing off a silver fish about eighteen inches long.
The Preacher grinned at my "I-caught-one!" dance. But I'd been jigging for hours off the edge of a pontoon boat, owned by the Lions Club. Till that moment, I'd caught only lake lettuce.
Until someone snapped that shot last summer, I hadn't caught a fish since the day my cousin and Isprawled flat on awooden bridge in Mission, B.C., unwoundour braided fishing lines from the twigsthat served as rods and reels, and dropped them into the rapidly flowing brook below.
We snagged two small trout. Aunt Dorothyfried them in real butter, and that taste memory has endured over forty years.
Fried crisp, the fish in the photo brought back the taste of that childhood catch. But unlike the trout, until it swallowed the minnow on my hook, my unfortunate walleye pickerel had free passage in Saskatchewan's wild-rice fringed Limestone Lake - far below loons, ducks, and fishing pelicans, advancing like miniature flotillas.
Each summer for decades, members of Saskatchewan and Manitoba Lions clubs have rented Northern Lights Fishing Lodge, a fully accessible facility located almost in Saskatchewan's attic. Each club invites people affected by disability to join them at no cost except time, travel and food. At the Lodge, they provide priceless gifts: fresh air, fresh friends, and fresh perspectives on life. Fish too - even if you catch none.
The Preacher's West Nile neurological disease still affects him, but when the Rhein Lions invited him to the lodge, he argued, "Others need this opportunity more." But it seems fewer and fewer people are willing to adjust their lives to make room for Lions.
We were, so we did. We spent three days in the company of kind-hearted Lions members and other fine people, all somehow acquainted with disability. They'd accepted the offer, too.
Together we absorbed the magic of God's northern creation and made irreplaceable memories.The Preacher brought his recorder. One evening, while campers gathered around a rock-encircled fire pit, he began playing. Across the fire, someone pulled out a harmonica. Someone else began singing. Others joined. "Michael, row the boat ashore..."
A mosquito disabled the Preacher. One woman battled MS. CP plagued a child, accompanied by her entire family. A teenage client had lost a leg to cancer. There were more. Life had gotten suddenly cold for some in our circle. But as darkness fell, more than fire warmed us. We sat long, talked much, encouraged some, and were encouraged more.
Disability had gathered us under the Lions' banner. But through their generous example of service, God reminded me that there remained to each of us one of life's highest abilities: the art of encouraging others. By that definition, none among us were disabled.
If you live in Saskatchewan or Northern Manitoba, and know someone with a disability who needs to go fishing with the Lions, contact your local club.
