For many years my husband has been passionate about fly fishing. Although it held little appeal for me, one year I asked if I might go along with him on a trip to Montana, just to learn more about the sport he loves so much. He had become good friends with a fishing guide on the Bitterroot River, and as we drove along, my education began.

Since our guide knew a little about my background as a musician and about my dependence on God, I guess he felt impelled to mention that fishing is more of an art than a sport—and I'm glad he did. My interest was piqued. He described it as a meditative art, and I became even more interested. Before we got our boat into the water, we stopped to get a license for me "just in case" I wanted to give fishing a try.

The guide proved to be an excellent teacher. But what enthralled me even more than learning the art of fishing was the magnificent scenery we saw as we drifted down the river. I often paused to thank God for the beauty of it all. And I was filled with such a tangible sense of peace during those few days that I vowed to bring it back to my crowded life at home.

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December 4, 2006

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