I have a reputation of being bad luck with the men in my family, especially when it comes to sports. If the Dolphins or Hurricanes are losing, it’s always because I am sitting on the wrong couch, wearing the wrong clothing, or even talking on my phone.  And when it comes to the Miami Heat, I have been banned from ever stepping foot in the American Airlines Arena (who cares if they lost 8 out of the 10 games I have attended).  It’s okay, I’ve grown thick skin over the years and have accepted it for what it is.

Recently, our family spent a week in the keys and my husband David decided he was going to get in as much Dolphin fishing as possible.  He went out on the ocean everyday and would come back sharing tales of flat oceans, beautiful weather, and bountiful fish for the catching.  And with all of this happiness he was experiencing, somehow he decided along the way that on the last day of the trip he wanted me to join him.

So let’s get one thing clear. I may not be a big sports enthusiast, but I will sit and enjoy a game here and there, especially to spend time with my boys.  But everything about fish and fishing, I hate. I know I know, I was born and raised on an island and yet I can’t stand the smell or taste of fish.

So I woke up on the last day of our trip, looked out the window, and sweetly approached David in an attempt to get out of the boat trip. For some odd reason, the beautiful weather we were experiencing all week long had now turned ugly. The ocean was churning and so was my stomach at the thought of having to fight sea sickness and smell fish all day long. But David refused to let me back out. Don’t get me wrong, he was so sweet about it.  In his mind, I was going to share in something he loved and was going to have a good time…no matter what.  So I took a deep breath, decided to trust him, and agreed to go.

So this is how it all went down.  Apparently, in order to find Dolphin you must come across two things in the ocean: seaweed and birds.  If you find them both you are almost guaranteed to find the fish.  David was on the top level of the boat with binoculars, Michael drove, and Nick stood at the bow of the boat pointing in the direction of the “birds.”  This went on for hours on a rough ocean.  And according to the Martinez guidelines of fishing, there is no turning back no matter how seasick you are or how bad you have to go to the potty.

So I buckled down and took in the experience. We followed one lonely bird for an hour before the boys decided that it wasn’t good to follow one bird flying by itself. Okay, whatever. We followed a flock of about 50 birds in two opposite directions for another hour before the boys decided it wasn’t good to follow that many birds because 4-6 birds were optimal. Okay, does anyone else think this process is idiotic?  Six hours later, my boys were also losing faith in the possibility of catching fish, David, on the other hand, was relentless. As time passed, they became more and more vocal that the day was a bust and we needed to go back, to which David responded, “we are not going back because I am going to prove to you that your mom is indeed good luck.” Well there it was. My husband was doing everything in his power to turn my reputation around. And suddenly, I was all in to this fishing thing.

I wish I could tell you that we came back 8 hours later with a boat full of fish. Didn’t happen. We came back with just one little guy that barely made the legal size requirement for the keeping. But that’s okay. I hesitantly but obediently stepped on a boat early that morning to be part of my husband’s world. In return, I watched him go to the depths of the ocean to defend my reputation to my sons. Worth every minute.

Couldn’t stop thinking about how this was a beautiful picture of my relationship with Jesus. When I trust him to walk through something difficult, He always goes to the depths to protect and defend me. And when I’m obedient to follow His leading, He always makes the unpleasant moments (yes even those that smell fishy) all the worthwhile.