Outrunning God

Springtime in the mountains has a way of making a fellow forget about responsibilities. The redbuds are showing off, the gobblers are carrying on before daylight, and every creek and lake seems to whisper, "Class can wait."

Back when I was still in college at Tech, I had a fishing buddy who went to ETSU and he didn't need much convincing when it came to skipping a few hours of higher education in pursuit of lower-lipped bass.

About that time, a friend's dad gave me an old fifteen-foot Challenger bass boat that had been sitting for years. Now, you have to understand, I had been fishing out of what I'd call the S.S. Titanic. If you shifted your weight too quickly, somebody was liable to get baptized. But this Challenger...this was a real bass boat. It had real boat carpet. It had storage compartments. It had a trolling motor. Best of all, it packed a roaring fifty-horsepower Evinrude that would actually get up on plane. To a college kid, I might as well have been driving a NASCAR boat.

The temptation was simply too much.

So during spring we'd "accidentally" find ourselves regularly at South Holston Lake instead of somewhere learning about economics. Funny how a degree seemed less interesting when the smallmouth were hitting.

Now just remember when I tell some stories, I ain't always been saved and God showed me a lot of grace.

That spring the dogwoods were in full bloom, and if you threw a large Tuffy in the right place, you'd better have a good grip because those bronze-backed smallmouth would nearly jerk the rod out of your hands. We were catching fish that made us think we ought to have our own television show.

There was just one tiny problem.

At that time, Virginia didn't honor a Tennessee fishing license, and Tennessee didn't honor a Virginia one. Half the lake was in Virginia and half in Tennessee.

We had licenses for Virginia.

The nature of man convinced us there were bigger fish just across the line in Tennessee.

Isn't that just like temptation? It always seems to live right across the line.

We had spent most of the morning catching fish on the Virginia side, but before long that forbidden water started calling our names.

"Come on over...the fish are bigger over here."

Our reasoning was absolutely flawless...if you're a twenty-year-old college boy.

"It's the middle of the week."

"Nobody's out here."

"What could possibly happen?"

Those famous last words have probably started more trouble than serving mountain dew in children's church.

So across the state line we went.

We eased into a long Tennessee cove where another boat was fishing. We stayed well out of his way, dropped the trolling motor, and before long we were catching fish again.

Life was good.

Then my buddy whispered words that will make any guilty fisherman immediately develop heartburn.

"Uh-oh" That's French for Game Warden.

Sure enough, there sat a Tennessee wildlife officer checking the other boat.

Now, we didn't have enough money to pay a fine. I wasn't even supposed to be on the lake. I was supposed to be sitting in class becoming an educated citizen.

So naturally, our brilliant plan was...

Run.

Not exactly wide open.

Just...casually.

You know...look innocent.

I quietly pulled up the trolling motor, fired up the Evinrude, and idled out of the cove while the game warden was busy checking licenses.

Once we reached the mouth of the cove, I looked over at my buddy and confidently announced,

"If we can just get out on the main lake, I don't think he can catch us."

Now remember, I'd only ever seen Virginia game wardens running those big center-console boats with giant motors.

This fellow was sitting in what looked like a little aluminum jonboat.

I eased out onto the main lake, shoved the throttle forward, and that what I thought was a mighty fifty-horse Evinrude screamed like it thought it was racing Daytona.

We were grinning from ear to ear.

Freedom!

Virginia was just ahead.

Then I glanced over my shoulder.

I'll never forget what I saw.

That little aluminum jonboat was standing up on the back end like a scalded cat.

The front of the boat pointed toward heaven, there wasn't much in the water except the propeller, and that wildlife officer came flying past us like we'd thrown out an anchor.

I still don't know what horsepower was hanging on the back of that thing, but in my memory it had to be about two hundred.

He pulled alongside us, looked over with that expression only a game warden can give, smiled just enough to make me nervous, nodded his head toward Virginia, and without saying a word let us know,

"I know exactly what you boys were doing...I can catch you anytime I want...now get yourselves back where you belong."

He never wrote us a ticket.

He never stopped us.

He simply gave us an opportunity to do the right thing.

I don't believe I've ever been happier to cross a state line.

I've laughed about that story for years, but the older I get, the more I realize it wasn't just a fishing lesson.

It was a spiritual one.

Have you ever tried to outrun sin?

Most of us have.

We think we're being smooth. We think nobody notices. We convince ourselves we've covered our tracks. We tell ourselves we'll quit tomorrow. We figure if we can just get far enough down the lake, nobody will ever know.

But God already knows.

Numbers 32:23 says, "Be sure your sin will find you out."

The Lord doesn't have to chase us because He's already where we're headed.

Psalm 139 reminds us there's nowhere we can go where God isn't already present. Proverbs 15:3 says, "The eyes of the Lord are in every place, keeping watch on the evil and the good."

Sometimes I wonder if God watches us the same way that game warden watched two nervous college boys trying to ease out of that cove.

He isn't surprised.

He isn't fooled.

He's simply giving us another opportunity to turn around before we wreck something that matters.

The Bible says, "Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall" (Proverbs 16:18).

Pride whispers, "You'll get away with it."

Grace whispers, "Turn around while you still can."

I'm thankful God has shown me far more mercy than I deserved. There have been times He could have stopped me dead in my tracks, yet instead He gently nudged me back toward where I belonged.

That's not weakness.

That's grace.

You see sometimes we find ourselves in an area where we've been fishing just across the line, hoping nobody notices? Don't mistake God's patience for God's approval. His mercy is giving you time to repent, not permission to continue.

Because you might think that boat is fast but when God pulls up the race is over.