The man struggled, the wooden boat
over his shoulder, as he pushed up the hill away from the St. Johns River. The
fisherman dropped it, leaving it upside down to drain on the green grass. Sweat
dripped from beneath the straw hat down his face as he threw a huge fish into a
white plastic bucket near his pickup truck. As we walked by, we said hi, and he
called us over to show us his day's work. Three hours of early morning fishing produced
an ice chest of small catfish and a bucketful of tilapia and perch.
He sat on
his tailgate to rest for a few minutes as he shared with us about how he had moved
here from Guyana and how he serves God, not pagan idols like many do where he's
from, how he used to do carpentry and now has his own fishing business, and how
God blesses him. His weathered face spoke of struggles despite his positive
focus.
When
he told us his name, we all three marveled at the three Rs—Rubert, Rony,
Rachel. Coincidence or something more, we wondered. Rubert jumped off the truck
and beckoned us back to his boat, showing us the hole in the bottom he had to
fix after buying it from someone who had hid the damage until after his
purchase. We said it's a good thing he cemented it because we saw seven
alligators in the river earlier.
A
few little ones, several big ones. The whole body-log floating, the one eye
watching.
Rony
helped him heave the boat over to the truck and into the back. As they worked,
Rubert shared a story.
“One
time,” he told us, “I was in a boat even smaller than that one. I was trying to
get to shore and the gators, they all gathered, stacked up, blocking my way. Fourteen,
fifteen lined up between me and safety.”
“They
wanted you to step out,” I realized, “get into the water?!”
“I
wasn't getting out,” he said. “No siree. I waited. I waited. At first I waited.
If anything, they crowded closer. I had a bucket in the boat and hit it with
the oar. I mean I slammed it and… Boom!
The noise scattered them. At least a little.”
“So
you got through,” Rony said.
“So
I got through,” Rubert repeated. “I took the opportunity to row for shore.”
He
started loading his truck, and we thanked him for the conversation, for sharing
his stories. “God bless you,” we said before we continued our walk along the
path and over the bridge. As we meandered through the wetlands, we talked about
Rubert and his story as inspiration in that, despite his struggles, he moved
through his obstacles and found safe haven.
The encounter with Rupert confirmed
God is listening to us. God hears our prayers.
