Do I Need a Boat?
I was sitting in my office when my wife called with the news.
"Hey! I've got some exciting news... we own a boat. A pontoon boat."
A few weeks earlier, we had moved for the first time in 23 years. We left the Tampa home where we raised our family for a new house on a lake. The dust from the move hadn't settled. We had packed up 23 years of life and started renovating the new place. Then a major hurricane rolled through. I led our church through the storm, boarded up two homes, unboarded two homes, and tried to unpack in a brand-new environment.
I was fried. Exhausted. Running on empty.
So the news that I was now the proud owner of a boat didn't exactly lift my spirits. It felt like one more log on the fires I was already putting out. My first response was simple: "Do I need a boat?"
Let me give you some context. My wife grew up on a lake in Orlando. Her family had boats and water toys for most of her childhood, and her brother fell in love with life on the water. That particular day, he was closing a real estate deal, and there happened to be an old pontoon boat sitting on the property. He asked the owner to throw it into the deal. The owner said yes. He hitched it to a trailer, drove it to Tampa, called his sister, and the two of them put it in our lake and tied it to our dock.
She sent me the video. We owned a boat.
I called my brother-in-law, thanked him for the generous gift, and asked my question again. "Do I need a boat?"
"Absolutely!" he said. "You live on a lake now... you have to have a boat."
I thanked him again, hung up, and my mind started racing. I grew up in Florida. I love the water. I had canoed, kayaked, paddleboarded, and ridden as a passenger in plenty of boats. But I had never owned one. I had never even been behind the wheel of one. The only thing I knew about boat ownership was the famous saying: "The two best days of owning a boat are the day you buy it and the day you sell it."
So I did what every new boat owner does. I got on YouTube.
I learned new terms. I learned how to dock. I learned the golden rule: never approach a dock faster than you're willing to hit it. That old pontoon was a patient teacher. It took a beating and kept on running.
Before long, I was fishing all over the lake. Now, you need to know that growing up, I was "that" kid. No matter how careful I was, I tangled my line, hooked my brothers, fumbled every fish off the hook, and lost more bait than anyone in the boat. So I went back to YouTube and relearned fishing, too. Little by little, my technique got better, and so did my results. I bought poles and tackle boxes for my kids and grandkids. Now, whenever the family is together, we fish, and we've got an ongoing fishing contest to prove it.
Then came this year.
The rain stopped, and the lake started disappearing. It got so shallow I could stand at the end of my dock and the water only reached mid-calf. The fish disappeared too. My boat sat on the lift for seven months, baking in the Florida heat, beaten by the wind, and going unused. For a while, I hooked up a hose once a week to keep the motor running. Eventually even that wasn't enough. So it just sat there, week after week... a big fixture beside the dock.
I'm writing this on the first day I've taken the boat out in seven months. I paid a mechanic to get the motor running strong again. I spent two hours pressure washing and sanitizing the seats, the console, and the aluminum. I bought a new gas tank because the Florida sun had literally cracked the old one. I bought new tackle because the old gear had cooked in the heat.
So let me ask the question one more time. Do I need a boat?
Yes.
I rode around for twenty minutes and dropped anchor at my first fishing hole. I cast my line and watched the worm silently slice into the water. An hour later, I had cast more times than I could count. I pulled anchor and dropped it again. I rotated through a handful of lures. I didn't get a nibble, a bite, or even a snag.
And it was a glorious morning.
It had been so long since I'd stood over the water and taken in the beauty of that lake. I missed the strategy of it, the patience of trying to coax a fish into biting. And I'm the unicorn who fishes with earbuds in, because those earbuds take me to a place where I connect with God. I finally had space to process my heart: my joys, my challenges, my victories, and my questions.
The boat took me to a place I love, doing something I love, spending time with a God I love, and thinking about the things I love. That's what fishing does for me. And my boat gets me there.
David knew something about this. "He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul" (Psalm 23:2–3). God doesn't just tolerate our rest... He leads us to it.
So yes, I need a boat. And so do you.
Maybe not one that floats. But you need a vehicle that takes you to that place. The place where you find the true you. The place where you love doing what's set before you. The place where God is big and present and everything else fades away. You get lost in conversation with Him. The thoughts racing through your life finally slow down, and you see them in their true light.
When you have that vehicle, life goes better. When you don't, you feel it.
I came in from that morning on the water completely filled up on the inside. I didn't catch a single fish. But I got time. I got space. I got one of the things that refuels my soul. And when you get that, you come back to everything that's required of you refreshed, energized, and more focused.
So... do you need a boat?
Yes, you do. Something that refuels you and brings you back stronger.
What's your boat? What's the place, the practice, or the rhythm that gets you alone with God and fills you back up? And when was the last time you took it out of the water?
