FATC Days of Christmas (Day 2)…The Cast Heard Round Creation

FATC Days of Christmas (Day 2)… The Cast Heard Round Creation

The gift that keeps on giving…this year, no partridges in pear trees or turtle doves; that’s for my Safari Club buddies. This gift is for my FATC buddies.

I’ve recently enjoyed reading Daniel Bryant’s book, GOD MUST BE A FLY FISHER, and I think many of you will enjoy it also. I’m reprinting a short chapter each day from now through New Year’s Day. This is not just a book about fly fishing. It’s a book about slowing down. It’s a book about seeing that every moment outdoors might be an invitation to come closer to the One who created it all.

(From God Must Be A Fly Fisher by author Daniel Bryant)

The Cast Heard Round Creation

In the beginning, God said, “Let there be light.” And I’d like to imagine that somewhere, just before those words were spoken, He false cast once or twice— just to get the rhythm right.

Because casting, like creation, requires precision, timing, and just a little bit of flair.

If you’ve ever watched a fly fisher work a perfect overhead cast, you’ve seen something more than muscle memory. It’s choreography. It’s intention. It’s the act of creation in miniature. You’re taking an invisible idea –a bug, a drift, a dream —and placing it exactly where it needs to land.

Kind of like how God shaped the heavens and the earth. With purpose. With grace. With a whole lot of patience.

Isaiah 40:26 says, “Lift up your eyes on high and see: who created these? He who brings out their host by number, calling them all by name.” You think threading a size 22 midge onto 6X tippet is tough? Try naming every star in the universe. That’s a level of detail even the best fly tier would tip their magnifying glasses to.

Fly casting has its own theology, really.

You learn quickly that power doesn’t come from brute force —it comes from finesse. The rod does the work. Your job is to feel the rhythm and trust the design. If you try to muscle it, you’ll tangle your line faster than a toddler with a box of spaghetti. But if you pause, if you let the rod load, if you lean into the timing —that line will sing.

And that’s just like God.

He doesn’t force His will. He guides it. With a steady hand.

With a quiet whisper. With a movement so smooth you almost don’t notice it —until the line unfurls like a ribbon of grace above the water.

And sometimes… it lands perfectly.

Other times? Well, let’s just say that tree wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan.

But God is patient —even when we’re not. Even when we blow the cast, spook the fish, or wrap our leader into an unholy mess of wind knots. He doesn’t give up. He waits. He mends.

He casts again.

Sometimes I think prayer is like casting. We don’t always know where our requests will land. Sometimes we flail and flop and double haul our worries halfway to Canada. But God sees the intention. He reads the line. He knows the drift of our hearts.

So, when you’re standing in a river, casting toward a seam that looks just right, remember —you’re part of something older and holier than just fish and flies. You’re participating in a sacred rhythm. A creation story still being told.

And somewhere, I like to believe, the Lord smiles.

Because you’re casting just like He did —on the first day of everything.

And this is where faith enters.

You won’t always see the fish. The drift won’t always look perfect. The fly might disappear beneath the glare. But you cast anyway—not because you see —but because you trust.

That’s the kind of faith Paul spoke about in 2 Corinthians 5:7: “For we walk by faith, not by sight.”

On the river, that might mean trusting your instincts, your experience, your guide, your training. But in life? It means trusting God’s hand even when you can’t trace His plan.

It means learning to pause. To breathe. To let the rod do the work. To believe that the One who set the stars in place also knows exactly where your next cast should land.

So cast again.

Not because you know where the fish are.

But because you know the One who made the river.