Big Fish

Big Fish has seen better days.

We got Big Fish about four years ago, when my husband Pete decided that it would be wildly beneficial to Hannah to have pet fish. I wasn't convinced that her life would be changed so completely that it was worth the effort of taking care of them.

"I'll take care of them," he promised. "I'll clean the tank, feed them, and find out how to keep them alive."

Well, he does clean the tank every couple of months, I'll give him that.

Anyway, I usually do not give Big Fish or his friends (Mommy fish, Hannah fish and Noah fish) any thought further than to sprinkle their flakes over the water in the morning or add some water when enough evaporation has occured to make it sound like a waterfall in the playroom.

Until yesterday. I had no idea it was possible to feel compassion for a nasty old goldfish.

I was talking to Pete on my cell phone before I headed home from the writer's conference.

"Big Fish isn't doing so well." he informed me. "I think he's dead."

I allowed a small moment of silence in honor of the departed. "Don't flush him yet." I told Pete. "Sometimes he just checks out for awhile and then returns to normal."

When I got home, Hannah asked me to check on Big Fish, who had been forgotten during the ride home. I looked at him. He was motionless on the bottom of the aquarium. Lacy transparent fins floated aimlessly with the motion of the water. He appeared to be dead.

Then I noticed the rock. It had fallen over, pinning Big Fish to the wall and floor of the tank. He couldn't move.

That's when compassion hit me. The poor fish had been stuck all afternoon. No way of escape. As Pete set him free, I watched him swim away, suddenly weightless and free. There would have been no way for Big Fish to move a rock that was four or five times his size and weight. For Pete to right the fallen rock was effortless. Big Fish could live again.

Aren't we the same way? Burdened under a load of sin and consequences that we have no ability to move ourselves? Destined to a life pinned to the ground by a rock? Isn't it wonderful that we have a Savior named Jesus, who is fully capable of moving the rock?

Two differences. Big Fish had no way to ask us for help. If he had, he wouldn't have needed to sit under that rock an entire afternoon. We can talk to God. He'll hear.

The other difference? Big Fish didn't recover from his ordeal. We're watching him die at the bottom of the tank, barely able to take a breath, or whatever it is that fish do to obtain oxygen.

When Christ, the Way, the Truth and the Life, sets you free, you are free indeed.