I am blessed. I have four boys. A baby of two months, a two-year old, a four-year old, and a six-year old. As for the eldest, tonight is the last night he will be six. He is very excited about being seven and growing up. We are excited for him. Having other, younger children helps the sweet to outweigh the bitter. Still, our first boy is growing up.

For me, one thing that makes less bittersweet is his love of the outdoors and fly fishing. It means we’re closer to more opportunities together. I know that with each passing year more adventures will come. As he grows up and is able to do more, we’ll be able to do more together.

For tonight, he’s still six.

He still likes being read to at bedtime along with his brothers. With three tired little minds to please, finding a book isn’t always easy. It requires a consensus among the group regarding the title. Easier still is an executive order from a parent. Tonight, I chose the latter. Still I had to decide quickly.

Then the thought hit me.

A River Runs Through It, with some discretionary editing, would be fun. And if not fun, at least sleep inducing. I fetched my copy of the fly fishing classic, crisp corners and smooth spine more indicative of my obsessive care for books than this particular volume’s use.

All three boys were intrigued to know what I was going to be reading. I asked for patience, that they’d hear soon enough. This was most difficult for the almost 7-year old.

I knew that he would be excited about the story. Norman, the protagonist, was the son of a pastor who is also a fly fisherman. While I am not a Presbyterian, I am a pastor. And, of course, I am a fly fisherman. Hearing this most basic premise, he could relate. His eyes lit up and he propped himself up on his elbows.

In the second paragraph the author recalls the relaxing afternoons between Sunday services. He and his brother walked with their father. They enjoyed the hills around their home. They enjoyed the rest afforded by keeping the Sabbath. They enjoyed being together. For Norman and Paul, these outings only came following studying the Westminster Shorter Catechism.

The text of the book asks the first question, What is the chief end of man? A few sentences later, I arrived at the point where the answer is given. Only two words into reading it and I heard my son reciting the catechism along with me.

I stopped reading. I looked up and smiled at him.

He smiled back, knowing he had pleased his dad. He started the answer again, Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy Him forever.

He does please me. His interest in nature and science, scripture and history, and fly fishing.

I read on, building more of the novella’s scenery. Montana life. Mother’s metronome. The reverend’s distaste for Izaak Walton. For my son’s benefit, a few words had to be defined. Similarly, I had to censor and replace a couple.

As I finished the fourth page, which concluded Maclean’s prolonged description of the mechanics of a fly cast, I realized that his younger brothers were sleeping. A long day of church and company and play had taken their toll on the four- and two-year old. We confirmed they weren’t faking, and we chuckled at how quickly they drifted off.

I told him I love you.

He came and sat on the floor beside me.

I told him I was so thankful that he was the boy who made me a dad.

He gave me a big hug, pressed himself into my side, and stayed there. Quickly, I pushed thoughts of how many more years will he do this? out of my mind. Instead I thought about reading A River Runs Through It with him, going fly fishing with him, and enjoying him growing up.

We prayed.

I thanked God for him, for his three brothers, for his mama. I prayed he would continue to appreciate the beauty of nature. I prayed for his future. For his growth and safety. For him to be a man who stands up and does the right things in a world that doesn’t know right from wrong. For him to be a man who glorifies God, and enjoys Him forever.