LESSONS FROM A WORM BOX
In our refrigerator, next to the orange juice, sits a mint-green styrofoam box of worms. For most, a wriggling box of dirt and slime wouldn’t come within 10 yards of consumable food. But not for our family. Or more accurately, not for my son.
These boxes of simple creatures have held the key to his summer. Day after day he’s brought his worms, trusty rod, and inextinguishable hope to a pond two minutes from our home. In three short weeks he’s caught over 250 sunfish and a handful of bass. The sunfish are rarely bigger than his palm, but to steal a line from Greg Brown, “they are God’s reminder that creation is a good idea.”
I could easily focus on those moments when surprise, disbelief, and bliss merge in the glorious hooking of a fish. They have been plentiful. But I’m more interested in the times between fishing for my son. Even when he isn’t casting his bobber and worm, he’s thinking about it. His gaze drifts at the dinner table. He’ll ask to again scroll through the growing reel of fish pictures on my phone.
As a nine year old, his patience is….in process. Meaning a constant countdown ticks in between casts. But alongside his impatience is anticipation. Occasionally he’ll open the fridge and pull down the box of worms. With quiet intent he’ll sift the coffee-black dirt, counting the remaining nightcrawlers. I imagine he’s looking ahead to the next venture to the pond teeming with bounty. As he hears the squeak of the styrofoam box and smells the scent of wet earth, his mind is sparked with the memory and hope of a taut line and rod sprung with life.
All this makes me wonder what I am anticipating? Summer's quick pace and full slate has required a “plan and respond mode” - best ran at high RPM's. My wife and I are growing adept at juggling schedules, reacting to weather and plan changes, all in hopes of finding the right blend of rest and play. While helpful in the short term, this mindset leaves little room for looking ahead, for pausing to wonder what surprise awaits. Bluntly put, anticipation feels inefficient.
Which makes me wonder if my son is on to something. Perhaps his 19th caught sunfish is sweetened by the moments earlier that day, sorting his worms, considering what joy is coming. What if anticipation primes us to more fully receive the gifts waiting to be received and reveled in? Anticipation asks our minds to stretch in consideration of possibility. It looks ahead, not demanding to know each detail, but in appreciation of what could be. What if that stretch creates more room to soak the moment?
May you not only plan and execute the mundane and the ambitious this summer. May they hold more significance because of the moments you’ve spent anticipating.
Jesse French
Restoration Project Executive Director
