Fun Stories Of Fishing
Lawn Mower Rodeo-A Day To Remember
It was September 26, 2026, the morning of the long-awaited Lawn Mower Rodeo at Just As I Am Cowboy Church.
The clock showed 6:00 a.m. The sun was already shining, the leaves were fluttering gently in the light breeze, and the sweet smell of honeysuckle hung heavy in the air. It was one of those mornings that seemed to whisper, Today is going to be a good day.
There was no time to sit around and enjoy it though. There was a rodeo to prepare for!
I began by mapping out the track. Then I climbed aboard Gus the Gator and started setting the guidance cones, carefully marking the course. Next came the barrel-racing configuration. I measured, positioned, and set each barrel in its proper place. Beginning lines were marked. Ending lines were marked.
Everything was finally ready.
Well… almost.
There was only one thing left to do—put Gus through the courses and make sure everything worked.
So Gus and I made a few test runs. After all, you can’t expect the contestants to compete on a track that hasn’t been properly tested by the official grounds crew!
While I was busy with the track, Rita and Penny had arrived and were getting ready for the pancake and sausage meal scheduled for 1:00 p.m.
Before long, the smell of pancakes and sausage began penetrating my nose.
Now folks, when you’re working hard setting up a Lawn Mower Rodeo and somebody starts cooking pancakes and sausage, there is only one thing a responsible rodeo worker can do:
Try it out!
And let me tell you—it was good!
Really good.
By 11:45 a.m., the contestants began arriving with their lawn mower steeds, ready to tackle the time-lapse track and barrel-racing course. Mowers began coming off trailers and out of trucks.
Then the engines started.
The sound of all those lawn mower engines filled the air. It wasn’t quite the sound of a herd of horses, but it sure created an almost electrifying enthusiasm that ran through the body like pins and needles of excitement.
The crowd was gathering.
The contestants were ready.
The mowers were ready.
The track was ready.
And then…
1:00 p.m. arrived!
It was time for the Lawn Mower Rodeo!
Onlookers settled into their lawn chairs. Contestants climbed onto their trusty mounts. Rita and Penny made ready the pancakes and sausage.
This was turning out to be a great day!
The Contestants
First up for the time-lapse race was Micah.
Now Micah had been preparing for this day for quite some time. He and his brother, Tyler, had already warned their dad, Mike, that they were planning to humiliate him on the track.
But Dawson had a plan of his own.
Dawson was determined to beat his dad, Mike, too!
Mike, realizing the situation he was in, simply said:
“I have to beat at least Dawson to save face.”
Folks, it sounded like we had a little family rivalry brewing!
This ought to be good.
Next came Kyle, a newcomer to the circuit but definitely a serious contender. He had the look of someone who wasn’t here just to ride around and have fun.
Then came Payton, another newcomer. Payton had a calmness about him and seemed to understand the track. He was definitely someone to keep an eye on.
Then there was Sally, a classy Southern belle with all the charm that could make the world stop and look. But don’t let that charm fool you—behind that smile was a serious competitor, and she had every intention of finding her way into the winner’s circle.
Then came Carl, an elderly gentleman with years of know-how and the patience that can only come with experience. He wasn’t going to get in a hurry, but he knew what he was doing.
And then there was our mascot clown…
Steve!
Steve was riding his trusty four-wheel electric chair, showing off a few moves that caused both Steve—and the electric chair—to turn on their sides!
Folks, please pray for Steve.
The day was young, and it already appeared that he was going to need it!
Event Number One — The Time-Lapse Race
The first event was underway!
Engines roared, tires turned, and the contestants attacked the course.
When the dust settled, Tyler had posted the best time on the stopwatch.
Kyle, Micah, and Carl battled for the next positions, while Sally and Payton stayed right in the mix.
Meanwhile, Dawson and Mike were still battling it out.
Neither one wanted to give the other bragging rights.
After all, somebody had to get bragging rights at the family dinner table!
Event Number Two — Barrel Racing
Next came the barrel race.
Again, Tyler managed to squeak past Micah and Kyle and secure first place.
Micah and Kyle battled hard for the next position.
Dawson and Mike, meanwhile, found themselves firmly toward the back of the pack. Mike managed to edge Dawson by three seconds.
I can only imagine Dawson wasn’t too happy about that!
Kyle and Payton battled for third, with only one second separating them. Kyle came out on top and added another valuable point to his total.
Carl put in a comfortable fourth-place time, adding another point to his scorecard.
The competition was heating up!
Event Number Three — The Egg Race
Now, folks, if you’ve never seen an egg race, all I can say is…
You’ve been deprived!
This was going to be something to see.
Tyler stepped up, placed the egg in his mouth, and took off around the track.
And somehow, he made it all the way around without eating the egg!
Then Micah stepped up with his egg balanced on a spoon.
The two brothers battled for first place, but when the race was over, Tyler had taken the golden ring once again!
Then it was Dawson’s turn.
He made it about halfway around the course before the egg race began taking its toll.
Then came his dad, Mike, who managed to put together a time good enough for third place.
Kyle and Payton battled for second, but Kyle once again hauled in the better time, adding another valuable number to his total score.
Randal, Carl, and Sally added what they could to their scorecards.
And then…
It was time for Steve.
The mascot clown slipped the egg into his mouth.
Fred, the family pet, apparently decided he’d seen enough and climbed off the electric chair.
Steve headed down the track.
About one-third of the way around…
Steve ate the egg!
And just like that, Steve was left with the taste of raw egg in his mouth—and apparently nobody left to ride home with him!
Somewhere along the way, even Fred had decided there were limits to friendship.
The Final Results
As the final scores were added up, the results became clear.
Tyler cleaned up!
He had dominated the competition and walked away as the big winner.
His brother, Micah, followed close behind.
Dawson’s mission to unseat his dad had failed—for this year anyway.
Kyle, Payton, and Sally could all look back on their first Lawn Mower Rodeo experience knowing they had given it everything they had. They could already begin thinking about next year.
Carl and Randal were surely thinking about how they could improve their scores.
And Steve?
Well, Steve was probably still trying to figure out how to convince Fred that it was safe to ride with him again!
More Than a Rodeo
As the day came to an end, we had experienced challenges, competition, laughter, winners, losers, and probably a few sore muscles.
But when I look back on the Lawn Mower Rodeo, I see something much more important than who won a race.
I see fellowship.
I see brothers and sisters in Christ coming together.
I see laughter that brought people closer.
I see families competing against one another and then laughing together.
I see people sitting in lawn chairs, sharing food, telling stories, and enjoying one another’s company.
And most importantly, I see an opportunity to join hands with fellow believers and praise God for His love.
Sometimes God’s blessings don’t come wrapped in something complicated.
Sometimes they come in the form of pancakes and sausage…
A few lawn mowers…
A racetrack…
A bunch of laughing friends…
An egg in somebody’s mouth…
And one crazy guy named Steve riding an electric chair while wondering where Fred went!
The Lawn Mower Rodeo may have been about competition, but it became so much more.
It became a day of fellowship, laughter, friendship, family, and faith.
And as I look back on that September day, I can’t help but thank God for allowing us to gather together and enjoy the simple blessings He gives us.
Because sometimes, all it takes is a little fun, a little fellowship, and a bunch of brothers and sisters in Christ to remind us just how good God is.
The Lawn Mower Rodeo was a day to remember—and by God’s grace, a day we’ll be talking about for years to come.
A Night on the Missouri River
Friday morning, August 21st, the sun had just popped over the eastern horizon. It was 6:00 a.m., and it was time to roll out of bed.
My intentions were wide awake and ready to go, but my body seemed to have other ideas. It wasn’t quite ready to succumb to the task that lay before us. Still, there was excitement in the air. Today was the day Fishers of Men were going camping on the Missouri River.
My wife Rita, and I had just purchased a camper, so before we could begin our adventure, that camper had to be packed and made ready. We loaded food, eating utensils, pots, pans, bedclothes, towels and of course, the essential camping equipment, toilet paper.
By the time we finished, I was worn out just from packing the camper.
Finally, we looked at each other and asked the question every camper asks before pulling out of the driveway:
“Did we forget anything?”
Apparently satisfied with our answer, it was time to hitch Laramie to the camper.
I’m not sure if it was me or Laramie that was having trouble getting into position, but it took several tries before we finally got everything lined up just right. Once the camper was successfully hooked up, Rita and I climbed into Laramie, where we knew we would be comfortable and cool.
I turned the key, and the heartbeat of 380 horses screamed to life. Laramie pawed at the ground, ready for the open road.
Most guys will understand exactly where I’m coming from when I say that when Laramie sees a Walmart, it naturally assumes we’re going to stop.
And sure enough, there we were in the Walmart parking lot.
Now, I’m not one to complain, but there I was, nursing Laramie and a camper around parked cars and enthusiastic shoppers, wondering why on earth it was taking my wife so long to simply pick up some foam coffee cups.
Thank goodness, we were soon back on the road, headed toward Glasgow, Missouri and Stump Island Campground.
Just as we entered Glasgow, we got a phone call from Bobby Lee and Penny.
They were lost.
They couldn’t find Stump Island.
We finally met up with them at Casey’s, and from there we headed down through Glasgow toward the eastern bank of the Missouri River. I took the old route around a building and along the sand plant, and wouldn’t you know it—the bridge was closed.
I could see Stump Island on the other side of the river, but the question was, “How do we get there?”
After navigating through the residential streets of Glasgow, we finally found our way to Stump Island Campground.
We backed the camper into Campsite 1, unhooked it and threw a blanket over Laramie. With a deep sigh of pride for a job well done, Laramie settled down and went to sleep.
Rita built a campfire and the lawn chairs came out. We placed them beneath the giant cottonwood trees where a cool breeze swirled through the leaves. The soothing sound of the Missouri River flowing nearby made the perfect background music.
We sat around Rita’s fire talking about past events and future adventures. There were stories, laughter and fellowship.
Then someone said the words that eventually come out of every camping trip:
“I’m hungry.”
I told Bobby Lee that there was a pizza place in Glasgow called Big Muddy Pizzaria and I assured him their pizza was to die for.
So we uncovered Laramie, saddled up and headed into Glasgow.
Man, if you’re ever in Glasgow, Missouri, it’s well worth your time to stop at Big Muddy Pizzaria. You won’t be sorry—and you certainly won’t leave hungry.
After dinner, we headed back to the campground, put Laramie back to bed and settled into our lawn chairs once again.
Then we saw headlights approaching.
“Who could that be?”
A little red car pulled into the campground, and out climbed Beth and her daughter. They were carrying a watermelon that they claimed had fallen out of the car and broken.
Now, I’m not saying I didn’t believe them, but I have a suspicion they may have sampled some of that watermelon before they arrived.
Beth wanted to go fishing, so I gave her directions to the end of the campground where some walkways led down to the water’s edge.
Wouldn’t you know it? Just as I finished explaining where to go, Eddie came driving from the very direction I had just described.
Eddie was pulling his boat, but he hadn’t been out on the water. He had been rod-and-reel fishing behind the dike there at Stump Island.
We all settled in for what Fishers of Men does best—laughter, fellowship and praise for the blessings in our lives.
Eventually, Beth and her daughter headed down toward the water’s edge. Eddie headed for home. Bobby Lee and Penny headed home as well.
That left Rita and me heading toward the camper and a well-deserved night’s rest.
Saturday Morning
Saturday, August 22nd.
5:30 a.m.
The birds were singing. The temperature was 69 degrees, and the Missouri River was calling my name.
I wondered whether Beth and her daughter had made it home safely. I wondered if Eddie had made it home all right. I wondered if Bobby Lee and Penny had made it back home.
Then I grabbed my rod and reel and headed down to the river to try my luck.
I hadn’t been there long when the tip of my rod bounced.
Then it bent down.
I grabbed my rod with both hands and with the patience of Job, began working the fish toward shore.
Before long, I landed a nice-sized channel catfish.
About an hour later, I scored another one, just about the same size as the first.
I was doing pretty good.
Two fish on the stringer.
I was already contemplating fish for supper when I realized something terrible.
I had forgotten to put the tools I needed to clean the fish in the camper.
I had the fish.
I had the river.
I had the opportunity.
But I didn’t have the tools.
So, with a heavy heart, I had to turn my fish loose.
Man that hurt.
Eventually, it was time to hitch Laramie back up to the camper, wake Rita up, pack everything away and head for home.
But before we made it home, I had two more stops to make.
Actually, three things happened along the way.
First, we stopped at Don’s for dinner. Then we stopped at Aldi’s to pick up groceries for Sunday. Bobby Lee and Penny drove back to Huntsville to join us at Don’s.
That’s where I found out the rest of their adventure.
They had gotten lost on the way home and ended up in Higbee instead of Moberly.
Somehow, that didn’t surprise me.
With our stops completed and a few more laughs shared with Bobby Lee and Penny, I climbed back into Laramie and pointed the truck toward home.
As I listened to the gentle hum of the tires on the road, the music playing softly on the radio and Rita trying to catch up on some much-needed sleep, I found myself thinking about what comes next for us.
I don’t know what the next adventure will be.
I don’t know where Fishers of Men will gather next.
But there is one thing I know for sure.
Real life isn’t found in me.
Real life is found in the people around me.
It’s found in their willingness to fellowship with me through the good times and the bad. It’s found when we stand together in times of need and times of joy. It’s found in the laughter around a campfire, the stories shared beneath the cottonwoods, the sound of the Missouri River flowing beside us and even in getting lost on the way home.
Most of all, we find common ground through Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.
The Missouri River gave us fish.
The campground gave us memories.
The campfire gave us fellowship.
And God gave us each other.
Praise God!
Until the next adventure, I’ll keep following the road, listening for the call of the river and looking forward to the next time Fishers of Men gather together.
Because sometimes, the greatest catch isn’t the one that ends up on the stringer.
Sometimes, they’re the people God places in our lives.
A Morning at Deer Ridge Lake: More Than Fish on the Line
It was 4:00 a.m. on Wednesday, July 15th. Even though the sun had not yet peeked over the horizon, the heat had already settled in, and the humidity clung to everything like an overfriendly relative. I climbed into Laramie, turned the key, and all 350 horses woke with a happy growl, eager to charge into the darkness toward another fishing adventure.
As I rolled into our designated meeting place, I spotted two sets of headlights. Steve and Carl were already there, deep in conversation, no doubt discussing the foolproof fishing strategies that would guarantee they would out-fish everyone else. After a round of handshakes and enough good-natured ribbing to wake the neighborhood, we realized something was missing.
Actually, someone.
TJ.
Carl looked around, scratched his head, and finally called him. TJ answered cheerfully, “I’m just leaving Moberly.”
Carl paused for a second before offering TJ some “loving Christian encouragement,” which somehow sounded suspiciously like a lecture about clocks and punctuality. We were supposed to leave Paris at 4:00, but TJ didn’t arrive until 4:20. I silently wondered if this was going to be a preview of the day’s adventures.
I offered to drive Laramie because I know how much Steve enjoys her air conditioning. Sometimes I think Steve must have been an Eskimo in a previous life. If the temperature gets above seventy degrees, he starts looking for snowbanks.
In the end, we agreed to take Steve’s truck since it carried most of the fishing gear. I transferred my equipment, grabbed old Meat in the Pot, my faithful rod and reel, and we pointed the truck toward Deer Ridge Lake.
For the next two hours, Steve confidently reminded us—about every five miles—that Deer Ridge was loaded with giant fish that were so aggressive they practically jumped into the boat. By the time we reached the lake, I half expected the fish to be waiting in the parking lot holding welcome signs.
The lake itself was beautiful.
A gentle breeze cooled the morning air, wildflowers scented the shoreline, and the water lay as smooth as a newborn baby’s skin. It was one of those mornings when God quietly reminds you that His creation is far more beautiful than anything man could build.
We grabbed our weapons of choice and spread out along the dock.
Steve struck first with a little catfish.
Too little.
TJ answered with a bass.
Also too little.
Then Meat in the Pot finally came alive, and I landed a bass…
You guessed it.
Too little.
Carl finally broke the streak with a beautiful crappie worthy of the stringer. TJ quickly followed with a keeper bass and then a nice catfish. Confidence was growing.
Then came the catch everyone will remember.
TJ landed another beautiful crappie and headed toward the basket. Somewhere between his hand and the basket, the fish made a miraculous escape.
TJ insists the basket moved.
The rest of us maintain baskets have remained stationary for centuries.
Either way, that crappie is still somewhere in Deer Ridge, telling its grandchildren about the day it defeated a fisherman.
Carl added another fine crappie, which prompted Steve to proudly announce—for what seemed like the hundredth time—
“I told you so!”
Whether Steve was right about the fishing is still open for debate, but he certainly wasn’t lacking confidence.
Then the excitement reached another level.
TJ suddenly noticed a snapping turtle helping itself to the catfish on his stringer.
Now, most people would politely surrender the fish.
Not TJ.
What followed looked less like fishing and more like an Olympic wrestling match between one determined fisherman and one equally determined turtle.
I’ve known TJ for a while, but I had no idea he could move that fast. Arms flailing, feet dancing, fish splashing, turtle snapping—it was one of the funniest things I’ve ever witnessed. By the time the battle ended, nobody was entirely sure who had won, but all four of us were laughing so hard we could barely stand.
Eventually, as every fishing trip does, our morning came to an end.
As we packed our gear and headed home, I thought about the scoreboard.
The fish weren’t nearly as numerous or as large as we had hoped. We lost one to poor basket management and nearly donated another to an ambitious turtle. Steve’s predictions of nonstop action might have been just a little exaggerated.
But maybe the real catch wasn’t hanging on the stringer.
God gave four Christian brothers a morning away from the noise of everyday life. He gave us laughter that echoed across the water, conversations that strengthened friendships, and peaceful moments surrounded by His incredible creation. We encouraged one another, teased one another, laughed until our sides hurt, and made memories that no photograph could ever fully capture.
Psalm 133:1 says, “Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity.”
That verse came alive on the dock at Deer Ridge Lake.
Years from now, we probably won’t remember exactly how many fish we caught. But we’ll remember TJ arguing with a basket, wrestling a snapping turtle; Steve predicting legendary fishing; Carl quietly putting fish on the stringer; and Meat in the Pot faithfully trying its best.
Most of all, we’ll remember that God wasn’t just in the fish.
He was in the fellowship.
He was in the laughter.
He was in the quiet breeze across the water.
And He was in four brothers in Christ who discovered that the greatest catch of the day wasn’t measured in pounds—it was measured in friendship, gratitude, and the blessing of spending another day together.
A Morning Blessed by God at Henry Sever Lake
The morning of July 7th greeted us with one of God’s finest creations. At 6:00 a.m., the air was cool, a light blanket of dew rested upon the earth, and a gentle breeze reminded us that sometimes life’s greatest blessings are found in its quietest moments.
The minnow bucket was full, our hearts were filled with anticipation, and “Meat in the Pot” was eager to prove once again that the fish simply couldn’t resist her hook. Laramie stood ready, almost pawing the ground with excitement, anxious to carry Pastor Steve, Carl Thompson, and me to Henry Sever Lake. We climbed into Laramie’s comfortable, air-conditioned cab, lowered our sunglasses, shared a few laughs, and pointed ourselves toward another day of adventure.
When we arrived, Henry Sever Lake welcomed us with calm waters that reflected the morning sky like polished glass. Frogs croaked from the shoreline while birds filled the air with songs of praise, creating a beautiful symphony that reminded us how wonderful it is to be alive and surrounded by God’s handiwork.
Soon the hooks were baited, and the lines slipped quietly into the water. It didn’t take long before “Meat in the Pot” began living up to her reputation, adding fish after fish to the basket. Pastor Steve was quick to join the action with several beautiful crappie, while “Meat in the Pot” proudly boasted the biggest crappie—at least for the moment.
Carl, meanwhile, was occupied replacing the hook he had just lost. Before long, a joyful shriek came from “Meat in the Pot” as another fish stripped line from the reel. The excitement spread through the boat like wildfire.
Finally, Carl landed his first fish. I have to admit, it was the biggest one caught at that moment, and his smile said everything words could not.
As the morning passed, Pastor Steve steadily filled his basket with fine crappie. “Meat in the Pot” continued topping off our basket with several more beauties, while Carl added fish after fish of his own—including a couple that certainly deserved to be called the biggest of the day.
Eventually, the time came to reel in the lines and head for the restaurant to enjoy a well-earned meal before making our way home for some much-needed rest.
Days like this become treasures that never fade. When life’s rain clouds gather, memories of peaceful mornings on Henry Sever Lake, shared with good friends, laughter, and the blessings of God, become the rainbow that brightens our hearts.
The fishing was good. The fellowship was even better. Our bodies found rest, our spirits were refreshed, and through the still waters and smiling faces, God’s presence was unmistakably near.
Those are the days that remind us life isn’t measured by the number of fish we catch but by the blessings we share along the way.
