Most of you know how important Sunday mornings are to me. I travel a lot—more than I probably should some years—and I miss some Sundays at home. But whenever I can, I make it a point to be in church. And when I’m on the road, I try to find somewhere to worship wherever I happen to be.
My wife and I were down in Port St. Joe on vacation. We got in on a Saturday night, and I said, “Kerry, let’s find a church for the morning.” She pulled out her phone and found one about a mile from where we were staying—New Life Christian Center.
“Perfect,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We got there about a half hour early. I walked in—quiet as can be. Not a soul inside. There were cars across the street, but the building was empty. I grabbed some literature, found a seat about halfway down the aisle, and just waited.
Then about ten minutes before the service started, people began coming in. And coming in. And coming in.
I started hearing kids laughing. I looked around.
And I realized Kerry and I were in an All-Black church.
Now there we were—Minnesota folks in hoodies and jeans, dressed like we were headed to the landing instead of Sunday service. Meanwhile, the worship team—eight ladies, if I remember right—were dressed beautifully. And when the music started?
Oh my goodness.
They didn’t just sing. They praised.
That worship went on for 45 minutes. I tried to sit down five different times. Couldn’t do it. They were rocking the house. It was alive. It was on fire. It was one of those moments where you just stand there and let it wash over you.
And I’ll tell you something—that kind of energy, that kind of joy, that kind of faith? It doesn’t care what you look like, where you’re from, or how you’re dressed.
After the service, the pastor and his wife came over to welcome us.
“Where are you from?”
“Minnesota,” I said.
“How’d you end up here?”
“We picked you off a cell phone,” I told him.
He laughed and said, “Must’ve been the Holy Ghost.”
And then he asked what we thought. I told him honestly, “When we came this morning, I sure didn’t expect what we experienced here.”
He smiled and said, “You weren’t what we expected either.”
We all laughed.
But here’s what I walked away with—and this is important.
God’s got His people everywhere.
Different styles. Different cultures. Different sounds. But the same Spirit. The same love. The same truth.
It was one of those experiences I’ll never forget. A reminder that faith isn’t boxed in by geography or background. It’s alive wherever people open their hearts.
You know, fishing has taught me a lot over the years. The water looks different everywhere you go. The structure changes. The species change. The techniques change.
But the fundamentals? They stay the same.
Faith’s a lot like that.
So as you head into this fishing season—whether you’re chasing walleyes on Leech, smallmouth on Vermilion, or just bluegills off the dock with your grandkids—remember this:
There’s joy everywhere if you’re willing to step into it.
There are blessings waiting in places you don’t expect.
And sometimes the best stories come when you simply say, “Let’s go.”
From all of us here at The Edge—have a great fishing season.
We’ll see you on the water.