“Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch.” — Luke 5:4
The water is the ultimate equalizer. You can spend days practicing, studying electronics and feeling completely prepared, only for tournament day to humble you in a matter of hours.
The Bassmaster Opens have taught me that no matter how much effort I pour into preparation, I cannot force a result. You can do everything right and still come up empty. In those quiet, frustrating moments on the boat, God strips away ego and leaves behind a simple truth: I am not in control, and my job is to surrender.
Chasing this dream as a woman requires a kind of sacrifice that few people see from the outside. It means working 10 times harder just to earn respect in the room, trading conventional comfort for sunburns, blisters and physical exhaustion. It means putting aside the “norm” — setting down the expectation to be a traditional, 24/7 girly girl and delaying standard timelines for things like marriage or motherhood for this current season.
To the world, stepping out of those expected boxes might look strange. But to me, placing those things on the altar is part of walking out the specific calling God has put on my life right now.
Through the grind, Jesus has met me on the water in ways I never anticipated. Looking back over the trail, I can see His hand woven through every single mile. He has used this journey to bring incredible, deep-rooted connections into my life — people, conversations and relationships I never would have crossed paths with if I had stayed comfortable on the shore.
Yet, if I’m being completely transparent, I haven’t had the competitive success I’ve wanted. I’ve fished right alongside the eventual winners, shared the same waters and watched them execute while I made dumb decisions or misread a bite. The mental side of this sport is a constant battleground. When you know you’re capable, but the results don’t show up on stage, it breaks your heart a little.
But if anyone in tournament fishing is being honest, they’ll tell you the scales don’t tell the entire story. They don’t weigh your growth, your grit or the quiet victories along the way.
Scripture is full of people who spent years in seasons of waiting, honing their craft in obscurity before the promise was realized. David was anointed king as a boy, yet spent years tending sheep and running through the wilderness before he ever sat on the throne. Abraham and Sarah waited decades. Even the disciples spent long, frustrating nights casting their nets and catching nothing — until Jesus told them to try again.
Waiting isn’t wasted time; it’s where God refines our character so we can carry the weight of where He’s taking us.
By standard metrics, the world measures success by trophies, top 10s and big checks. By those standards, some might not look at my journey and call it a “success.” But standard metrics don’t measure the transformation of your heart.
Through every empty livewell and every tough mental battle, He has refined me:
Humility: Learning that my true identity isn’t tied to the weight on the scale or the validation of the room, but to who I am in Christ.
Perseverance: Realizing that a bad decision on the water doesn’t make me a failure; it just makes me wiser for the next cast.
Faith in the dark: Learning to trust His timing when the wait feels long and the payoff feels far away.
I want to chase this for as long as I possibly can. The fire to compete is still burning, and as long as God gives me the breath and the ability, I am going to keep casting.
I have decided that whatever the Lord has for me — win or lose, on the stage or off it — is what I will continue to pursue with everything I’ve got. I have a peace that passes understanding because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that He has me right where He wants me.
