hoods to sleep in, and lots of fishing gear. Some carried cooking gear. The men carried cameras. These ten were headed for “ blue skies, brilliant stars,” and to be in “ the presence of God.” “ Blue Skies” . . . Kodachrome blue, shined on us from early morning till the stars took over at night. Blue skies spoke of the love of God shining upon the world through the gift of the Saviour, God’s Son, the Lord Jesus. How great was love that would reach down and save a sinner. How wonderful His ways that can transform a vile person into a born again child of His. How infinite His planning that this new born child would one day be like Him, and be with Him through eternity. Day after day we headed for higher elevations in pursuit of California’s native golden trout. Jumping from one granite mass to another, trudging up steep slopes, we traveled to Lost Lake. It was at Lost Lake, I met a lost man—apart from God, and bearing his own sin. He was fishing from a rock. I, too, was fishing. Fishing for fish was slow; here was my opportunity to fish for a man. How like fishing for fish is fishing for men! To catch fish, you must fish where the fish are. To win men, you must fish where the men are. They’re where you live, where you work, where you play— even on the shores of Lost Lake. In fishing, where it is legal, fishermen use chum to draw the fish. Perhaps it’s a half dozen salmon eggs, or a few mosquitos tossed on the surface. To a lost man on Lost Lake, I started chumming. We talked of fishing, then about boys, about cooking, men who cook for boys and for men’s groups at a church, then about churches. I chummed until I could say, “ It’s not the
(This is a true account of a trip taken by advanced rank boys of Christian Service Brigade Battalion, 1063, Community Brethren Church, Whittier, California. The leaders of the group w ere M r. Bob Lancaster and Mr. Glenn M iller of Whittier. Names, places, and incidents are actual and tru e.) P i u t e P ass , 11,423 feet elevation, in the heart of the High Sierra country of California, was the goal of two men and eight boys. The trail had been rocky and steep, the thirty to forty pound back packs were heavy, the altitude high, and the air thin; boys and men were tired, but they were in God’s country—the land of “ blue skies” by day and “ brilliant stars” by night. This is High Sierra country, the mountains of the John Muir trails, beautiful pines and firs, crystal blue lakes, rushing streams. Here is the land of rugged, towering granite peaks with their perpetual snow banks and their frozen lake shores in September. The pass had been conquered, the divide crossed; desti nation was Muriel Lake—-to spend a week in “ the pres ence of God.” These ten were a varied group. Eight boys with differ ent backgrounds, but all with a love for God, and each in the advanced rank of Christian Service Brigade. Two men, rugged out-of-doors men, both with a love for boys, were the leaders. Unbuckling the “ Trapper Nelson Indian Pack Boards and Sacks,” they unfolded a varied assortment of equip ment and food. There was a rolled sleeping bag, a water proof “ Poncho,” and half of a pup tent, and six pounds of food packed in plastic bags, most in concentrated or dehy drated form. Pan fried trout would supplement the diet. There were extra wool socks, sweat pants and shirts with
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THE K IN G 'S BUSINESS
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