Yes, I Caught the Big One

by DanWolgemuth on June 20, 2025

Originally posted 15 years ago. Still true today.

With summer activities in full swing, I thought it fitting to revisit this reflection. The reminder it offers feels as timely as ever: summer can easily become as congested and frustrating as Denver traffic. Resist the urge to simply push through. Discover moments to savor. Invest in relationships that matter. Don’t get swept into the vortex of activity that hijacks joy.
 
I was just minutes from wrapping up a half-day on the North Platte River near Casper, Wyoming. By all accounts, it had been a good outing—despite failing to land “The Big One.” With our take-out point in sight, I saw my strike indicator disappear with authority. A quick, deliberate snap of my rod, and I had my fish.
 
What followed was a test of strength and will—both mine and the fish’s. While I had caught other fish that day, it was clear that this was different. Even our guide gave me a knowing glance that confirmed what I already suspected: this was a special fish.
 
With my fly rod arched to its limit, I brought the trout up toward the net. It was then I got my first full view of the shimmering Rainbow… and just as suddenly, the line went limp. Gone. Escaped. Only the mental snapshot remained.

The big one. I lost the big one.
 
But here’s what surprised me: I wasn’t disappointed.
 
Instead, what washed over me were images from the whole float trip. Alli, my daughter, landing the first fish of the day with comical ease. Mary, my boat partner, asking the guide to hold her beautiful catch while I snapped the photo—her smile still fueling me. The river, the laughter, the joy wrapped in every moment… It all overwhelmed any sense of loss.
 
Truthfully, I caught the big one the moment our boats touched the water.
 
No missed catch could compete with the joy already banked in the experience.
 
Yes indeed… I caught the Big One.
“Let the rivers clap their hands; let the hills sing for joy together.”
— Psalm 98:8 (ESV)

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Always a Student: A Father’s Day Reflection

by DanWolgemuth on June 13, 2025

I can’t help but wonder when the explosion of graduation ceremonies took place. The fuse to that trend certainly wasn’t lit by 1977, the year I graduated from college.

Fast forward to 2025, and now—as grandparents—we’ve celebrated a kindergarten graduation and two eighth-grade graduations, all in the same season.

Graduation is about completion. Finality. Closure.

Which is why, as Father’s Day approaches, I’m struck by the contrast.

Fathering doesn’t come with closure. There is no finish line, no final exam, no diploma to hang on the wall. After 45 years on this journey, I know that to be true.

I became a father in 1981. I remember vividly bringing Andrew home to our place at 921 N. Anthony in Fort Wayne. I felt like an absolute novice—maybe worse.

I loved this little guy deeply, but I had no idea how to translate that love into action.

Just two years later, I entered the 201-level course when Erik arrived. Then three years after that, Alli. A daughter. A new dynamic. A brand-new syllabus.

It would be nice to have a graduation date. A certificate. Proof that I completed the course. But I have none.

In 2003, a daughter-in-law joined the family. Then another in 2006. A son-in-law in 2008. Not a return to the classroom—because I never left—but enrollment in entirely new courses.

And when grandchildren began arriving in 2007, everything shifted again. The curriculum expanded. Things got turbocharged—and rearranged. Perhaps that’s why Father’s Day invites something more than celebration. It invites humility. Not shame—never that—but honest reflection.

I’m still learning. Still growing. And ironically, the teachers are no longer just my own dad or father-in-law. Now, it’s Andrew. Erik. Chris.

They’re showing me a better way. A more anchored, authentic path.

These days, they are the books I read and the podcasts I listen to.

Father’s Day 2025. I’m a seventy-year-old student. Not reluctantly—but gratefully. Grateful for the grace and grit that keep me in the classroom. Listening. Learning. Sometimes stumbling.

June 21, 1981, was my first Father’s Day. I looked into the face of my three-month-old son with gratitude, anticipation, joy, fear, and hope.

The years have changed many things. But not that.

And for that reason, the classroom is still a wonderful place to be.

Because ultimately, I was confident then—as I am now—that God, my ultimate Father, will lead well… if I follow obediently.

There’s no sign in my yard announcing the completion of my fathering journey.

And that’s exactly what I relish about it.
Always a learner.
Always a student.
Always more to know, to experience… and to love.

Enrolling again. 2025/26 curriculum awaits.

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A Popper Full

May 23, 2025

On May 24th, 2015—her 90th birthday—Eunice Cargo made a bold move from Brighton, Michigan, to Aurora, Colorado. It was a courageous step, and one that ultimately impacted Mary, me, and our entire family just as deeply as it impacted Eunice herself. It’s true. My own story of impact has, at its core, a simple yet […]

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The Rocks Beat Me To It

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It was Michelangelo who brilliantly said, “The sculpture is already complete within the marble block, before I start my work. It is already there, I just have to chisel away the superfluous material.” Perhaps he was echoing the perspective of Jesus during the Pharisaical uproar over the praise being lavished on Him just a week […]

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Don’t Swerve

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Not long after Mary and I moved to Franklin, Tennessee in 1987, we gathered our three kids and two Nashville nieces and set out on a Christmas tree hunt. We’d heard about a local tree farm with an outstanding selection, so we borrowed my brother’s larger vehicle and headed out for what we hoped would […]

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In a tear…

May 2, 2025

In a tear. Through a tear. With a tear… Jesus shows the way. In the quiet moments of the morning on May 5, 2010, Donald William Cargo showed us the way, too. His four children, his beloved wife, and a few others were gathered at his bedside. His body, no longer able to fight the […]

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Even at 70

April 25, 2025

Somewhere, tucked inside the fog of distant childhood memories, is an unforgettable interaction with a man who himself stayed in the shadows. Graybill Wolgemuth was my father’s father—a man with persistently whining hearing aids, an unwelcoming beard, a posture of seriousness, and a famine of words. He walked with God. Quietly. Stoically. Obediently. Joylessly. There […]

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A Call to Remember. A Promise to Steward.

April 11, 2025

On April 16, 1978, in St. Louis, Bob Forsch pitched the first no-hitter of his major league career as a member of the St. Louis Cardinals—a 5-0 victory over the Philadelphia Phillies. I know about this milestone because I was there. Or more precisely, Mary and I were there, bundled together in the bleak, drizzly […]

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Solspeil

April 4, 2025

It’s dark. Division, dissension, bitterness, hatred, prejudice, war, natural disasters, and loneliness all seem to be having their day. It’s hard to watch. Job put it this way—and he put it well:“Why do the wicked have it so good,live to a ripe old age and get rich?They get to see their children succeed,get to watch […]

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Kansas

March 28, 2025

Madness. That’s what they call it. 68 teams, all with lofty ambitions, and millions of people pouring time and energy—emotion, too—into making bracket predictions and forecasting outcomes. Our family is no exception. After the first weekend of play, when the pool of potential national champions shrank to just 16, I had a conversation with Abe, […]

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