Deacon Jude Tam Tran

THE MISSING FISHING ROD

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” — Galatians 6:2

A community center in a struggling neighborhood had recently started a mentorship program for teens and young adults. Every Tuesday evening, a group of volunteers gathered to plan activities, discuss challenges, and dream of ways to guide the youth toward better futures.

One evening, the director of the program, a thoughtful man named Marcus, wrote the familiar proverb on the whiteboard:

“Give a man a fish, and he’ll eat for a day.
Teach a man to fish, and he’ll eat for a lifetime.”

The volunteers nodded. Everyone had heard it before.
But then Marcus held up a worn paperback and read a sentence from Trevor Noah’s memoir Born a Crime:

“What they don’t say is:
‘And it would be nice if you gave him a fishing rod.’”

A hush fell across the room.

One volunteer, a middle-aged father, leaned forward and said slowly,
“That changes everything.”

Another added,
“We always tell people to work harder, learn more, push themselves… but what if life never gave them the tools to begin with?”

Marcus set the book down and looked around the room.
“Young people today hear a lot of speeches about effort and responsibility,” he said gently.
“Those things matter — but they’re not always enough.
Sometimes the difference between success and despair is as simple as one missing tool.”

He paused, thinking.

“That small tool,” he continued, “might be a ride to an interview, a recommendation letter, a safe place to stay, a warm meal, or even just someone to believe in them.
We forget that many of these kids are not starting from zero — they’re starting from deep below zero.”

A quiet voice spoke from the corner.

It was Lena, one of the newest volunteers, usually shy and reserved.
She hesitated before sharing.

“My brother grew up without any support,” she said softly.
“People told him all the time:
‘Get your life together.’
‘Work harder.’
‘Make better choices.’
But he had nothing — no transportation, no mentors, no safety net, not even someone who truly cared whether he made it or not.”

Her voice shook.

“You can’t ‘learn to fish’ when no one gives you a rod.
People kept telling him to lift himself up,
but he didn’t even have the ground to stand on.”

Her words settled heavily over the room.

Marcus let the silence linger before speaking.

“That,” he said quietly, “is why Paul tells us in Galatians:
‘Carry each other’s burdens.’
Not judge them.
Not lecture them.
Not shame them.
Carry them.”

He looked around the circle, meeting every eye.

“Teaching someone to fish is important.
But before that, someone needs to place a rod in their hands.
That act of compassion is what Christ calls love.”

A young volunteer raised his hand and asked,
“So what does that look like… practically?”

Marcus smiled gently.
“It might look like offering a ride.
Or staying late to tutor someone.
It might look like forgiving a mistake that came from pain, not rebellion.
It might look like giving patience when the world already lost its patience.
It might look like opening a door that has been closed to them their entire lives.”

Then he added something that made the whole room still:

“Sometimes compassion is the rod.
Sometimes the rod is simply hope placed in someone’s empty hands.”

After the meeting, a few volunteers stayed behind to talk.
One of them said, “When I was young, someone gave me my first chance.
I didn’t earn it.
It was just given.
I wouldn’t be here without that.”

Another whispered,
“I keep thinking of my own cousins… how easy it is to forget they grew up with obstacles I never had.”

Marcus began stacking chairs, but he paused and said one more thing — a thought that rose quietly from his heart:

“God has always cared for the ones who lacked tools.
He lifted the poor, healed the broken, restored the outcast,
and gave strength to the weary.
He didn’t demand perfection.
He offered mercy.
And then He asked us to do the same.”

The next morning, the center opened early.
One of the teens — a boy named Aaron — wandered into the office, shoulders slumped.
He hesitated before asking Marcus for help filling out a job application.

Marcus smiled warmly.
“Of course. Sit down.”

As they worked through the form together, Marcus thought about the proverb again.

Aaron didn’t need a lecture about responsibility.
He didn’t need another reminder to “try harder.”
He needed a rod —
a small act of support
that could change everything.

As they finished, Aaron whispered,
“Thanks. No one ever showed me how to do this.”

Marcus looked at him and thought,
Maybe this is how burdens are carried —
not with grand gestures,
but with one small fishing rod at a time.

Teaching someone is good.
Encouraging someone is noble.
But Christ calls His people to something deeper:
to notice what is missing,
to supply what life withheld,
and to give the “fishing rod” that opens the first door to hope.

Because love doesn’t just show a person how to live —
it gives them the chance to begin.