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From the start of 1st grade to the start of 9th grade, I lived in the suburbs of Kansas City in a town called Olathe (o-LAY-thuh).  I enjoyed those formative years in the breadbasket of America.  From catching crawdads in the Creek to rollerblading all over the city and playing endless hours of street hockey, I was thoroughly consumed by my few choice pastimes.

My favorite of those summer-break habits, though, was fishing.  Taught to bait fish by my maternal grandfather, and how to lure fish by my paternal great-grandfather – I was always eager to wet my lines.  Though only a boy, I personally owned multiples rods, reels, and tackle boxes – some of which I bought, and even a couple of which I won in Boy Scout fishing contests.

And any opportunity I could take advantage of, I was pedaling my bike with 2 poles in one hand and my tackle box in the other to one of the local fishing holes – be it Heritage Lake, the pond at the Mid-American Nazarene College, or Cedar Lake – casting and catching for as long as daylight or my mother would allow.

You see, fishing is addictive.  It’s a bit of a Catch-22 when it comes to the commitment required to give yourself to the quest.  For if you are actively catching fish, you cannot resist chucking that lure back out, anticipating that next rod-bending, monofilament stressing strike.  And on the other extreme, on a day when the fish just aren’t biting, you can’t help but try every lure in your tackle box trying to break the jinx that keeps this aquatic heroine from satisfying your cravings.  For to quit is unconscionable!  One MUST catch and you’re always just one more cast away from the potential of hooking and landing the biggest largemouth you’ve ever had the fortune to battle.

But let’s fast forward to the present.  That was the mid 80′s and early 90′s.  And this is 2010.

I am sad to say that from my eventual departure from Kansas to my subsequent way stations in GA, WA, and UT – I never pursued fishing on a serious, committed level again.  That is, until 2010.

Having dug a hole at the back of my 6.11 acres last season, I was committed to creating a childhood experience for my little ones that would be similar in adventure (if not locale) to my own happy youthful recollections.  With a trashpump on loan from a friend, I filled the 1/3 acre pond and began dreaming of fishing in my own back yard.

Multiple fishing trips and translocations later, I have a pond with apprximately 140 panfish and 2 dozen largemouth bass.  And though the pond and the fish are nowhere near complete, I can’t begin to express the personal satisfaction of being able to walk out my back door, pick up my pole, and cast for green sunfish, perch, bluegill and bass.  And the “work” of stocking the pond with my boys is a labor I never grow weary from and, in fact, cannot get enough of!

I’m teaching my boys to fish.  I’m teaching them to have higher standards and more discerning taste in regards to what fish to spend time pursuing (“never waste your time on trout, son.  The only trout left in Utah are all 10″ stock rainbows that can’t fight, can’t survive a catch, and don’t taste all that great.”)  I’m teaching them to respect the beauty of God’s creations (PETA would puke if they read that).  And I’m giving them a fun outlet that we can all enjoy together – for hours on end.

Melanie and I have decided that we can’t wait for our financial circumstances to improve before having another child.  Because, as most all of you parents out there know, kids are so expensive that it’s almost impossible to reach a point where you feel like all the financial risks are covered and backed…

So after a 5 year hiatus, Melanie is pregnant with our 5th child.  As near as we can tell, we’ll be due in April of 2011.

Whether it’s a boy or a girl, we don’t much care.  There are certainly positives either direction.   If we have another boy, life in our home will remain largely unchanged.  We’re already equipped for boys.  We have a grasp on how to raise boys.  We won’t have to worry about separate bedrooms, bathrooms, etc.  We’ll have the starting 5 on my Finley Family Basketball Dream Team (I’ll have to graduate to coaching, I suppose.)

A girl, on the other hand, would be fun.  She’d be spoiled and protected.  She’d bring a sense of closure and completeness to the family.  And Mel would finally have another female in the clan.

If I could pick, I’d choose a boy.  But if we end up with a daughter, I’m cool.

Either way, this will keep me parentally committed until I’m 50.  Possibly longer.  And that’s fine by me.  I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m unlikely to become so successful in my current vocation that I would ever reach the point of affluence where I’d be eager to ship the kids off so Mel and I could become world travelers.  And besides, I don’t want to reach a point where we look back and long for more children and time with the family – but can do nothing to remedy such a regret because we’re past our prime.

So bring it!  Heavenly Father, please watch over and protect Melanie and this child.   Keep them healthy and safe.  Help us to ready a place in our home and our hearts for one more of your children to be born into the glory of the Truth and the saving knowledge of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Okay, I’m going to try this again.  I’m disappointed by my inability to see things through, this blog included.  So, in order to simplify things and improve my consistency, I’ve decided this blog will be about whatever I feel like.  It will not necessarily be religious in nature.  It will not necessarily contain political rants.

But, then again, it might.  We’ll see.

For now, though, I feel that working on my writing and improving my ability to convey my thoughts and feelings into text will prove to be a useful form of self improvement.

If anyone reads this, I’ll be surprised.  I’m not actually planning to tell anyone I’m writing again.  This is merely for my own personal satisfaction.

Jordan Finley is an American, a husband, a father of 4, a small business owner – living in a secluded valley in the Rocky Mountains.