The writer Jack London called California “a sweet land.” London was an adventurer who’d seen the world. He chose to settle in California’s Sonoma Valley, one of my favorite spots.

Last month we drove through Sonoma on our way to the ocean for Cami’s birthday. We stopped and strolled the shady Sonoma town square, eating ice cream before pressing on for San Francisco. It was in Sonoma where California’s state flag was born. The Bear Flag rebellion took place here in 1846, ushering California under America’s wings.

In the city by the bay, we walked over the Golden Gate bridge. Though, I was born and raised in California, I’d never done this before. The height of the towering, red bridge dizzied me. It was a crystal clear day with the ocean blue sapphire rolling as far as the eye could see. Dolphins swam below us, leaping under the bridge on their way out to sea.

Driving further down the coast, we watched the sun set from a pier pounded by foaming waves. Back home in northern California the following week, we hiked through the picturesque Sutter Buttes. In the heart of the Buttes is a lake cradled by steep cliffs. Our sons fished for bass as red-tailed hawks swirled overhead. During the Bear Flag Rebellion, the Buttes, rumored to be the smallest mountain range in the world, were used as a base camp for the Americans revolting against Mexico, the country that owned California before the United States claimed her.

This week I’ve been angling with the boys and my dad on the Sacramento River. The stripers are running, large ocean bass that swim up the waterway to spawn. Because we’ve had a good year of rain, the river is running high and clear right now. Last night we left the river with sundown splashing golden light through the mighty sycamore and cottonwood trees that line the riverbanks. A beaver went about his work with a branch in his mouth and a deer edged down to the water for a drink.

While I write this blog, I’m watching out the window as our boys pick cherries and eat them straight from the trees. Our dogs sit under the boys’ ladders, three rat terriers, a faithful golden lab, and a stray mutt the girls brought home several weeks ago. The mutt has proved herself a watchdog by sleeping under our bedroom window at night. She follows our children wherever they go on our twenty acres, growling at any threatening thing. She’s like Old Yeller, but young and white. By the looks of her teeth, she’s probably only a year or two old.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that my California of oceans and rivers, cherry trees, and the Sutter Buttes is a state in recession with major immigration and drug problems. The gay marriage battle here is like Mt. St. Helens before she erupted. Lots of folks are simmering, not just over gay marriage, but other complicated agendas I’d also like to ignore. For the most part, I no longer watch or read the news. It’s depressing, and all those talking heads have taken God out of the equation.

Some would say I have my brain in the sand, but I read the Good Book every day and it says, “Taste and see that the Lord is good” Psalm 34:8. The Bible also commands, “Fear the LORD, you his saints, for those who fear him lack nothing” Psalm 34:9. This is the agenda I choose to follow. I often remind myself that the world’s economy is not God’s economy. God made the heavens and the earth, his resources are limitless. When Jesus needed to pay his taxes, he sent Peter fishing. The fish Peter caught contained a coin that covered the government’s portion that year.

Yesterday on the river, I asked seven-year-old John to say a prayer that the Lord would provide us with fish. Not to pay our taxes, but so we could have a striper dinner. Striped bass is white and tasty, my favorite fish to eat. On his knees in the boat (he already happened to be on his knees messing with the minnow bucket), John said the most sincere little boy prayer for us to catch a fish. He ended it with, “And make it a big one, Lord!” Five minutes later, his grandpa hooked the big one. John, our net-man, couldn’t lift it by himself into the boat. I also caught a couple of smaller stripers, each nearly two feet long. We’ll be eating fish tacos till the cows come home.

Today I saw a soldier holding his two small children. He actually has four little ones, and tomorrow he heads back to Iraq to finish his tour of duty there. He’s a dear friend of ours, a California kid like me who loves to fish and hunt and play on Pacific beaches. Memorial Day is just around the corner. May we never forget to thank God for all the good we taste and see here in America, and for the men and women who protect this sweet land.