Lessons from A Trophy Part II

I knew I had just shot the biggest buck of my life, and I merely needed to give it time. As I sat there enjoying the moment, the sad part entered my thinking as I reminded myself of the lesson that the rutting buck teaches. It is the lesson illustrated in the sobering story of Proverbs 7. The author of the proverb observes a young man, full of vigor and strength. For all the power and potential he possesses, however, he is void of wisdom. He is concerned about his belongings, his status, and his reputation, but for all his appearances of invincibility, he has left his heart unguarded. Somewhere along the line, he has traded holiness for hormones. He is exposed, and it doesn’t take much. He is enticed by a woman, but the real lure is simply the base desire of a lust processed into sin. Sin makes you stupid, and the affect of that stupidity on his thought process is profound. He no longer reasons, his awareness is dull, and even his sense of self-preservation is so diminished that he willingly throws all caution to the wind. He follows his lusts, and as the proverb states, he goes “as an ox to the slaughter, or as the fool to the correction of the stocks (v. 22).

Sitting there in that hunting blind, I shuttered, and it was not for the chill of the day. The shudder going through me was the conclusion of the proverb as I remembered the ending of the proverb: “He goes after her straightway….. until an arrow strikes through his liver- as a bird hasteneth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his life”.(. vv. 22- 24)

His life? No, the stakes could not have been that high. It was merely an impulse. It was a desire, and a need for that desire to be fulfilled. He was just looking for a little fun- a little action. His life? His life? He forfeited his life for that? Why? How?

As usual, a clear answer never came to the forefront, but it once again started within me an investigation of sorts into my own life. I could never do that, could I? I would never forfeit my life- my wife, my family, my career, my reputation- for that sort of recklessness, would I?

Each time I reflect on the lesson and each glance I take at that trophy, my suspicion grows. I am suspicious of myself. I just might. Would it be anything but pride that would say it would never happen? Would it be anything but foolishness to live as if it couldn’t happen to me? I have reached a biblical conclusion: I can’t be trusted- only God can. While the “heart is deceitful and desperately wicked (Jer. 17:9), a young man can “cleanse his ways” only through the guidance of God’s Word in his heart (Ps. 119:9-11). In almost a panic, my senses are alert. I must pray that I fall not into temptation. I must guard my heart with all diligence, for out of it comes all that I am and do (Prov. 4:23). Passions and desires are a part of me. I can never be rid of them. I don’t want to be rid of them. At the same time, I do not want to be ruled by them. I do not want to be slain by them, and so I must guard, pray, and always remember that there are commandments and warnings because there are dangers.

It is the lesson of the rutting buck, and, though I hope I should move on to bigger trophies and more exciting hunts, I hope I should never move away from the wisdom that I remembered once again that day- with the help of those 3 girls. It’s a nice buck, but its more like a lesson than a trophy.

Lessons from the Trophy

It’s more like a lesson than a trophy.

It’s not a real trophy, anyway, it’s a shoulder mount of a nine point whitetail on my wall. A couple of years ago, I was blessed enough to shoot that “wall hanger”, and it is my biggest buck to date. I’d like to say its there because of my great skills as a hunter, stalker, and tracker. Truth be told, I owe it to 3 lovely ladies. If it hadn’t been for 3 girls, he’d still be running, and part of me is sad about that. That is the lesson.

The 2007 opening day for firearm season in Michigan was going to be anti-climatic for me after the previous two weeks of hunting which I had enjoyed. It was that magical time that Mark and Terry Drury of Drury Outdoors call “Sweet November”. I had seen no less than six bucks, and the nicest one had been a close encounter. After hanging a “doe-in-heat” scent wick just upwind of my stand one November evening, I settled in to my stand and let the wind do the work. It did. After chasing some does out into a field directly downwind from me, a nice 8 point hit my scent wick, locked in on it, and followed it straight into my stand- just minutes after good shooting light left the area. I was amazed at the lustfulness with which that hormone-driven bachelor walked carelessly across my path, and I was sure I would not get another chance like that. It took a little more than a week for me to arrive at that opening day of firearm season where I would be proven wrong- and the lesson would once again be taught.

That opening morning started cold and rainy. Even inside my blind, I was feeling the chill of the damp November air, and I had decided that I would close my windows even though it limited visibility. I huddled down in my seat, keeping only a half an eye out for deer that I realistically surmised would be too smart to be out running in the misty drizzle. During a random check of the field to my right, however, I was startled to see 4 deer on the run and angling toward me. Startled gave away to an adrenaline rush as one of the four revealed a nice set of antlers. It was a nice 2 ½ year old, and I initially did not hope for it to be naïve enough to stop anywhere within shooting range. Big boy, you didn’t get that big by being stupid, I thought. I was also a little nervous about making too much commotion during the process of opening windows and getting into shooting position. It just didn’t seem likely that I would get a shot at a monster who had been cagey enough to survive to his current trophy state. As I said, if it hadn’t been for the 3 girls, I am sure the story would have ended with a wave of his white tail going through the brush. My shot at the buck not only happened, it was easy when it came down to it. Mr. Big had three ladies in tow- actually, they had him in tow. He came to a stop at the edge of the field, and he never looked right or left in any sort of concern. He was so focused on the three does in his escort, he never looked around, he never saw me, and he never knew what hit him until it was too late.

As I sat there enjoying the moment, the sad part entered my thinking as I reminded myself of the lesson that the rutting buck teaches. It is the lesson illustrated in the sobering story of Proverbs 7. The author of the proverb observes a young man, full of vigor and strength. For all the power and potential he possesses, however, he is void of wisdom. He is concerned about his belongings, his status, and his reputation, but for all his appearances of invincibility, he has left his heart unguarded. Somewhere along the line, he has traded holiness for hormones. He is exposed, and it doesn’t take much. He is enticed by a woman, but the real lure is simply the base desire of a lust processed into sin. Sin makes you stupid, and the affect of that stupidity on his thought process is profound. He no longer reasons, his awareness is dull, and even his sense of self-preservation is so diminished that he willingly throws all caution to the wind. He follows his lusts, and as the proverb states, he goes “as an ox to the slaughter, or as the fool to the correction of the stocks (v. 22).

Sitting there in that hunting blind, I shuttered, and it was not for the chill of the day. The shudder going through me was the conclusion of the proverb as I remembered the ending of the proverb: “He goes after her straightway….. until an arrow strikes through his liver- as a bird hasteneth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his life”.(. vv. 22- 24)

His life? No, the stakes could not have been that high. It was merely an impulse. It was a desire, and a need for that desire to be fulfilled. He was just looking for a little fun- a little action. His life? His life? He forfeited his life for that? Why? How?

As usual, a clear answer never came to the forefront, but it once again started within me an investigation of sorts into my own life. I could never do that, could I? I would never forfeit my life- my wife, my family, my career, my reputation- for that sort of recklessness, would I?

Each time I reflect on the lesson and each glance I take at that trophy, my suspicion grows. I am suspicious of myself. I just might. Would it be anything but pride that would say it would never happen? Would it be anything but foolishness to live as if it couldn’t happen to me? I have reached a biblical conclusion: I can’t be trusted- only God can. While the “heart is deceitful and desperately wicked (Jer. 17:9), a young man can “cleanse his ways” only through the guidance of God’s Word in his heart (Ps. 119:9-11). In almost a panic, my senses are alert. I must pray that I fall not into temptation. I must guard my heart with all diligence, for out of it comes all that I am and do (Prov. 4:23). Passions and desires are a part of me. I can never be rid of them. I don’t want to be rid of them. At the same time, I do not want to be ruled by them. I do not want to be slain by them, and so I must guard, pray, and always remember that there are commandments and warnings because there are dangers.

It is the lesson of the rutting buck, and, though I hope I should move on to bigger trophies and more exciting hunts, I hope I should never move away from the wisdom that I remembered once again that day- with the help of those 3 girls. It’s a nice buck, but its more like a lesson than a trophy.

"Where go the years? Down what tunnel of time are poured the precious days? We are young, and the fires within us burn bright. All the world lies before us and nothing is too great to be done, no challenge too awesome. Then suddenly the days are no more, the years are gone, and the time that remains is little, indeed." (the character Barnabas Sackett from Louis L'Amour's To the Far Blue Mountains)

Today, March 31, 2009, is my 40th birthday. I find myself much in agreement with Barnabas Sackett. In L'Amour's book, Barnabas is the patriarchal character of the Sackett family. Out of desperation and hard times, he makes the move to America and becomes one of the early settlers, starting a long-line of strong frontier men and women who help forge America. However, at one point in all the sailing, exploring, settlement establishing, and conquering, he finds himself at the point he describes above, and he can neither change nor avoid it. He knows he will not live forever, but he cannot help but marvel that his life has moved by so quickly. He still has plans, dreams, and he wants to enjoy the moment, but, too quickly, the moment is gone.

I cannot help but echo it all. Where do go the years? Have four decades of life really gone by me? I still feel much a young man. I have much to learn, much to do with that learning, and I too would go and conquer my world. Should I not become the conquering hero, there are at least the moments, are there not? Are there are not the moments when I walk into my house- my house, passed down to me from my parents and built by my father's own hands? Yet the moments of my father have been gone for 20 years. In my house, can I not pause to look at my wife of 19 years, for she has managed to look more beautiful with those years. No, but I stop to treasure that beauty in her, and that moment is gone. I look at my oldest daughter, achieving and conquering her own world. I would enjoy her moments of success and gain, but they go from me as soon as I recognize them. My older son is learning to face his world with strength and truth, and I would stand with him to soak in the moment. Yet, he is not standing still and neither is time. My younger daughter, full of love and happiness, causes me to enjoy the simplest things of life, and yet, they too refuse to stay in one place. I watch my youngest son in his determined and forging ways, and yet he stays never young but astonishes me daily with signs of growing. I am filled with gratefulness and pride at these moments. However, when I go to grasp those moments, they evaporates- and disappears to where, I do not know. The voice of the apostle James goes with it in a whisper, "Your life is but a vapor....", and I sigh.

My God, you have counted up my years in a bottle, and they are yours. Be they 40 or 80, or any where in between, I find myself with a melancholy happiness and one constant dream. Dear God, you have given me a wealth beyond measure in these things: your love, my family, dear friends, and a passion to minister for you. You know my years. Let me fulfill my dream: That I die not before my years are done. Whatever years You have given me, let me not grasp them and hoard them for I cannot. Let me instead live in full enjoyment of them. Let me use them all for You, and it will be enough- and more.

The Passion to Pursue

I stay. It's getting darker, and I've always been scared of the dark. Even into my teen years, I often kept a light on in my room. I'm no Clark Kent when it comes to the dark, yet here I am in the middle of the woods at dusk. I've only a few minutes left before I won't be able to see anything but my imaginary creatures of horrifying proportions. Like the victim of the horror movie who lingers when the audience is yelling "Run!", I mindlessly keep a hopeful vigil even as each second darkens any possibilities that I will be rewarded with anything but a blindly groping walk back to my truck through a darkened forest.

I stay. It's a New Year's Day morning, and the temperature has found a home at 2 degrees. I stayed up to watch the new year come in, so I'm not exactly vibrant on this year's first morning. I am fighting the cold which lingers about me like a vulture, seemingly aware that it always wins out with time. I can't feel my fingers or toes, and I have no faith that I can even climb down out of the tree to go home let alone take on the quarry that most likely will not show in weather that freezes your breath before you can take it into your lungs.

I stay. Why do I stay? What drives me to embrace my fears and deny my comforts? A clear explanation of motive escapes me at such moments as these, but, in warmer and brighter climates, the answer is simple: I have a passion to pursue. It has been said, "It's not the thrill of the kill but the pace of the chase", and I wholeheartedly concur. I stay because it is part of the pursuit, and the pursuit has become my passion. I find a sort of pride in my pursuits. I can brave, I can endure, and I can sacrifice. No one pursues like I do, I tell myself, but I know better. There is One, and I cannot match His pursuit.

He stayed, too. I like to think that even as a child, He had the perfect perception that we know God does. He fully realized to which He was born, and He knew just how far from the comforts of home He was. He knew the hearts of the men He created, and He knew the weakness of the ones He called.

He stayed. He was beaten beyond recognition, and this still fell short of the humiliation he suffered. The nails driven in His hands were nothing compared to being driven from the presence of God into the pit of hell. He was face to face with all that is evil until He emerged the victor in a battle to the death- and to the life.

He stays still. He has denied all comforts which were rightfully due Him, and He has fearlessly pursued like no other has ever pursued. I cannot match this passion; I can only respond. His passion and pursuit has given me life and life abundantly (John 10:10), and He has only asked that I continue in that life by walking by His side. In doing so, I can learn the true passion of the pursuit.

So I stay.

To the Pilgrim

A pilgrim is a person on a pilgrimage. He is not home, but he is going to a place he will call home.
The focus is not the pilgrim himself but the pilgrimage, for the pilgrimage has a wealth unknown and a Guide unfathomed. He awaits the pilgrim, and your pilgrimage awaits you each and every day. PM's Field Notes are my pilgrimage as learned in the "varied and lovely realms of our natural world", as Fred Bear put it. It lies before me everyday, and when God gives me a voice to do so, I'll share it with others. Thanks for walking with me.