Listen to the Story from the Field

The first weekend of hunting season was a success. But the lesson began before I ever released an arrow.

My bride and I got up early on opening morning and settled into the blind. I had already put corn along the familiar paths I had been watching and tracking. The preparation was done. Now came the part no amount of preparation could hurry: the waiting.

Before long, deer began to appear.

There is something beautiful about watching whitetails in the quiet before sunrise. The woods are waking up. Shapes slowly become clearer. You can hear movement and see enough to know something is there, but that does not mean you can see enough to make a responsible shot.

So you sit. You breathe. You wait for the light.

Close Does Not Mean Right

The first deer came within twenty yards. I checked the distance with my range finder. It was close enough, but it never offered the shot I was willing to take.

That distinction matters. An animal can be within range without presenting a good opportunity. Respect for the animal means being willing to let that opportunity pass.

I watched. I waited. I kept hoping it would turn.

It never did.

Then something startled it. A larger doe appeared and drove the smaller one away. In time, she offered the clear shot I had been waiting for.

I took a breath, drew my bow, settled my sight, and released.

The deer jumped and ran into the woods.

My Bride Can Read the Trail

When it came time to track, my bride showed her gift.

Kristi found the first small drop of blood. Then another. She noticed where the deer had entered the grass and where the trail turned. I followed as she pointed out the signs, one after another.

There is a special kind of joy in sharing something like that with your wife. We had shared the stillness of the blind. Now we were sharing the work of following the trail.

We found the doe beneath a tree, about a hundred yards away.

I was grateful for a successful hunt, grateful for the provision, and grateful for the woman beside me.

Together, we field dressed the deer right there. Knives out, work to do—old school, just the two of us. We brought the heart home and cooked it with eggs for breakfast, then took the rest to a processor we know.

It was a good day. A day of patience, partnership, and provision.

What the Waiting Taught Me

The thought that stayed with me was simple:

You do not have to take something just because it is in front of you.

The first opportunity may be close. It may be tempting. You may have worked hard to get there. Still, wisdom can require you to wait.

Psalm 27:14 calls us to wait for the Lord with strength and courage. I love that connection. Waiting takes courage. Sometimes it takes more strength to hold back than to act.

In the blind, patience meant waiting for enough light and a responsible shot. In life, it may mean allowing time for prayer, seeking counsel, or refusing to force a decision simply because we are tired of uncertainty.

This hunt had a satisfying ending. Life does not always resolve so neatly. Faithful waiting can be difficult, and God's answers do not always look like the outcome we pictured.

But we can trust his character while we wait. We can ask for wisdom, do the work that belongs to us, and leave the outcome in his hands. The peace of Philippians 4:6–7 is a peace that guards us as we bring our concerns to God, even before the circumstances are settled.

That morning, I could prepare the blind, know the distance, and be ready with my bow. I could not make the sun rise faster or make a deer turn.

Some things were mine to do. Some things required waiting.

That was the lesson I brought home with the venison.

Prepare faithfully. Act responsibly. Give thanks for provision. And have the courage to wait.

Until the next story from the field.