SIMPLY BEING THERE

It was my daughter's first deer hunt and the November Arctic blast had me wondering if I was crazy to bring an eleven-year-old girl into the woods when wind chills were below zero. I told myself the pop-up blind would help keep the elements at bay. I told myself that it would be a good lesson to her that hunting was not always comfortable. Mostly, I told myself that she had been begging for months and this was one of the few days we had to spend in the field together.

As we sat in the blind, I saw the hope in her eyes as she watched the trees for movement. I saw the excitement she felt for being able to share a moment with her father doing something she knew he had always enjoyed. I saw that despite her cold fingers and toes, she had no desire to be anywhere else.

I thought about how my father had introduced me to hunting in a goose blind. I thought about the lessons my kids would learn just by spending time outdoors. I thought about how hunting allowed them to become a true part of the natural world God created beyond the deafening clatter of civilization.

I thought about the way a sunset could teach her about humility. I thought about how the cold and lack of action could teach her about will power. I thought about how studying the deepening shadows of the woods searching for a deer could teach her about focus. There were so many lessons my daughter could learn in the woods. Lessons that would stay with her for the rest of her life.

By sharing this experience with her, I could share myself with her without every uttering a word. My hope is that when she steps into the freshness of a new morning, she will want to face the day the same way I did. When she sees a buck walk by almost close enough for her to touch it she will know the fear and excitement and awe that I knew when I saw my first buck up close. When she gives everything to the day behind her, she will know the satisfaction of a day well-lived regardless if any preconceived goal was attained. And one day, when she sees the eyes of her own children light up when they hunt their first deer, she will understand how deeply I love her.

She will not know these things because I told her, but because she was able to experience them, to feel them in her soul and know that a part of me will always be with her. If she remembers that part of me maybe I can believe I did something right.

We did not say much to each other and we only saw a single doe run across a distant field that evening, but I will remember that hunt for the rest of my life. And when she begged to go out again the next day, I knew she would remember it as well.