After hanging a scouting camera near a salt lick, I gave out a cluck on my mouth call. With only a week left in the season, I expected to hear the busy silence of the woods in return. When a gobble blasted from down below the creek, I knew the game was on.
As much as I tried, I had no chance of getting that tom to cross the creek and climb up the hill where I sat with my back against a knotty old oak. But, I have to wonder if sitting with my back against an old tree clucking and waiting actually constituted effort.
I have to wonder if sitting around waiting for God to do something for me or to me or even through me actually constitutes effort? Is it effort that He wants? As I sit clucking, waiting for the turkey to come to me, I am reminded of the way I sometimes feel during prayer. I do lots of clucking and wonder why God never seems to get any closer.
Ancient words, forever new, have the answers: “Faith without works is dead.” “Whatever you do unto them, you do unto me.”
The answers are there repeating themselves in my thoughts, in my heart, and yet I sit there clucking and waiting. Every now and then I hear something or see something and I know He is near. Hope rises. Then I return to clucking and waiting.
I fear the turkey will see me if I slip down the hill and over the creek. I fear it will slip away.
What do I risk if I quit clucking and waiting and act?
What do I risk if I don’t?
