As the Cat

Sitting down with my lunch at a kitchen table filled with newspapers, I noticed that I was not alone.

Exploring my backyard were three deer.  Two fawns and a doe were enjoying their lunch of plants and apples.

Watching them was peaceful.  They have been added to my list of 1,000 Blessings.  Their brown fur with hints of white spots was a beautiful contrast to the lush green vegetation that hasn't yet admitted that it's fall.

Into our lunch date walked Oscar, the lion-like cat.

Yesterday, Oscar tried to hunt these same deer.  Don't worry, it was through the window.  Not like my ferocious cat had anything on my three deer friends.  As long as no one got hurt, that would be a fun battle to watch.

Instead, I watched Oscar approach the window, waiting for him to see that his prey had returned.  He sat right up against the pane looking off to the left.  I don't what he was looking at, but it wasn't the deer.

He sat right there and didn't see them directly in front of him!  From my seat, I could see both Oscar and the deer in the same line of vision, but Oscar was clueless.  And he's the smarter of our two cats...

I began to wonder why Oscar was missing the deer that he loved yesterday but I could see them clearly.  I drew two possible conclusions.

1. Maybe there's something blocking his view at that perspective (ex: patio furniture).
2. Maybe cats can't see that far.

God spoke.

Not in an audible voice he said, "you're the cat."

"What you see," He explained to my heart, "is not always what I see.  My view goes further and my perspective is clear of obstacles."

"How long, LORD, must I call for help,
but You do not listen?
...
the LORD’s Answer
'Look at the nations and watch—
and be utterly amazed.
For I am going to do something in your days
that you would not believe,
even if you were told.'"
Habakkuk 1:2, 5

God, I don't want to be Oscar missing the deer right in front of my eyes. I want to gaze straight ahead and see Your mighty power, Your mighty plan, and Your mighty love. I am watching and know I will be utterly amazed with what You are doing in my days. When it becomes time for You to tell me, may I believe. Do something astounding.

<>< Katie

A Beer with the Boys

The weekend before Thanksgiving has always been reserved for deer hunting.  My dad would go up to my grandparents' house, kickback, relax, and hunt.  Long before any sane person would even consider leaving the depths of their plush, warm bed, Dad and Boppy would be donning their layers and blaze orange to head into the woods.

They always hoped for a nice layer of fresh snow as they hunted the same land year after year.  The tree line and a corn field belonged to our goodfriends Herb and Arnie, two brothers in their 80s who lived independently in neighboring homes.

Sometime after the sun came up, our two men would trudge into Herb's kitchen where the fridge was full of Miller.  Not because Herb drank beer but because Dad and Boppy drank beer.  Arnie would come over and the four would sit around solving the world's problems.

As everyone grew older, hunting became harder and harder.  The time in the woods was shorter and the time in Herb's kitchen longer.  "Deer hunting" became a pretense for a good time with old friends.  It has been years since we've had any venison.

The day I started college I got a phone call saying Arnie passed away.  This was eight months after the contemplation of terminating life support, the planning of the funeral, and the Christmas Miracle.  That year Dad and Boppy BYOB-ed it to Herb's room at the nursing home.

Herb passed away on New Year's Eve that same year.  The only time I've ever been to the gravesite was when we almost froze to death in the sub-zero temperatures and wild winds ripping off the surrounding barren fields.

Even though the will brouhaha had not yet been settled, Dad and Boppy hunted Herb and Arnie's land that year.  But it was too hard.  Instead, they took a drive to the cemetery in the middle of nowhere.  The one that only has two remaining plots, graciously given to my grandparents to use sometime in the distant future.

With the headstones protecting them from the wind, two grown men wearing blaze orange sat on a nice layer of snow to have a beer with the boys.

Beer with the Boys

Every year, the weekend before Thanksgiving, my dad goes up to my grandparents' house. He and my grandpa deer hunt throughout the weekend before my dad comes home again, works a few days, and we all go back to my grandparents' for the holiday.


When this tradition started, they were serious about getting deer. The year was a let down if they didn't get at least two nice-sized deer. I remember years when they were worried about exceeding the limit of two deer per man. Well, it's now been several years since they've gotten a deer.


In recent years, they'd get up at the crack of dawn, go hunting for a short bit, and spend the rest of the day sitting in a friend's kitchen solving the world's problems over some beer. The fellowship of the four of them turned into a bigger deal than the hunting itself. The hunting was a pretence to go sit in a tree in Herb and Arnie's yard, watch the sunrise, then sit in Herb's kitchen for the next several hours.


Well, it's now been a couple of years since Herb and Arnie were both living at home. My first day of college Arnie passed away. This past New Years' Eve, Herb passed away as well. Even though my dad and grandpa can still hunt on the land the used to be Herb and Arnie's, it was just too hard.


Dad and Grandpa went out and started the morning in a normal fashion, but it came to a quick end. Instead of continuing the hunt or returning home, they took a six pack of beer and went to the cemetery. This isn't the first time they've broken a few laws to have some beer with the boys.

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