Encouragement

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My dad was an avid deer hunter. The strange thing about his 50-plus years as a hunter is that he never came home with any deer. Excuses? Oh, he had plenty of them, all explaining how he could have, should have or would have gotten that deer had it not been for some reason beyond his control.

A couple of years before Dad passed away, he made a startling confession. “I really could have gotten a lot of deer,” he told me. “But you know…they were just so cute that I never had the heart to pull the trigger.”

I can’t tell you how overjoyed I was at the news, as I‘ve never recovered from the movie, “Bambi.” The scene where Bambi’s mother fell prey to hunters was…well, thank you, Walt Disney, for that black spot on my childhood.

Anyway, when Dad passed away, his funeral and burial were held in the same rural community where he had pretended to deer hunt. These emerald hills and valleys were the land of his childhood. Though he lived his adult life elsewhere, this community was considered home. During his retirement years, he built a house amid the wildflowers and brooks of this serene region, and spent many weekends enjoying the quiet, but brilliant, beauty. Deer were abundant on Dad’s 37 acres, trusting him enough to venture right up to the house.

He had chosen his burial plot well in advance, one that was located in a cemetery on a hill, his plot being at the highest point because he said it “offered the best view.” Something happened the morning of Dad’s funeral, though--and while it ranks as one of the most bizarre things I’ve ever seen, it also ranks as one of the loveliest.

As the funeral procession slowly made its way to the church, hoards of deer flooded down from the hills. Dozens upon dozens of bucks, does and fawns came out in packs of seven and eight, paused in the snowy fields or at the edge of the road, and watched the procession pass by. At one point, the procession stopped just so we could watch the deer that were watching us. People who had lived in this community for over a half century claimed they had never seen so many deer present at once, and never in groups of more than three.

“Wow, what a coincidence!” People often exclaim after hearing this story. Personally, I don’t believe coincidence exists; there is, I contend, a reason and/or explanation behind everything. What, then, would be the explanation for this extraordinary turn out of deer on the day of Dad’s funereal?

Could it have been a sweet gift from God, a gentle affirmation that all was well? Is it possible the deer had actually come to pay their respects? Or is it the most logical of explanations: it was snowing heavily and the deer came down to look for food?

Many people opt for logic on this one, but I sometimes find such to be a safe and simple cop-out. Since when is God Almighty confined by man’s logic, or boxed in by our unwillingness to see His glory, love and lessons expressed through the work of His hands? “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:9 NIV)

Psalm 148 teaches that God created everything and everything exalts His name.
As Christians, then, we should be able to look through all things and see God, who declares, ”Do not I fill heaven and earth?” (Jeremiah 23:24 NIV) Just look at the things God has used to make His presence known! He called to Moses from a bush (Exodus 3:4) and got Balaam’s attention through a talking donkey. (Numbers 22: 21 – 33) Jonah saw God’s power, teachings and mercy through the wind, a whale and even a gourd. (Jonah 1:4, 1:17, 4:6)

To this day, I believe the deer were one of those “Be still and know that I am God” moments. (Psalm 46:10 NIV) Even if pure instinct had driven the deer out of the hills, God is not removed from the picture. One thing is certain: marveling at this ultra-cool event turned our thoughts to Him, and made a difficult day a little easier to endure.

It was, therefore, a gift.

In closing, I have to add that my dad did not exhibit the same mercy for groundhogs that he did for deer. It probably goes without saying that no groundhogs turned out for the funeral.

©Donna G. Morton October 2007

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