Yesterday Cliff had one of his hunting shows. There are pretty much all the same. Guys in camo sitting in a blind or a tree-stand. They shoot the critter. They take a picture, all serious-like with dead critter. (Before anyone with a rifle and an itchy trigger finger lines me in their sites, I have gone with Cliff hunting and I can bone out a deer with the best of them. The shows just have a pretty high cheese factor.)
This particular one caught my attention because it was filmed around my hometown of Protection, KS. I was tuned in to the action, searching for familiar landmarks as we sat through ‘another successful hunt”. (Insert testosterone filled chuckle here.)
What cracked me up was when the host, Camo Man, finally landed the monster buck he had scouting and studying for days. He had invested time, energy, extreme amounts of money and had dipped his whole being in doe pee to get to this moment. His primal senses had thrilled at the site of this trophy through his scope. As he waited and debated on the perfect moment to pull the trigger, I imagine his heart was hammering out of his chest and beating in his ears so loud, he would not have heard a F-14 Tomcat fighter jet if it was dive bombing him. Holding his breath, he made a decision, squeezed, and…..wham! The target of a lifetime fell over with a thud! Muy Grande went down hard. Bambi’s dad never knew what hit him.
From the blind, the camera shot goes back to the celebrating hunter—-in whisper mode! That’s right. He was whisper-screaming ‘YES! and doing a whisper fist pump. His voice couldn’t have been picked up by the giant space microphones that listen for aliens, it was that soft. Yes, his expression was pure rapture, but the rest of the celebrating was rather….well….stiffled. You know that every cell in his body was ready to break forth in the happy dance of all time hunting shows. Why not hoop to high heavens? If he was afraid of scaring any other critters off, well Nimrod, your gun shot kind of blew your cover. (I can call him a ‘nimrod’ as it means ‘hunter’ in Hebrew.) I can’t help but think that some of the joy has been squashed, never to be resuscitated. (Cliff and I are still debating my theory. He says he’s had them get up. I say ‘ but if you know it dead without a doubt. ‘ He says you could disturb the hunting for the next day. I say the dually pick-up to go get said deer will be louder that a ‘YES!” with passion. Ah, the stuff marriage is made of! We can debate this one until a fawn loses it’s spots.)
How often do we not take the advantage to celebrate, kick up our heels, and praise like there is no tomorrow? Yesterday in church a gal was sharing with such joy that she was a grandma for the first time and how blessed she was that she forgot to tell us anything about the baby! Now that is some joy. Are we afraid of scaring someone off, thinking we are weird? Maybe holding it in is why people think Christians are kind of ‘stiffled’ looking and above being real.
“You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace, the mountains and the hills will burst into song before you and the all the trees of the field will clap their hands.” Isaiah 55:12. My advice to Camo Man (and us): We had best grab on to some passion, because if God has to default to those mountains, hills and trees, they are not going to just ‘whisper scream’. Personally I want to give God all that is due him and don’t want to be one up-ped by some rocks and some wood. Do you?