My birthday falls smack dab in the middle of hunting season, and this year I decided to celebrate it in the Malheur National Forest with my husband and his hunting buddy. I knew I wouldn’t exactly be with them, though. I’d touch base with them before they’d crash after a long day’s hunt and a meal. I was warned it would be hunt, sleep, and eat, and then more of the same.
I could handle that
I relished the idea of exploring a new landscape, spending hours on end writing and reading and praying. I’m sure they expected me to ditch camp and head home after the weekend, but I was determined to stick it out the full ten days.
My poor little beige Camry didn’t know what to do in the middle of a parade of dusty trucks bouncing by camp. I didn’t either, feeling out of place having no encounters with another woman for days. How weird to discover I’d miss that.
On Day Three we moved to a campground south of Prairie City, hopeful we’d run into elk there.
It’s been a test of my endurance, to see how I might manage without most of my favorite things: My bed, my food, my friends, my chair, my thermostat. There’s no shower. No cell coverage. No internet.
Just me and Jesus
“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize” (1 Corinthians 9:24 NIV).
I feel like I’m testing myself by giving up some comforts for a while. The prize I hope for is a walk with God from a more trusting heart which will bring me clearer direction on my journey.
One perk I’ve enjoyed is talking to God out loud, or singing, or humming when I feel like it. Sometimes solitude is wonderful.
Today, on day seven, I drove into Prairie City to find internet access in order to post my blog. I’m at Roan’s Decor & Gift Shop sipping a hot, creamy Chai latte. How fun to walk into town a stranger and leave with a hat full of new friends.
I also got caught up on email and social media. You know, those vital things. Soon I’ll head back to camp, start the fire and cook a good meal. Sleep, eat, hunt, you know.
I hope they let me come back next year.
by Kathy Sheldon Davis