The Deer Hunt

I apologize for my unfaithfulness in scheduled writing but that's life.

The last two weeks have been deer hunting season and My son, grandsons and great grandsons have encamped near Red River on the Oklahoma Border with Texas to hunt.  The emphasis for this period is the word 'HUNT'.  Note the absence of any mention of finding, shooting, dressing deer.

The deer cooperated by not interrupting me as I observed the things of nature about me.  I was cold and donned enough clothes to have started my own store.  Dry firewood was everywhere due to the ice storms and tornadic wind ripping and tearing the ancient trees.

Across from our camp was a row of trees and underbrush.  Reining over it all was two twisted, gnarled, fractured, and broken centuries old trees.  they were devoid of leaves or fruit, apparently just clinging to life to support that mass of vines that covered those misshapen limbs.  At first glance, they seemed so useless except as firewood.  No portion was straight enough to be used as lumber.

The first days were unusually warm and insects were ever present.  The younger members opened pop cans to drink but found themselves surrounded by bees.  My grandson was stung when he closed his arm down against his side where a bee was investigating.  No one else was harmed; only aggravated.  The bees even came into our tent.

One hundred twenty years ago, My grandfather and grandmother crossed that river from Texas and lived in a half dugout on the bank of the river for about twelve years.  I tried to envision how their life might have been.

Of course the river had many fish and wild game was plentiful although the buffalo was all gone.  There were blackberry bushes along the rver banks and, in the fall, there was persimmons to eat.  A small garden produced some vegetables and, with a sixteen mile round trip via horseback or wagon, there was a small community in Texas where "store bought stuff" was  available.  It all seemed so labor intensive.  Didn't God say He would supply our needs acoording to His riches in Glory.

Were those twisted old trees God's answer.  I took a ccloser look.  The trunks were hollowed by decay and the knotholes were---being guarded--- by bees.  Those massive old hollowed trunks were filled with the sweetist of honey. 

As I examined the hollow trees, I sensed a delicious aroma arising from the ground at my feet.  I was walking on delicious blue grapes.  Good but how long would they last with this freeze coming on?  I looked up at those tangled vines.  Little knotty looking things clung where grapes might have been.  I plucked some and examined them.  I have some of these in my cabinet at home, I thought.  What I held in my hand was raisins.  Hot or cold, they do not perish.  It seems God did keep His promise.  What do you think?