Hunting or Hunted

For days, my son and I hunted from the ground in a dense, bear-filled mountainside, always aware that hungry bears could be watching us just as closely as we watched for them. Every rustle of leaves or subtle shift in the woods made us ask the same chilling question: Are we hunting—or being hunted?

The bears had just come out of hibernation—famished and aggressive. Just days earlier, a hunter nearby had been attacked. Another barely escaped after a bear charged him, forcing a point-blank shot just to survive.

Though we were seasoned hunters, we felt the weight of the danger. These woods were dark as evening, even in daylight—rugged, unfamiliar, and unforgiving. Back home in Oklahoma, we’re the predators. But here, it felt like we were the prey.

One evening, I came to a split in the trail. The light was fading fast. I scanned with my flashlight—uncertain, uneasy. I whispered a quiet prayer for guidance. Then something caught my eye: a small, reflective push pin in the bark of a tree. I walked toward it slowly. Then I saw another, and another. Those tiny markers led me steadily through the woods until I saw the clearing ahead and my four-wheeler parked where I’d left it. I had found my way out.

That moment stayed with me.

Life often feels like that—standing at a crossroads, unsure of which way to go. In fear and uncertainty, we rush decisions, desperate to figure things out ourselves. But sometimes the wisest thing we can do is pause, pray, and look for the markers—those subtle signs of guidance, whether it’s a quiet nudge from God or wisdom offered through others. They’re often there, if we’re willing to slow down and notice.

On the final day of our hunt, I changed locations and climbed into a tree stand. The morning was still. The first light crept over the ridge. Then I heard it—crashing, loud, and dangerously close. My heart pounded. A large bear appeared, charging up the mountain, tossing aside logs and brush in its hunger.

I steadied my Remington .30-06, raised it to my shoulder, and looked through the scope. The bear was just 35 yards away—aggressive and intense. I took a deep breath, slowly squeezed the trigger—BOOM.

After tending to the bear, I climbed into another stand, hoping for a second opportunity. Hours passed in silence. Then I heard the distant hum of a four-wheeler and a voice calling, “Dad! Dad, where are you?”

It was my son, Kyston.

My heart jumped. Was he okay? I rushed down and raced through the woods, calling back, “I’m here, Son!”

We met halfway. I pulled him into a hug. “Are you alright?” I asked.

He was—but frustrated. After hunting hard all week, he hadn’t seen a single bear. I told him I’d taken one that morning and that he could have my second shot. We found a quiet spot under tall trees and waited together.

Time passed. Then Kyston asked quietly, “How do you know a bear will show up here?”

I smiled. “Because God gives us the desires of our hearts. I’ve been praying all week I’d be with you when you got your bear. And now, here we are.”

It may be hard to believe—but not long after, a large bear appeared, walking straight toward us. Kyston raised the rifle and looked through the scope as the bear came closer.

I whispered urgently, “Shoot it! Shoot it!”

BOOM. The shot rang out, and the bear dropped instantly—just yards away.

As we stood in the stillness of the woods, I reflected on everything. God hears us. He is not distant, distracted, or indifferent. He’s right there—in the wild, the waiting, and the quiet cries of our hearts.

No matter the mountain you're climbing or the fear crashing through the brush, don’t give up. Life—like bear hunting—is rarely easy. It’s full of steep climbs, uncertain paths, and moments that stretch us beyond what we think we can handle. But every challenge builds something deeper: resilience, faith, and purpose.

Even when you feel lost or hunted by life’s trials, you are never truly alone. The same God who leads you into the wilderness walks with you through it—and He is faithful to guide you out. Not empty-handed, but with strength in your spirit, courage in your story, and a testimony worth telling.