First, I got to be with my Dad and my Uncle Johnny. I would've put up with having to drink buttermilk for that. As I said above, I was younger, long before my teen years and the distance that grew between my father and me. When I was little, my hero was my Dad, he could fix anything, and only two men could come close to him in my estimation. Uncle Johnny was one of them, and so to get to spend time with both of them with no one else around was awesome.
Coon hunting was the best because you got to use hound dogs, and I loved the sound of hound dogs. You didn't have to be still or quiet from more than a minute or so at a time. You got to stay up late instead of having to get up early, and even by the age 4 or 5 I knew that was the better deal.
There was something about being out in the woods at night, with so many stars visible through the trees. The sky looked so big and there was something that was beautiful and strange and mysterious about the darkness and the night that I loved. Now, I knew that if I were out there all alone I would have been terrified, but that didn't matter. I wasn't alone. And when I got too tired to keep up or it was time to move fast, Dad would carry me.
One winter night when I was 7 or 8, with the days of being carried through the woods long over but the love of the hunt still in full bloom, misery found its way into my special time. First, the dogs ran off. Now, when coon hunting, the dogs always run off, but there is running off the way they are supposed to and running off in the wrong way. This was the wrong way. They went too far, too fast, and we couldn't hear them. Uncle Johnny said that they were probably chasing a deer, which they weren't supposed to do, because a raccoon would have run up a tree, causing the dogs to stop, while a deer would go and go, perhaps into the next county.
So we were rushing through the woods in the dark, trying to stay within ear shot of the hounds. Uncle Johnny took the lead with Dad right behind him and me trailing them both, trying to keep up without running into tree limbs and the thorn bushes that reached out and grabbed me as I went by. I saw Dad move a little differently, but didn't have time to register what, why or anything else before the ground disappeared. I had stepped into a huge hole left in the ground when a tree fell, and it was full of ice cold water. I was soaked to my waist.
Oh, it was miserable. I'm pretty sure I mentioned not liking being cold. The night was barely above freezing and I was wet. In seconds I couldn't stop shaking. It didn't help that Uncle Johnny actually seemed worried about me. That must've meant that I was in danger of dying or something to my little mind. Dad scooped me up and carried me, and he and Uncle Johnny tore through the woods until we came out on some dirt road in the middle of nowhere. I had no idea where we were, but I knew that we were a long way from the roads I recognized.
Dad set me down and Uncle Johnny pulled the coolest thing from his pocket. It was two used shotgun shells, one pushed into the other so that it looked like one shell with two brass ends. I'd never seen anything like that. He pulled them apart, and inside there were matches. He and Dad built a fire in the middle of the road to warm me and dry me a little. Their conversation revealed that they both felt that we needed to leave and that they wanted to get me out of the cold night and my wet clothes, but we couldn't leave. We didn't have the dogs.
Dad stayed with me and fed the fire as I tried to get warm. Uncle Johnny went on to find the dogs. I couldn't figure out how we were ever going to find the truck, and I wasn't looking forward to leaving the slight comfort of the fire to trudge once more through the woods. A while later I saw headlights. Uncle Johnny pulled up in the truck and stopped beside the fire. I climbed into the warm cab, the heater was cranked, and he and Dad made sure that the fire was out before also getting in. The dogs were barking in their carriers in the bed of the truck. We were on our way home.
The thing is I couldn't see when we were in the woods. I didn't have a light, only Uncle Johnny did/ So while I could see Dad enough to follow him between the trees, I didn't see the hole I fell into. We had gone much further and faster than usual, and I didn't know where I was and had no idea how to get back. I couldn't have started that fire, but Uncle Johnny had matches. I didn't know how he would ever find the dogs, but he knew he would. I was cold, wet, miserable and my leg hurt from stepping into the hole. But I wasn't afraid. I don't remember being afraid. I remember wondering why Dad and Uncle Johnny seemed worried, but Dad was carrying me, so I was OK. Then once the fire was going, they didn't seem worried any more, so I knew I didn't have to be afraid.
I didn't know how to take care of me, but they did. They had been prepared for what might happen. Uncle Johnny had his matches. I didn't know how to find the dogs or the truck or how to get home, but they did. I still felt miserable, but I wasn't afraid. I had hope. I didn't realize it as hope at the time, and I don't think I ever called it that before this morning, but hope is what kept me from being afraid.
I didn't have the answers, knowledge, or ability to do any of the things that needed to be done. But I knew I would be OK, because they did. We forget that hope isn't about knowing the answers and being able to care for ourselves. We are going through the darkness, dodging the obstacles as best we can and trying to keep our eyes on Jesus enough to make through the night. Sometimes the going is more difficult. Sometimes things scratch us and we walk into obstacles. Sometimes the ground disappears and we tumble, ending up cold, hurt and miserable. Having hope won't make us comfortable. It's not about believing the misery is going to instantly disappear. It's not about believing we'll figure out what needs to be done and be able to do it. Hope is remembering that we are not alone. All those things we don't know and can't do, He does and can.
Hope has come. Jesus came into the darkness to shine a light and lead us home to Daddy. There may still be times of misery. There will definitely still be times when we are hurting and uncomfortable, when we have to simply endure and press on, when we don't get what we want when we want it. There will be times when we don't know what needs to be done and couldn't do it if we did. We can feel overwhelmed and helpless. But we don't have to feel afraid. Because it's OK to be helpless when you're with Daddy. Even if you feel you're too big now, He can carry you. He knows how to care for you as well. He's got it. That's hope.
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