Drunken Chuckers and Pheasant Under Grass

Every age comes with a certain set of realizations. When I was in my twenties I realized that I could no longer excuse my bad behavior on immaturity or youth. This occurred to me when the policeman addressed me as sir late one night. (No, I will not elaborate.) In my thirties I became a father and could no longer be as spontaneous as in my twenties. In my forties I realized that people were actually looking to me to be an example. Before then I was always looking toward others more experienced and wise to set my course for me. Now, people were asking me for direction and wisdom. Then just three months ago the big 5-OH hit. Those of you who regularly read my blog remember as I barely got through that life event. So, what have I realized since turning 50? I have come to realize that I no longer can begin my sentences with "Someday...".

Someday is today. I have said since Marilyn and I had children that I wanted to spend more time outdoors. I spent the better part of my childhood in the woods or on the water. Just a few months ago I realized that my ministry at Dallas Bay had almost completely confined me to the great indoors. So, just two months ago I went hunting for the first time since I was a teenager. I had to borrow my Dad's gun. Marty Thompson, associate pastor here at Dallas Bay, and I went into the mountains of North Georgia to pheasant hunt. They added the opportunity to hunt chucker too. Chucker is a bird just slightly smaller than a pheasant and larger than a quail. While the adventure did take place outdoors, it lacked a little in authenticity. Marty and I waited at the lodge in the morning while six pheasants were carried by four-wheeler in their cage from the safe confines of their barn to the field we were about to hunt. You see the plan is to get you to the field just after the birds have been "planted" and just before the thought occurs to them to fly off. Even worse, in the afternoon, the chucker were also placed in the field. This time we arrived a little early and saw the guy on the four-wheeler planting the birds in the field. He carried them in a bag and just before he set them on the ground he would twirl the bag around the get the chuckers drunk. When he sat them down their heads were spinning so badly they couldn't walk away much less fly. I felt like a city dude at a horse ranch having to be led around on my pony by a real cowboy. Needless to say I had paid my money and I shot every drunken bird I could find. I had to take my frustration out on somebody and it was illegal in North Georgia to shoot at Marty or the man with the dog.

So last week Marty and I went hunting again. This time it was in South Carolina for wild pigs and turkey. This time it was legit. No one spun the pig around in a bag before we got to the stand. (Too bad really. That would have been worth whatever it cost.) The turkeys were not carried to the field and gingerly placed in a pre-arranged roost either. These were true too life wild turkeys that were not obligated to make an appearance. Hearing one of these magnificent creatures "gobble" in response to a call was fascinating. While after two days of hunting killed absolutely nothing I did salvage something, my pride. These animals were wild and they managed to outsmart me. That's OK with me. While I never fired a shot it was truly hunting. Something I will no longer have to say the I will do "someday". Don't wait until your fifty to do something you have longed to do. Get out there and do it. I've got more things I am going to do soon too. I will get back with about those. Have a great day and go out their and live life the way God intended, abundantly!
In His Shadow,
Ken