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“One Eye Open”
Thirty years ago, I prepared to leave for a West Texas quail hunt. For a country boy like me, this was an exciting, long-anticipated trip.
A couple of days before my father and I departed, I started packing my bags. I made sure I had all the gear I needed, along with the proper clothing. Being country boys, we really did not need much more than camouflage. In West Texas and Arkansas during the fall, camo is practically everyday attire. I had plenty to choose from. Different colors, different materials, and especially different levels of warmth, because the evenings could be freezing while the afternoons were hot enough for rattlesnakes to emerge from their burrows.
We had spoken with our guide, who was already a close friend from previous trips we had made. He had an outstanding kennel of bird dogs and assured us the quail population was excellent.
This would be one of several hunting trips my father would make that Fall, but it was the only time I could clear my work schedule to join him. That alone was a big deal. I rarely set work aside for anything.
The night before we left, I carefully stacked all my gear by the front door. Dad planned to pick me up early the next morning so we could make the twelve-hour drive in a single day.
I could hardly sleep. I was looking forward to hunting, but even more than that, I was looking forward to spending uninterrupted time with my father.
When my alarm sounded at 3:30 that morning, I was already awake. I jumped into the shower, and while drying off, I felt what seemed to be an eyelash in my eye. I made a big mistake. I rubbed my eye with the towel and scratched my cornea. At the time, I had no idea what had happened. I just assumed I would get the projectile out later.
Dad pulled into the driveway, we loaded the truck, and headed west.
Hour after hour, my eye became redder and more painful. I rubbed it often, tried to wash it out with water, but nothing worked. Eventually we stopped at a medical clinic in East Texas. The doctor examined my eye, gave me medicated drops, placed a patch over it, and that was the end of our hunting trip.
It’s not easy to hunt with only one eye open, but really, I needed to see an ophthalmologist as soon as possible. My father decided my eyesight was far more important than any hunting trip. By that afternoon, we were back home sitting in the eye doctor's waiting room.
Just like that, it was over.
All the planning. All the anticipation. All the excitement. All the memories we had hoped to make together. Gone.
Dad was about the age I am now when this happened. At that time, I could not understand why he turned the truck around. Looking back, I understand completely. Some things are simply more important than what we want to do. Even wonderful plans, meaningful experiences, and precious time with people we love sometimes have to give way to a higher priority.
I do not think I have talked about that failed hunting trip since it happened. Perhaps I was embarrassed. Perhaps I was disappointed. Perhaps I hated letting my father down. Whatever the reason, I see the experience differently now.
Life does not always unfold according to our plans. Sometimes our carefully prepared schedules are interrupted by circumstances beyond our control. In those moments, we have a choice. We can become frustrated by the change, or we can trust that God sees what we cannot.
God’s plans are always wiser than ours. Even when we do not understand the detour, we can trust the One who is guiding the journey.
Come to the Chapel this week, in person or online, and see what God is doing!
God Bless, Brock.
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