Preacher's Wife

Preacher’s Wife

When Judy and I met, she was working at a children's shop and I was working at a pipe and tobacco store in the same shopping mall. During our courtship the possibility of my returning to ministry never came up. In fact, at that time, I was purposely ignoring anything that had to do with God. Not knowing what the future held for us, I was sure it wasn't pastoring. Well, I’ve been wrong before.

Two years later, through a series of unforeseen circumstances, I was contemplating returning to pastoral ministry. When I told Judy, she made it clear that she didn't sign on to be a pastor’s wife. In the church where she grew up, the pastor's wife wore black, never smiled and played the piano. That was not the lifestyle of a reformed flower child of the Sixties.

The truth is Judy had all the qualifications to be a fun loving, nurturing and caring mother and pastor’s wife. Although she would often say that she didn't feel qualified to be the stereotype of a minister’s spouse, everybody who knows her said the opposite. If fact, once I was told that she is the better half of the pastoral team and without her I wouldn't amount to much. I can't disagree.

It hasn't been easy. Raising four children on a pastor’s salary is no simple task. Having to adjust family life to a pastor's schedule is a challenge. Just listening to him can be a pain. I remember one Sunday morning in church after a rather stressful marriage dispute the day before. Judy and the kids were in the front row. I was preaching up a storm. Judy stood up and said in a loud voice; “I can't stand to listen to this man anymore.” She grabbed the kids and walked out of the building. Well, that was the end of that sermon.

The Book of Proverbs says, “A good woman is hard to find and worth far more than diamonds. Her husband trusts her without reserve and never has reason to regret it.” Judy, you are that woman! I am a blessed man.

Moral of The Tale of the Moose

Moral of The Tale of the Moose

It was ten years after the death of the Moose that the moral of this tale could be told. By then the events of that autumn day was nothing more than a good story told around campfires where tall tales are spun. But this story doesn't end there. Like many a good yarn there is a lesson to be learned.

While attending a leaders conference, one of poachers was challenged by the speaker quoting a verse from the Book of Proverbs: “A good name is to be more desired than great wealth.” Those attending were asked to take a moment to ask God if there was anything from their past that would tarnish their good name. With head bowed and eyes closed, suddenly that moose floating in the pond appeared.

How could it be that after all this time that moose, once dead, had come back to life. For several weeks there was an internal struggle of how to deal with this dastardly deed that tarnished a good name. Finally, a letter was written to the state wildlife management confessing what happened that day.

After an agonizing wait an acknowledgment was received from the authorities. The letter stated that the statue of limitations had run out for the poaching violation. There was a strong warning that if this were to ever happen again there would be serious consequences. No doubt there would be.

By now the reader can guess who is the culprit in this story. It is I! These many years later I look back and wonder what in the world was I thinking when I pulled the trigger. It wasn't the excitement of the hunt. There was no hunt; just an unfortunate opportunity to make a bad decision. I thank the Lord for not letting me get away with it. Since then I have hunted many a critter but always with a legal tag.

The Bible says: “ If we confess our sins, He will forgive our sins and purge us of all wrongdoing.” Amen!

Tale of the Moose: Part 2

Tale of the Moose: Part 2

There it was, a large bull moose floating in the holding pond. All you could see were gigantic horns and a bulky body on the surface of the water. The rest was submerged. Having made an impulsive decision to shoot the moose without a hunting tag, the poachers were now faced with a difficult decision: how to retrieve the body.

After a frenzied debate, a coin was flipped to see which one would strip down and wade into the pond with a logging chain to retrieve the carcass. It was cold but the moose couldn't be left where it was. The loser grabbed the chain and made quick work of latching it onto the moose. The other end attached to the trailer hitch of the truck. Out came the moose looking like a beached whale. It was a big animal!

While the swimmer warmed up in the truck, his partner started to field dress the moose. Unable to penetrate the hide with a hunting knife, the only instrument left was the chain saw. What a mess; blood and guts everywhere. By the time the job was done, the place looked like the Chain Saw Massacre.

Every hunter knows that pulling the trigger is the easiest part of big game hunting. By the time the moose was skinned and hung in the garage, a full day’s work was done. Putting the hide in plastic bags for the garbage man turned out to be a bad idea. The next morning the driveway was covered in blood and fur. The dogs had found the garbage bags and spent the night spreading evidence of the sin for all to see.

As the potential consequences of the illegal hunt started to sink in, there was more work to do. Repackaging the hides and plowing the driveway to conceal any further evidence only added to the growing guilt. Even that beautiful set of horns did not survive. Again, the dogs were the culprits. They found the horns and chewed away a large part of them.

There is a moral to this Tale of the Moose but you will have to wait until next Monday.

Tale

Tale of the Moose

Tale of the Moose

The tale I am about to tell is true. The names and places have been changed to protect the guilty. Although the event happened years ago, the lessons learned are relevant today.  I share the story as it actually happened.

It was a cold autumn morning. Two men went out to cut firewood for their winter supply. Through a curtain of fog and snow, out of a stand of lodge pole pines into the clearing wandered an animal. At a distance it was difficult to distinguish if it was a cow or a moose. Grabbing the binoculars confirmed that it was a bull moose with a large rack.

Having brought rifles just in case, a decision had to be made. Without a moose hunting tag, was this majestic critter going to be spared its life or was the opportunity to bag a moose to great to pass up? As the moose meandered across the meadow, it was a now or never decision. Grabbing rifles, leaning across the hood of the truck, spotting horns through the scope, triggers were pulled and lead flew.

Shooting at that distance and in those conditions, made it difficult to see. Rifle fire shattered the winter silence; the moose stumbled and then broke into a run. It had been hit but how bad? Disappearing into the fog and silence again descending upon the meadow, the reality of that quick decision hit home. What now?

Stowing the rifles and quickly gathering the chain saws, it was time to find out what happened to the moose. Driving across the meadow, looking for signs, all that was found was small pools of blood on the snow. That trail of red led to a holding pond. There, floating in the middle of the pond was the dead moose!

Sorry to leave you in suspense but I must continue the Tale of the Moose in next week's blog. Stay tuned.