Losing My Religion, part 6, The Moose Story

The "Losing My Religion Posts" in order: Post 1, Post 2, Post 3, Post 4, and Post 5.

Before I start know this, nobody in my life has told me they believe my story, not even my old minister.  When I tell this, people give me kindly nods and polite smiles; like they would to a child repeating some bit of make believe.

I love hunting.  I have since I was a kid and my grandpa let me tag along behind some men who were pheasant hunting on his farm.

The Shiras Moose is the smallest moose sub-species and is native to the rocky mountain region of the US.  A hunting license is difficult to draw.  It took me 15 years of applying before I had enough points to get one.  I wanted to hunt and harvest my moose on my own, on foot, without a guide.  Like any other hunter, I wanted to bag a big bull.

From my journal:

October 6th 2015 at about 9am I was praying.

My father insisted on going moose hunting with me.  He never had much of an interest in hunting before.  His health wasn't good and he was in no shape to make the trip.  The place where I was hunting had lots of moose sign but I had been in the field 5 days without seeing any moose.  I had been praying for a successful hunt.  My dad's health was failing and it looked like I was going to have to cancel the trip.

As I was walking a stream bottom, working my way up the mountain I started praying.  I told God that I wanted a big moose for my glory, but that I hadn't considered His.  I confessed that I had been thinking only how if I could have my way things would be better in my life.  I admitted that there were more important things I should have been focused on.

That was when I changed my hart in that prayer.  I praised him for providing for me and blessing me above what I deserved.

I asked for a successful hunt so my dad could go home and feel like it was a good trip.  I asked for meat to fill my freezer and feed my family.  I promised that if this was granted I would give 25% of the processed meat away to those who needed it more than I.  I talked to Him about failings in my marriage and fixing them.

I asked Him to confirm that He would grant me a blessing in my relationship with my kids and wife.  I asked for His best for my life.  Then I asked Him to confirm that He would bless my life and use me to provide for my family,

Then I said: "A record book bull would prove my prowess as a hunter and give me glory.  I don't want my glory.  I want your best for my life.  Don't give me a big bull.  Give me a sign that you have heard me and will grant my prayer.  Dear God please give a spike moose.  In Jesus name..."

Before I could say "Amen" a young bull moose jumped up in front of me, about 30 yards away and waited for me to shoot it.  Which I did.

It took about 8 hours to pack the moose and get off the mountain.  Before I had the meat moved 50 yards from the kill site, a bear was enjoying the carcass.

The. Best. Hunt. Of. My. Life!

Six months later I was laying on my back waiting to go into surgery.  I had just finished handwriting a goodbye note to my son and daughter as well as my last will and testament.

The nurse helpfully explained the information on the waivers I was signing.  There was a chance that I would not survive the surgery.  They weren't sure how much of a chance but 9 months earlier I had been ruled medically unfit to receive a surgery that my ENT had requested and the hospital still had the record.  I could die. 

There was a chance that the infection in my arm was too extensive to be removed.  If that was the case, they would amputate my arm.

I don't think I knew what to pray for.