Oh, Deer. . .

On a bright, June Sunday afternoon my husband and I drove to a nature trail we have driven past for twenty-three years. I’d have preferred to make our first exploration of this preserve when it was cooler, but every time the temperature was just right for me, it was raining. I frown upon hiking through a woods in the rain, even though it sounds romantic and novelesque.

Deer. That’s what I was looking for. I’m always looking for deer in a woods. I have this vision of walking up a slope, cresting its top, and finding a small herd of deer staring at me with a deer-in-the-headlights look before they turn tail and dash off. It’s possible. There are deer in this area of the city. One morning I saw one dart through an adjoining back yard. So why not look for deer in the woods on a Sunday afternoon walk?

Several reasons, actually. For one, I don’t walk anything like a Native American in moccasins. Most deer, except for the old deaf ones, would have probably heard me and my citified husband trekking along the trail. And maybe the second reason is that I had on a white hat and a red shirt. I don’t know if deer would have noticed, but if not, why is camouflage clothing the rage of hunters?

Do I need to say it? No, I didn’t see any deer. But they had been there. There were tracks, an ample amount.

So while I had to settle for tracks, there were some other interesting discoveries—a twisted tree, some creamy white flowers, and a tall, big-leafed plant with some knobby flowers of some sort developing. I don’t know what any of these things were; I didn’t need to know their names.  Nameless, they still brought enjoyment.

As my husband and I finished and returned to our car, two huge buzzards flew low over us. The birds weren’t low for long. Soon they caught the currents and climbed ever higher, where they stopped being the ugly birds that they are close up and were birds gliding effortlessly through the blue sky overhead, scarcely batting a wing. They were fascinating, and I stood transfixed watching their flight.

I wanted to see deer. I saw buzzards. I had my sights set on one thing. I got another.

I want Jesus to show up in certain areas of my life. He shows up in another. I want him to answer this prayer. He answers a prayer that I haven’t even articulated yet. He’s absolutely, completely unpredictable. Knowing the principles by which he operates doesn’t even begin to tell me how or when I can exactly expect him to show up. But he does in unexpected, delightful ways. Sometimes small things. Sometimes big things.

Part of the delight in getting to know Jesus more and more is the thrill of the unexpected. The surprise—the slack-jawed awe of connecting what he has been doing behind the scenes or right in front of me, when I wasn’t paying attention.

That Sunday I got deer tracks and soaring buzzards. Who knows what will happen on the next walk? But then, as in my life, I don’t think I’ll be disappointed. There’s probably a surprise awaiting.