Run, Rudolph...Run!

by Beth Duewel

This year I asked my son to give me a few items on his “wish” list. His requests deemed almost customary for a boy of fourteen: CD’s, computer games, clothes…um…well, he asked for gift cards instead. I mean, can I help it if shopping for jeans has turned into rocket science!!! Then the clincher, “Also…can I plueeeze have a bag of rattlers, mom?”

Oh, dear Lord it’s come to this—my son wants a bag of snakes for Christmas. They warned me to limit caffeine intake during my second trimester—but did I listen?

Josh must have recognized the look of emergency room visits dancing in my head when he comforted, “It’s okay—it’s only a bag of sticks that you rattle together to make it sound like deer antlers hitting each other. It’s supposed to attract deer.” “Ohhhhhh, okay.” Not much comfort there. 

I don’t know when or how it happened that my young man developed a love for hunting all creatures big and small. My husband had only hunted a few measly rabbits in his lifetime. Not something that would qualify him as an avid hunter to pass down the great “hunting gene.”

I know. Maybe it was that Christmas when Josh turned five. His Papa handed him a lengthy package wrapped in colors of blue and red, with pictures of Rudolph all over it. Needless to say, Josh’s eyes shined when he pulled out a handcrafted wooden rifle. Run Rudolph... run!!! was my first thought. My second, I didn’t want to advocate a child of mine playing with guns. It seemed soooo …dangerous. Like we were just encouraging him to go out and play in traffic, and oh, while you’re at it—shoot something!

Never mind that from the time Josh was two, he turned every twig in the back yard into a pistol. Shot out all the lights in the house with his loaded index finger. Then there was bath time! His rubber ducky never stood a chance.

It only catapulted from there: cap guns, marshmallow shooters, and rubber band guns. Don’t forget to throw in a bow and arrow now and then. And now, as I write this, I’m washing camouflaged outerwear from my husband and son’s latest hunting adventure. I guess it’s true. I’m growing a soft spot for the precious memories father and son are creating as they spend time together in the great outdoors. And if I gauge the speed of the years so far, I know it won’t be long before were waving goodbye to Josh as he sets off for college. Oh, but don’t worry too much. I’m not completely sold out.

For instance, this past week, I had to take our puppy to the vet for shots. As I drove down the road in my husband’s four-wheel drive truck, my black dog hunkered up beside me, with the lingering smell of jerky and deer spray in the air (what you might call a hunter’s cologne), I had to resist the urge to pull into the nearest boutique to get my nails done. Get a facial. Buy anything pink and pretty. Although, come to think of it, my daughter’s favorite purse right now is pink and grey camouflaged. Oh, deer.   

 All I can say is that my idea of going a-la-natur-al consists of letting my gray go a little too long between colors. And I’m fighting the incessant desire to follow my two men into the woods singing Christmas carols and wearing girly perfume. After all, with the holidays approaching, I am thinking that someone’s got to get the word out to Rudolph. Smile.

In the meantime, Josh will head back to his deer stand tomorrow. His eyes fixated on the horizon. Hoping for a sign. Watching. Waiting. Anticipating…

 But wait! Can’t we look forward to Christmas with that same eagerness? Isn’t Christmas a sign of hope— the reality of Jesus’ birth and promise of His return?

            “At that time men will see the Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power    and glory. And he will send his angels and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of the heavens.” (Mark 13: 26-27 NIV).

It looks like we need to keep our eyes fixed on the sky. Anticipating a great deal more than a few flying reindeer. Now it’s off to “hunt” for some Christmas wishes. Sure hope they have a few extra bags of rattlers in stock.

Copyright © 2007 - Elizabeth Duewel. All rights reserved.