Quiet my Soul: Spiritual Lessons from Hunting

I tread steadily through the woods, morning frost collecting on my boots. Small clouds of condensation form around my face as I breathe out into the frigid air. I gently move my neck from side to side, aiming to ease the strain of the rifle tugging on my shoulders.

I stop, gazing at the fading starry sky as I catch my breath. The inky black will soon give way to midnight blue—and then, slowly, dawn will begin to stretch and spread her gentle colors across the horizon.

As I continue walking, stiff, frozen leaves crack softly as my feet land on them.

I break, sitting on the corpse of a fallen tree. The notched eyes of the surrounding aspens watch me as a I rest. If only they could speak of the years they’d witnessed. When I stand, I notice the frost has melted on the area where I sat. Day is coming soon.

As the morning sun begins to break, sunbeams begin melting the frozen dew from the fallen leaves, giving way to their sweet, aromatic musk.

I like the ritual of hunting as an invitation into quiet, rest, and connection with people in the group.

As autumn progresses, hunting takes me away from the speed of long summer days and invites me into short days, long stretches of quiet, intentional pursuit and patience, and a break from screens and checklists and the demands which make up daily life.

Hunting teaches me that sometimes, it’s about seeking and not about finding right away. It’s about learning to trust in the evidence of what’s there—even when I don’t have the full picture. It’s about patient and disciplined pursuit more than it’s about getting what I want and when. And can’t the same be said of walking with Christ?

I can’t always see the full picture, but I can trust that He’s working. He doesn’t always give me what I want, but He does always give me what I need: Him.

Hunting has taught me to slow down, be present, and wait patiently for the God who’s always working on my behalf.