The Feet Of A Deer

In the wee hours of the night, before first light, I hear a calling from the woods. It is different from the menagerie of birds we normally hear. So different that it wakes me out of my light, early morning sleep. When I rise I try to spot the creature, but it is too difficult to determine exactly where the sound comes from. The woods play tricks with my hearing. Unless I am outdoors, it takes some work to to determine the origin of such sounds.

A little later, while driving up towards towards the gate, I spot deer next to our neighbors' fence. 

"Slow down!" I cry, and  National Asset, my kindred spirit, complies. After three years of Sanctuary life I have not yet tired of observing the animals with whom we share the woods. The Prius coasts silently to a stop. 

"Oh, there's a baby!" A doe and her fawn are pacing back and forth, back and forth, right next to the fence. We inch up the driveway, trying not to spook them. 

Then we spot a third deer, a tiny speckled baby, on the other side of the fence. This exquisite little creature is up on wobbly legs emitting the cries I had been hearing. It is much too small to get back over the fence to its mama. Naturally, I want to help.

"Maybe if Miles opens his driveway gate we can herd it around back towards the mother," I suggest. I whip out my cell phone and call the neighbor. He comes outdoors and opens the electric gate. We park the Prius and walk through. 

"We can't pick it up," Miles says. I nod in agreement.

"Can we aim it towards the gate?" I ask.

"Maybe," he says.

The three of us spread out and try to herd the little one towards the opening and its mother. But, of course, Bambi realizes Man is in the forest!! and bolts. A Blacktail fawn can stand ten minutes after birth, and walk in seven hours. We have no idea when this one was born, but before my very own eyes I watch the wobbly-legged baby morph into an incredibly graceful, fast running critter. Our neighbor's fenced-in property is not a small place, but this little guy bounds from end to end, searching for a way out, without breaking a sweat. There is no way we are going to be able to herd him anywhere.

In our well-meaning attempts to extricate the little one, we forget one very important thing: the Mother Factor. So we stand there, three mature adults, worrying about this little tyke, thinking he needs our help, when he suddenly bolts for a section of fence that borders the Hundred Acre Wood, jumps, and neatly clears the space between the top of the fence and the strands of wire strung above it. The ones that are supposed to keep deer out.


It is then that we become aware of Bambi's mother standing just on the other side of that fence, waiting for him to join them in the wild woods beyond. And we realize that all of our good intentions and efforts are completely unnecessary. Given time, she simply would have called her little one, and when he was ready and able he would have followed. Evidently, Man was not needed in the forest at all.


Still, it is a lovely thing to behold how God has fashioned each of His creatures and given them the innate knowledge to live in the unique place they call home. Even when we come and build our houses and put up our fences alongside them. 

On this Lord's Day, it makes me think of King David's words, reminding me that the same God who minds the creatures in the woods watches over me, too.

You, LORD, are my lamp;

the LORD turns my darkness into light.

With Your help I can advance against a troop;

with My God I can scale a wall.

As for God, His way is perfect;

The LORD's word is flawless;

He shields all who take refuge in Him.

For who is God besides the LORD?

And who is the Rock except our God?

It is God who arms me with strength

and keeps my way secure.

He makes my feet like the feet of a deer;

He causes me to stand on the heights.*

This is the day the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it!

*2 Samuel 22:29-34

Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor

During my devotional time this morning I read these words from Psalm 9:

But the LORD abides forever;
He has established His throne for judgment,
And He will judge the world in righteousness;
He will execute judgment for the peoples with equity.
The LORD also will be a stronghold for the oppressed,
A stronghold in times of trouble;
And those who know Your name will put their trust in You,
For You, O LORD, have not forsaken those who seek You.

I have to admit that, during this sweet time of meeting with God, the first image springing to mind while pondering these words was the busload of undocumented immigrants being turned away by angry citizens in Murrieta, California.

The whole thing makes me incredibly sad. What did these men, women and children - with English skills limited to prepared statements of politically correct answers prepared by those who had teased them with the promise of a better life - what did they think when they were greeted with this terrible reception? 

Had they dreamed of open arms and smiling faces and a community prepared to provide jobs and for their physical needs as they assimilated into American culture? 

Did they understand that the anger in Murrieta wasn't personal, that it was born of frustration? That their presence was simply the match thrown on very dry tinder? 

Many years ago in high school choir I was introduced to this poem by Emma Lazarus:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

These words are mounted on the inner wall of the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. My ancestors - tired, poor, hoping for the opportunity to make a better life - crossed the Atlantic in the bottom of big ships and came through Ellis Island in the shadow of Lady Liberty. A descendant of immigrants, I ache for the people on that bus. The glimpses I got of them, huddled there behind the windows, looked like poor, desperate people yearning for something better. For the freedom and prosperity we have become so accustomed to that we barely think about it anymore. 

But I also know that there is plenty of blame to share for what occurred in Murrieta. Perhaps our elected officials could spend more time solving problems such as this and less time worrying about things like the next election and making the other party look bad. They could stop padding the budget with pork, and pouring so much of the incredibly large amount of tax money they collect down the you-know-what, and leave some resources in local communities so that genuine, human problems (including those with our neighbors to the south) could be addressed.

I didn't call my congressman this morning. I didn't write the governor a letter. Pretty sure they would just end up in File 13. I understand that such issues as immigration are very, very complex. 

I did, however, pray along with David, the psalmist, that God, Himself would be a stronghold for the oppressed, and that He would show me what my part in all this mess is.





'Give Me Your Tired Your Poor', set to music by Irving Berlin