My bride and I sat in the living room days before Christmas visiting with an older couple who have farmed the earth their whole lives.  The husband was sitting in his worn leather easy chair with his feet propped up.  He still had his boots on, but he was clearly relaxed.  On the small table next to his chair was a pile of magazines, but at the top was a worn Bible with some pages marked.  We talked about life, the fate of this country, and what our boys want to be when they grow up.  The husband looked across the room at me and said, “I’m not sure I did with my life what the Lord wanted me to do.” He said, “I raised a family, I worked hard, and we made a good living, but I do wonder sometimes.” I know the husband understands the passion and drive I have, but I doubt he knows that statement is a thought that bounces from my head to my soul at least once a day. 

It’s a cool morning in the swamp today.  I’ve written for years about how the swamp calls to me, or I call to it.  The woods in general seem to be the place that I find the most peace.  The trees and nature untouched by man seem to speak to me like written pages in a book.  There’s enough water in the creek today to make that calming sound like the one I use on my sound machine when I travel.  A slight breeze moves my bow while it rest in its hanger.  The sun is hidden by clouds but occasionally she peeks out, casting that ray of hope that the temperature will rise.  The swamp floor is still congested with the battered remains of trees from a man we came to meet called Hurricane Michael.

  He reminded us that no matter how much we think we are in control, no one can control Mother Nature or life.  

Up the swamp my ears tuned in on the crack of a limb.  My eyes darted in that direction searching between the battered trees decaying on the swamp floor.  I could feel my heartbeat increase and all my senses were heightened.  Then he appeared.  What I would call the master of his domain.  It was a very mature buck in his prime and glory.  His antlers were symmetrical and displayed a deer of character.  His body moved through the swamp floor navigating the debris like an elegant dancer.  I sat on my perch motionless, in utter amazement at his beauty and grace.  When he was in bow shooting range he stopped and laid down.  At first his head was turning from side to side but soon he rested his head against his body.

In the world of bow hunting, I would have stood up and retrieved my bow before he was almost in range.  When he was in bow range I would have shot.  Without a doubt I am a hunter, but I hunt for meat not antlers.  I have killed many bucks, but only because they were in range.  This deer was clearly in range, but I never grabbed my bow.  Over the next 90 minutes we sat there, less than 40 yards from each other resting our bones.  Occasionally he would lift his massive head up and scan left to right, then he would lay his head back down.  

The wind continued to blow.  The creek continued to run and sun occasionally would bless us with her hope.  The world was still moving forward but for us it felt like time stood still.  He stood up and turned his body in the direction he came from.  I watched his muscles flex under his weathered hide and once again his movements were eloquent.  He finally disappeared into the battered remains of Hurricane Michael’s path.  

Dr. Mitchell and I wanted our third book to be about self-care. Though we both come from a first responder background, it is not only first responders who need self-care. Everyone needs to reboot, refresh, reprogram, and rest.  In my opinion, we all need a system that clears our heads and restores our reserves that life can deplete.  To some, the thought of self-care is a complicated process that requires many moving parts.  In my opinion it does not always have to be a complicated process.  Self-care can be a cup of hot chocolate you have before bed, watching a tv show that gives you a break from the harsh realities of life.  Self-care can be anything that warms your soul and gives you a few minutes to feel good.  You do not have to be a first responder to need a system to organize your thoughts and emotions. 

There are many who would question why I did not shoot that buck.  To me, a simple man whose self-care is the comfort of a tiny platform 20 feet off the ground, the why is a simple answer.  We all need a safe place we can rest.  It was clear to me that buck was looking for a place to prop his feet up and rest.  His Bible lay next to him, which is the earth.  His written pages are his paths he makes in these battered remains.  The buck and I travel daily through the battered remains of life.  We both have days where we move eloquently and also days we break a limb.  We both seek a place where we feel safe and rest with a ray of hope occasionally warming our soul.    

I think we should question if we are living our lives the way the Lord had intended.  How can any of us be sure the path we are on is on path of our intended purpose?  The questioning makes us look for improvement and purpose.  

There are days I envy the buck who has only one way to live his life.  There are many days I question not just my life, but the intended purpose of the moment I am in.  It’s easy to accept the obvious of why you are where you are at when the rays of hope are steady.  But it’s challenging to stay eloquent when the battered remains of life block your path.  I have learned to look beyond the obvious when the path is blocked.  I think most of the time the intended purpose has truly little to do with me, it’s about something much bigger.  

As for the buck who rested with me.  Some may say his intended purpose was to be food for my family.  I think his intended purpose that day was to warm the soul of a simple man resting on a perch.  So, the simple man could take his written words and warm the souls of others.

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For more of Josey’s stories with Dr Jeffrey Mitchell, go to https://crucialmoments.org/

To read more of The Roadmap Company’s blog stories, https://theroadmapcompany.com/blog/