Grace In Place

Pull up a chair, let that coffee steam a little, and I’ll tell you about a hunt that turned into a spiritual tattoo. It won’t ever leave me.

One year I slipped off out to Kansas all by myself. No schedule, no noise, just me, a couple of bird dogs, and miles of country that looked like it had been painted by a fella who liked wide brush strokes.

I found one of those “walk-in” areas. You know the kind. From the road it looks about as promising as a Walmart parking lot after closing time. But there was a narrow path, about a half-mile stretch, and something in me said, “Go on… there’s more out there.”

So I turned loose Gunner and Annie, and we started that walk. We got to the end of what you could see, which was about a half-mile walk, and then it opened up.

And when it did, both dogs locked up like somebody hit the pause button on creation. Tails high, noses forward, muscles tight. That kind of point that’ll make both hairs I got left on my head and the forty in my ears stand up.

Over the next hour, I moved three good coveys of quail. Now listen… that’s the kind of evening hunters dream about. But here’s where the story takes a turn: I shot 15 times. Yes, fifteen. I ended that hunt with… three quail. Three.

I have never in my life shot that much and hit that little. I mean, I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn… standing inside the barn. I’d flush a covey, fire a shot or two, then go to working singles… and miss… and miss again… and then miss one more just for consistency’s sake.

At one point I started diagnosing everything but the real problem.

“Must be these shells.”

“Gun’s off.”

“Wind’s weird.”

“Sun’s in my eyes.”

“Must be demon birds.”

Anything but the truth.

It was me. Just pure, unfiltered, couldn’t-control-myself, trigger-happy missing.

But those dogs never quit. They didn’t look back at me like, “You stink, and we are going back to the truck.” They didn’t lay down and say, “We ain’t finding another bird till you figure this out.” No sir, they just kept working. Find. Point. Hold. Retrieve (three times). Over and over, like my failure didn’t change their faithfulness one bit.

And somewhere between my fourteenth miss and my twenty-third excuse, I got reminded: those dogs were showing me something I didn’t deserve.

Grace.

The Bible says in Romans 3:23, “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.”

That word “come short” is a lot like my shooting that day. I wasn’t just a little off… I was missing the mark completely.

And if we’re honest, that’s not just a hunting story… that’s our story. We try, we aim, and we think, “This time I’ve got it.” And then… we miss.

But here’s the part that’ll make you set your coffee down.

Romans 5:8 says, “But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”

Not after we figured it out. Not after we started hitting our shots. Not after we cleaned things up. While we were still missing.

Jesus went to the cross knowing full well we’d struggle, stumble, and come up short. Not because we earned it. Because His character is grace.

When you get to Ephesians 2:8–9: “For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: not of works, lest any man should boast.”

That day in Kansas, my “works” were pitiful. If getting quail was based on performance alone, I should’ve gone home empty-handed and ashamed. But because of something outside of me… those dogs, their training, their faithfulness… I still got to enjoy the hunt.

Still got birds in the bag. Still got a memory worth telling.

That’s the Gospel sitting right there in a dusty Kansas field. We don’t get heaven because we finally become sharpshooters. We get it because Someone else did the work we couldn’t do. We place our faith in Him… not in our aim.

So if you’re sitting there today feeling like you’ve missed too many times… like you’ve blown your chances… like you ought to just hang it up…

Let me tell you something from a man who emptied a whole pocket of shells and barely had anything to show for it:

Grace keeps working even when you ain’t.

God doesn’t fold His arms and wait for you to get it right. He keeps calling. Not because you deserve it. Because He’s that good.

And I’ll tell you this… that was still one of the best hunts I ever had. Not because of how I shot… but because of what I learned.

Sometimes missing the mark is exactly what it takes to finally see grace clearly.