The Dad Who Hated Hunting

If you've read many of my stories, you'd probably assume my dad was some kind of mountain man. You'd think he slept in camouflage pajamas, brushed his teeth with a squirrel tail, and considered deer season a national holiday.

The truth is, Dad loved the outdoors about like a cat loves bath time. Dad always preferred a round of golf, a day on a beach, or a day at the lake on a pontoon boat.

Now my grandfather was a different story.

He was so hard-core outdoorsy that I honestly think he nearly ruined hunting for Dad before Dad ever got old enough to enjoy it.

Dad used to tell a stories of their hunting trips.

One about when he was a kid over in eastern Virginia.

One night while they were out coon hunting and roaming around, they found a wild honeybee hive in a hollowed out tree. Naturally, instead of saying, "Well that's neat," they decided they needed every drop of honey in that tree.

So the next day they drove to town and bought a big wash tub.

Not a bucket.

Not a jar but a wash tub.

Then they packed that big tub into the woods, found the hive, and lit torches to smoke the bees out.

The problem was the bees didn't seem to understand the plan.

The torches they were using didn’t have much smoke, only fire. So the ones they did get close to just got their wings burnt off and then crawled up their legs. So those bees came out on them like stink on an outhouse.

Dad said my grandfather and his buddy got absolutely covered up with bees.

By the time they carried that wash tub full of honey and comb back to the car, my grandfather looked like a cartoon character.

His hands were swollen up like cantaloupes.

His eyes were nearly swollen shut.

His ears looked like somebody had inflated them with an air compressor.

Had to drive all the way home from East Virginia with them big swole up hands.

And after all that?

Something spoiled the honey.

They strained it and never got a single jar.

Imagine getting stung just to produce absolutely nothing.

There's probably a sermon in there somewhere.

Then there was another time on a coon hunting adventure dad shared.

The dogs treed a coon one night, and somebody decided the best plan was to shake him out of the tree.

The coon was sitting about thirty feet up on a giant pine tree that had no limbs for about the first 20 feet of the climb.

My grandfather was strong as an ox and could climb anything.

Dad said he wrapped his arms and legs around that pine tree and started shimmying upward.

He got about fifteen feet off the ground and was almost to the first limb when that coon decided he wasn't waiting around.

That coon started coming down.

Fast.

Now you've got a man going up and a coon coming down on the same tree.

Face to face.

My grandfather suddenly decided he no longer wanted to meet that coon.

He started trying to back down.

The coon kept coming.

Next thing you know, Grandpa lost his grip.

Dad said he came down that tree about fifteen feet in two seconds still squeezing it.

Pine bark removed skin from his hands, arms, nose, and probably places nobody ever saw.

When he hit the ground he looked like he had lost a fight with a belt sander.

One more and I will quit but this time my grandfather had been out hunting with his boys for a couple of days.

Well, after several days of hunting in Bland county, Grandpa was determined to get home in time for church on Sunday morning. The problem was he hadn't had much sleep. He had been running on little more than coffee, determination, and whatever energy a man can squeeze out of pure stubbornness.

He made it all the way back to Grundy sometime around 3:00 in the morning. The church clothes were probably hanging up waiting, and he was just a few minutes from home when sleep finally caught him.

Now sleep doesn't ask permission.

One second he was driving down the road, and the next thing he knew, he had driven his truck right through the front of the Grundy Funeral Home.

I don't mean bumped it. I mean introduced himself to the building.

The crash busted the camper top on the truck, and suddenly his hunting dogs found themselves unexpectedly liberated. Those hounds poured out and scattered around the funeral home parking lot like they had just been released for a field trial.

Can you imagine the sight?

At three o'clock in the morning you've got a truck sticking out of the funeral home, hounds running in every direction, and my grandfather trying to figure out whether he was still asleep or living in the strangest dream of his life.

I don't know who was more confused, Grandpa, the dogs, or whoever happened to look out the window and see a pack of coonhounds circling the funeral home in the middle of the night.

Thankfully nobody was hurt.

So honestly, I can understand why Dad never got overly excited about hunting.

But here's the thing. He still took me. He took me squirrel hunting. He took me fishing.

He endured endless stories about dogs.

When I got older he fed my dogs when I was away.

He listened to me talk about hunting seasons, guns, fishing rods, and hounds.

And I know now that he wasn't doing those things because he loved them or heck even liked them.

He was doing them because he loved me.

That's what fathers do.

The older I get, the more I realize fatherhood is not about doing what you enjoy.

It's about doing what your children and your community need.

That's exactly the kind of love God demonstrates toward us.

The Bible says: "But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." (Romans 5:8)

Biblical love is not based on convenience. It is sacrifice.

That is why fathers are called to love their families.

Ephesians 5:25 "Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it."

Notice the standard.

Not love her when it's easy.

Not love her when she agrees with you.

Love her like Christ loved the church.

That kind of love costs something.

Biblically, leadership means serving others.

Jesus said: Mark 10:45 "For even the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many."

God calls fathers to put their families ahead of themselves.

Sometimes that means giving up the golf course for a fishing trip.

Sometimes that means giving up the fishing trip for church Sunday morning.

Sometimes that means working overtime.

Sometimes it means sitting through dance recitals, practices, school programs, and things you'd never choose on your own.

A godly father learns that "my wants" often move behind "their needs."

The Bible also says a father is responsible to provide.

1 Timothy 5:8 "But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel."

That verse is strong because God expects men to carry responsibility.

Adam was created first and given responsibility first.

Throughout Scripture, God repeatedly calls men to lead, protect, provide, and serve.

A father is also called to train and discipline his children.

Proverbs 13:24 "He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes."

Discipline isn't punishment driven by anger. It's correction driven by love.

That's why Paul writes:

Ephesians 6:4 "And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord."

The goal isn't to break a child's spirit.

The goal is to shape their character.

Godly fathers balance truth and grace.

Correction and encouragement.

Strength and tenderness.

Most importantly, fathers are called to point their children toward Christ, because the greatest thing a father can leave his children isn't money.

It isn't land.

It isn't a business.

It isn't a collection of hunting rifles.

It's a faith that is genuine.

It's a home where Jesus is honored.

It's a life that says, "Follow me as I follow Christ."

This Father's Day I find myself grateful.

Not because my dad taught me how to become a great hunter.

Truth be told, I dragged him into more hunting adventures than he ever wanted.

I'm grateful because he taught me something far more important.

A real man doesn't always do what he prefers.

He does what is required.

And that's exactly what our Heavenly Father has done for us.

The greatest Father ever didn't merely take us hunting or fishing.

He gave His only Son so we could be saved.

John 3:16 "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son..."

That's real fatherhood.

That's real love.

And if you're a dad today, remember this:

Your children may never remember every gift you bought.

They may forget many of the things you said.

But they'll never forget the sacrifices you made simply because you loved them.

Just ask a boy and now a man whose dad hated hunting but took him anyway.