The big man dropped the tailgate on his truck and opened the box door, beagles spilling out and leaping to the ground in assertive eagerness. The crisp smell of fall with its damp morning kiss, and foliage on a fast track to becoming shades of yellow and crimson in a few more weeks met us as the aforementioned dogs scattered to various compass points.
Two teenagers checked their shotguns, the rack-rack of 20-gauge pumps providing justification that rabbit season was open and we meant business. My friend’s father had trained those dogs all summer long, and if ever there was a morning to prove them—this was it. Maybe I shouldn’t tell this story, because in McNeill, a man and his dogs abide precariously within the realm of the sacred. But it is possible he won’t read this. Maybe he won’t know. A stern man in those days, he’s mellowed over the years. But I’m wise enough not to push those proverbial buttons too hard even now.
Before he could scold us about something we were doing wrong, (we always were in those days) the dogs yelped in the distance; their voices changing in a tenor that was obvious. The first rabbit came barreling through the forest moments later. They are fast creatures when pursued, and on most days the dogs are well behind when they make their appearance. This one picked a route between me and the stern man, and I disappointed him by not taking the shot. As the rabbit sped by, he tracked it with his rifle (adults used rifles) and dropped it moments later as it crossed a fallen log. I felt bad about it for the rest of the morning—I should have taken the shot. Yet I also knew that a shotgun in close quarters can be unforgiving, and my own father had warned me incessantly about pointing one in the general direction of another human. But I always wanted to prove myself to this rough man, and wished from my silent depths that the first rabbit of the day had simply chosen another route.
He retrieved the downed animal and carried it back to the nearby truck without looking at me. Too fast! I thought. Didn’t have time to think. And finally… I let him down. I looked over at my friend, but he was shaking his head, too. I knew he was glad it was me and not him in that situation. Years later I can look back on that moment, assured in the knowledge that I did the right thing. But then as now, I know I should have tracked that rabbit and blasted him when he cleared the area between us. Instead I froze as the moment passed me by, and if I had wanted to make an impression that morning, I surely did.
The dogs, meanwhile, had faded in the distance. We walked silently in the last direction from which we had heard them earlier, but our trek went on a lot longer than it should have. The silence between me and my friend's father was deafening, and the day was already ruined for me. I’d like to say at this point that I got a second chance: we heard the clarion call of the dogs, a big rabbit appeared, and I put him down with a precise shot made with a skill and an accuracy that belied my fourteen years. But it wasn’t to be.
It was hours later when we found those prized beagles—asleep under a tree in the middle of a dormant soy field. The contempt for me and the shot not taken swiftly faded as his anger for the dogs he’d striven so hard and for so many months to train manifested itself. I won’t go into the details; instead I’ll leave it as he was not happy about it and we’ll go from there.
There were other hunting trips, and we took many rabbits over the years from the fields and forests around our small town. The sternness and associated agitation between he and I did not last as I grew older. He taught me many things along the way, both about the great outdoors and life in general. In the end I don’t know if he changed that much or if it was merely a matter of maturity on my part—probably a combination of the two.
We were so different, you see, and so far apart in everything. Polar opposites. So why did he accept me and befriend me in the first place—a boy with too much hair and crazy ideas that usually didn’t line up with the standards held dearest to his own heart? I guess it was my friendship and closeness to his son that mattered the most. That son and I remain close to this day, and as a result, my relationship continues with his father—and we’re on good terms.
John writes: “And whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.” It is on account of my relationship with G_d’s Son, that He accepts me today despite all of my faults and misgivings. Without that personal relationship with Jesus, I’d be just another lost soul out there on the highways and byways of life who missed the mark or didn’t take the shot—searching in vain for an impossible way to make things right with G_d.
Dark Confessions
I met you on the afternoon of the day you became an indifferent witness to my fall. Under the fading aura of a bleak December, I found myself a pagan Christian at best; lost in the gray area where you find yourself too old to be a boy, yet much too immature to be a man. It was your friend you were worried about, not me, and with stoic condescension you watched as I carried the friend you loved down a careless highway of sin and lost innocence. Somehow you managed to deride me without ever saying a word. Oh, but I knew.
That friend of yours told me later of the intonated manner in which you ordered your own son to ‘make sure you do not grow up to be like him.’ That stung when I heard it, and I did not consider it justice to be used as an example in that light. What did you know? And why should I justify my behavior to someone like you? You could not understand nor comprehend the pain I was going through at the time, and my manner of coping was, well… my manner of coping. But it bothered me and most of all it stuck with me.
A few short months later I ran into you again—though we still weren’t friends. We never were. Again you watched as I took another one of your friends down roads never meant to be taken, and your silent judgment continued even as you watched us both tempt disaster. The pain. The remorse. None of it was worth it, even though now I return to those memories via a bridge whose waters have ebbed and flowed wistfully over a poignant sea known as many years passed.
A lot has changed since then. I’d like you to know that. Fate being the sometimes charitable mistress she is, maybe by chance you will read this and know that people truly can change, and the judgment you decry today can be rendered irrelevant tomorrow. But by the same token I have to admit you were right—because you were. And though you were quick to judge, at least with your eyes; you can’t honestly say you offered any guidance to the jaded soul who found himself broken and undone back then.
I met a woman. We built a family. But most of all, I found a church. Something happened, and this time it was real to me. In a brutally honest sense I had my own road to Damascus moment, and the scales certainly fell from my eyes not long afterward. The penalties for those sins from long ago have been paid in full, yet I still carry around the remorse for those vile things I both went through and performed. I’ll hold them forever in the hidden places of my heart, and like cruel scars that never fade, they will always haunt me.
The pagan Christian of that wintery day has been replaced with what I hope is an honorable one. I know my faults and I do my best to keep them at bay. I work hard to provide for my own family and I cherish them. I’ve taught my children the right path and thankfully did not have to use someone else as a toxic example of what not to be. I covered those bases with my own misgivings. Meanwhile, I pray for them. With all sincerity I do the utmost to keep them from repeating my own horrid mistakes—my sins.
I don’t know where you are today, because I only vaguely recall your name. Yet I remember your face. And all I want out of this is to say “I’m sorry” while meaning it. Once again, I also want you to know that you were right—and openly admit what I can finally comprehend on my own.
People can change. Sometimes, though time may grow short and the credits begin to roll on this earth we inhabit, the Prodigal son can still arrive safe and sound at his Father’s house.
If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. I John 1:9
That friend of yours told me later of the intonated manner in which you ordered your own son to ‘make sure you do not grow up to be like him.’ That stung when I heard it, and I did not consider it justice to be used as an example in that light. What did you know? And why should I justify my behavior to someone like you? You could not understand nor comprehend the pain I was going through at the time, and my manner of coping was, well… my manner of coping. But it bothered me and most of all it stuck with me.
A few short months later I ran into you again—though we still weren’t friends. We never were. Again you watched as I took another one of your friends down roads never meant to be taken, and your silent judgment continued even as you watched us both tempt disaster. The pain. The remorse. None of it was worth it, even though now I return to those memories via a bridge whose waters have ebbed and flowed wistfully over a poignant sea known as many years passed.
A lot has changed since then. I’d like you to know that. Fate being the sometimes charitable mistress she is, maybe by chance you will read this and know that people truly can change, and the judgment you decry today can be rendered irrelevant tomorrow. But by the same token I have to admit you were right—because you were. And though you were quick to judge, at least with your eyes; you can’t honestly say you offered any guidance to the jaded soul who found himself broken and undone back then.
I met a woman. We built a family. But most of all, I found a church. Something happened, and this time it was real to me. In a brutally honest sense I had my own road to Damascus moment, and the scales certainly fell from my eyes not long afterward. The penalties for those sins from long ago have been paid in full, yet I still carry around the remorse for those vile things I both went through and performed. I’ll hold them forever in the hidden places of my heart, and like cruel scars that never fade, they will always haunt me.
The pagan Christian of that wintery day has been replaced with what I hope is an honorable one. I know my faults and I do my best to keep them at bay. I work hard to provide for my own family and I cherish them. I’ve taught my children the right path and thankfully did not have to use someone else as a toxic example of what not to be. I covered those bases with my own misgivings. Meanwhile, I pray for them. With all sincerity I do the utmost to keep them from repeating my own horrid mistakes—my sins.
I don’t know where you are today, because I only vaguely recall your name. Yet I remember your face. And all I want out of this is to say “I’m sorry” while meaning it. Once again, I also want you to know that you were right—and openly admit what I can finally comprehend on my own.
People can change. Sometimes, though time may grow short and the credits begin to roll on this earth we inhabit, the Prodigal son can still arrive safe and sound at his Father’s house.
If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. I John 1:9
Free Indeed
I have a different mind-set on perfect mornings when weather affords me the opportunity to pilot my motorcycle in to work. I ride into town, my VTX at a comfortable rumble, and smile as I pass the less-fortunate at gas stations—their vehicles tethered to the pumps while the dollar digits steadily climb. It’s a different world when you behold it from the seat of a harnessed, 1300cc-horsepowered freedom machine. It’s the open road; or at the very least a throwback to the days when men bare-backed horses and rode through the primeval forests of yesteryear.
Freedom—it’s a good thing, I tell ya. Books have been written on the subject, songs sung, and in our human imaginations few things can stir the heart like the mere concept of being free can. Yet in the end, what is this ‘freedom’ we all aspire to? Jesus said, “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.” I like that, although I’ll be the first to admit it took a long time for me to understand what He was ‘getting at’.
Three Gospels in the Bible refer to a time when Jesus crossed the Sea of Galilee to the land of the Gaderenes. None of those writers suggest a reason for the trip, they only mention that Jesus said they were going, and so they did. As they drew near to the shore, a naked man came rushing toward them out of the graveyard. He was obviously mentally deranged, with scars on his body, wild hair, and broken chains hanging from his arms. I can only imagine the sight in my mind, but had I been there my first impulse would have been to run—I’ve seen far too many horror movies in my lifetime.
Long story short, Jesus casts a legion of demons out of the man and into a nearby herd of swine. The possessed pigs, not happy with their new-found unholy situation, swiftly ran down into the sea and were drowned. A legion, depending on where you research it, was a Roman division of anywhere from 5600 to 6000 soldiers and usually 200 horsemen. That’s a lot of demons! The Gospels mention that the man was next seen fully clothed and in his right mind, and furthermore he wanted to follow Jesus and his disciples. Nevertheless, Jesus tells him to go back home and tell everyone what G_d has done for him.
In my manner of thinking this may be the perfect example of the freedom that Jesus offered in the verse I mentioned earlier. The man had not always been in that condition, he surely had a home and people that loved him somewhere locked away in his past. Sin had destroyed his life although we do not know the cause or how it all started. In the end we find him living among the dead, unable to control himself, and shunned by the society of his time. Uncontested sin can do that to a person if allowed to fester in one’s life. I know—I’ve been there.
I especially like the part in the beginning of the story where Jesus decided to go across the sea, because I believe Jesus knew all along that this poor man was out there and unable to help himself. The Gaderene demoniac did not need medical insurance, he didn’t need a good therapist—he needed a savior.
Most importantly, he needed someone who could set him free.
Though my own sins probably cannot compare with the subject of this story, (depends on who you ask) there was a time or two (or three or four) in my own past where I’ve allowed sin to take control of the better part of me. I’ve found myself in wretched conditions at different points in my life as a result. However, I’m happy to say it was during those times when Jesus actively sought me out, and stirred in my heart a desire to release those sins and return to where I obviously needed to be. Did He do this because of my special standing or status in this world? No. His offer of freedom is available to anyone who believes and accepts Him into their heart. And the offer is valid because after all; 5600 demons is certainly a lot of demons—but even one demon is a demon too many.
Freedom—it’s a good thing, I tell ya. Books have been written on the subject, songs sung, and in our human imaginations few things can stir the heart like the mere concept of being free can. Yet in the end, what is this ‘freedom’ we all aspire to? Jesus said, “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.” I like that, although I’ll be the first to admit it took a long time for me to understand what He was ‘getting at’.
Three Gospels in the Bible refer to a time when Jesus crossed the Sea of Galilee to the land of the Gaderenes. None of those writers suggest a reason for the trip, they only mention that Jesus said they were going, and so they did. As they drew near to the shore, a naked man came rushing toward them out of the graveyard. He was obviously mentally deranged, with scars on his body, wild hair, and broken chains hanging from his arms. I can only imagine the sight in my mind, but had I been there my first impulse would have been to run—I’ve seen far too many horror movies in my lifetime.
Long story short, Jesus casts a legion of demons out of the man and into a nearby herd of swine. The possessed pigs, not happy with their new-found unholy situation, swiftly ran down into the sea and were drowned. A legion, depending on where you research it, was a Roman division of anywhere from 5600 to 6000 soldiers and usually 200 horsemen. That’s a lot of demons! The Gospels mention that the man was next seen fully clothed and in his right mind, and furthermore he wanted to follow Jesus and his disciples. Nevertheless, Jesus tells him to go back home and tell everyone what G_d has done for him.
In my manner of thinking this may be the perfect example of the freedom that Jesus offered in the verse I mentioned earlier. The man had not always been in that condition, he surely had a home and people that loved him somewhere locked away in his past. Sin had destroyed his life although we do not know the cause or how it all started. In the end we find him living among the dead, unable to control himself, and shunned by the society of his time. Uncontested sin can do that to a person if allowed to fester in one’s life. I know—I’ve been there.
I especially like the part in the beginning of the story where Jesus decided to go across the sea, because I believe Jesus knew all along that this poor man was out there and unable to help himself. The Gaderene demoniac did not need medical insurance, he didn’t need a good therapist—he needed a savior.
Most importantly, he needed someone who could set him free.
Though my own sins probably cannot compare with the subject of this story, (depends on who you ask) there was a time or two (or three or four) in my own past where I’ve allowed sin to take control of the better part of me. I’ve found myself in wretched conditions at different points in my life as a result. However, I’m happy to say it was during those times when Jesus actively sought me out, and stirred in my heart a desire to release those sins and return to where I obviously needed to be. Did He do this because of my special standing or status in this world? No. His offer of freedom is available to anyone who believes and accepts Him into their heart. And the offer is valid because after all; 5600 demons is certainly a lot of demons—but even one demon is a demon too many.
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