A Land My Own

There is no feeling more bitter, for the hunter, than losing access to hunting grounds. That bitterness never quite leaves the taste buds of the heart. Its burn can linger for years, a subtle reminder of that which is no more. Of all the earthly things that the heart attaches itself to, whether it be material possessions, friendships, or sacred places, I would venture to argue that the bond between man and his oasis is the strongest of all. 

It is true that you can take man away from the woods and he will be sick for a time, but take the woods away from man and he will scarcely recover. 

I am no different. I grow attached to places more than things. I have gotten better at throwing away old or worn out belongings, but I cling to the places where my memories were formed: my childhood home, the ridge where I shot my first deer, the cab of dad’s old hunting truck, our cabin in the woods, and my favorite tree in Dickson County that's hidden below the cemetery of my ancient ancestry.

Belongings hold value, but places harness power, hope, and love.

My direct family has never owned land. However, we have always managed to find a place to hunt thanks to the graciousness of extended family members. My first few years as a hunter took place on the old family farm in Cheatham County, a place I have written about many times before. As happens with most family farms, ownership was divided among a dozen or so different family members by the time I came around. Divided interests led to a sale, which led to a harrowing final walk out of that hollow and it ended with tears on the backyard swing set at home.  

It might sound overly dramatic to some, but losing a special place like one’s hunting ground feels like a hopeless situation. If it were not so, then why do old men still tell us about their long lost hunting access? The “back when we hunted the (fill in the blank) farm” stories are so common among hunters because the power of those hunts gone by still lives in the heart. 

Losing farms and woods causes bleeding in the hunters that used to occupy them. This is the reality for thousands of hunters each year. Property gets sold, leases expire, developers squeeze in more neighborhoods, until all that's left for the hunters is vain attempts to wrestle over fork horns on public land. 

Now, I recognize the privilege and blessing that public hunting lands are, but every hunter still dreams of that seven letter word, “private”. Privately owned lands make up over 90% of all lands in places like Tennessee. A prime 20 acres is worth more than a new truck and rifle combined for a lot of folks. Hunters are desperate for it, willing to pay for it, out of their minds for it. Private lands, the key to everyone’s hunting insufficiencies, or so it would seem.

We are all craving the same thing, a land of our own. A place where we can manage, make decisions, and hunt without the looming suspicion of those around us. Like ancient Israel we wander the desert hopeful for a land to call ours. It's growing even more difficult for a young man to dream of hunting his own land. High interest rates and higher land prices deter even the most spry from the thought of acquiring a patch of scrubby timber. 

This can lead a man to settle into complaint rather than gratitude. I do not want to exaggerate despair, for I have been fortunate to hunt both private and public lands for many years, with great success. Though I do not hold the deed to my own farm, I am granted permission by family members who are more generous than I would be if I were in their shoes. 

God has not let this sojourning hunter go hungry. Like manna from heaven, whitetails still walk by my borrowed tree, while I wait on borrowed time. 

I am so grateful for the places lent to me by others to use for my own enjoyment. What is their gain from the matter? I neither pay, nor offer much in return. It's simply their kindness that allows me to hunt a place that is now so special to me. As my heart grows fonder of my borrowed deer haven, I am reminded that all things will eventually come to an end. 

There will come a day when I am forced to take down my favorite stands once again and find another place to seek refuge. So, I still long for a land my own. A place where such dreadful thoughts, such as lost opportunity seem absent, but even in my daydreaming I realize that no deed nor amount of money will satisfy my longings. It's a sobering reality to understand that there is no place for me here, at least none that won’t be taken away. So, why hope for it? Why stress and scheme and fight against it? I am hopeful for a place of my own, but I don’t think I will find it in this life. 

If Christ goes to prepare a place for me (John 14:3), perhaps I should turn my longings toward that place, a heavenly eternal land, one where my Savior is. There we will walk together through cool hollows, we will climb tall ridges, and sit beneath trees whose roots stretch deep into eternity past and limbs expand to eternity's future. He will be my God and I will be his son. He will meet me there, in the place he has made for me. He will talk with me, laugh with me, teach me new depths of his grace and holiness. I long for that place, my place with the Lord. 

The gain of heaven is not a land to call my own, but a God to call my own.

The places my heart attaches to in this life will not be worth comparing to the riches that are mine in Christ. He is my gain and my reward. Christ is my refuge and hiding place. He is a land my own, one which I will never grow dull of exploring. 

Lord, the places you have made on this Earth are special. I believe you made them for us to enjoy and cultivate and reap harvests from, but it all belongs to you. I am grateful for the kindness of others that allow me to hunt your wild game. I am more grateful for your kindness that promises a place for me in your kingdom, though I cannot pay and am not deserving. Grace. Your grace made a way. So Lord, I long for a land my own in your heavenly kingdom, a place where I belong and am loved. I have not seen it yet, but I have tasted it. I hope to join you there soon. 

Until then…

Amen, Lord Jesus.

Amen. 

John 14:3

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.