Original: January 15, 2008
McMinnville, OR
12 But man, despite his riches, does not endure; he is like the beasts that perish. Psalm 49:12
I am not a pack rat. Really, I am not.
My theory is, “If I haven’t used it in one year, then it has to go.” Shanna, on the other hand, is a person who likes to hold on to things a little longer, “just in case” and even though she has gotten much better we are continually negotiating the next items that will go. But when push comes to shove Shanna knows how to trump every argument in my arsenal, putting me down in a quiet whimper. When negotiations aren’t going her way and I am about to drop the hammer she will smirk (a smirk of victory mind you) say, “What about all your deer antlers in the garage? What do you use them for? If my stuff goes so do they!”
Ouch, isn’t that some kind of party foul or something? That should be against the law or something! Don’t we have rules about hitting below the belt?
Let me take a moment to defend myself even if in futility. I have kept every set of antlers from all of the nearly 40 (I can’t remember right now) big game animals I have taken since I was 12. I have kept these mementos as an honor to the life of the beast. Not only have I kept each set, but I have numbered each, the location of the kill, and the name I gave the animal. Not only do I label the animal with a Sharpie permanent marker, but I take pictures and write a story about each kill sequence.
This ritual of keeping the antlers, numbering the kill, naming the animal, and location has been my way (ridiculous I know) to honor a creature that I removed from the earth. I cannot explain it, especially to a non-hunter, but the only thing I can do to honor the life I have taken is to capture it in my memory and pass it on to others through pictures, stories and the written word. Who else will remember these animals if not the one who harvested them? I feel, crazy as it sounds, an overwhelming sense of obligation to honor each and every trophy. So, dozens of antlers are either mounted in my home, office or rest in my garage rafters and have since 1976.
Psalm 49: 12 says, “But man in his pomp will not endure; he is like the beasts that perish” (NASB).
Your body will also be buried in some decorative box six feet underground. Your soul will endure in Heaven or Hell (you choose), but what will really remain after you die? What memory or legacy will you leave behind? Who will come after you, because of you?
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once wrote, “Lives of great men all remind us we can make our lives sublime and, departing, leave behind as footprints in the sands of time”.
Wow, what a testament about greatness. Our lives will endure not in some garage rafter or by a sharpie permanent marker, but by the footprints in the sands of time.
Build your legacy now.
Begin leaving your mark, your footprints in the sands of time. Life is short, way too short to be anonymous, irrelevant, and ultimately forgotten.
