Seeing the deer

Hope in hard times

I began to write this before the murder of Renee Good by ICE agents in Minneapolis on Wednesday. As I finished it, I was thinking about, and praying about the violence there, and in other places in our country.

Whenever we see the deer, I feel a sense of wonder.

Every morning and evening, my dog Bella and I take a walk. The morning walk is longer, as we wind our way through the neighborhood, occasionally meeting someone else, getting a wave, or hearing a stray “hello”. The evening walks are shorter, just around the common area near our house, and these days, it is dark. I wear a small flashlight around my neck, and we just walk the circle. Sometimes, on a clear night, I look up, but I do not try to count the stars.

I never know when we will see them. The deer. Usually, though, it is in the evening, at dusk or in the dark, and Bella is the first one to notice them. She will whine, or start, or pull at the leash, something that gets my attention, and then I will see them. The deer. In the dark they are shadows, with bright eyes, standing still, looking at us. Most of the time I will stand still as well, just watching, almost afraid to breathe. I want the moment to last. I want to get closer too. I want to, but I know that any movement might send them leaping away.

I love to watch them leap. But I love to watch them standing still as well. The stillness between us seems like an unspoken prayer. What is my prayer? Perhaps it is, “please let me get a little closer.” Or, “let this moment last.” Perhaps it is just the wonder, the “now” of it.

I don’t know exactly why it is the deer have this effect on me. I know there is a special place in religious art for deer, an ancient connection between some saints and these animals. I also feel like there is a certain telepathy between Bella and the deer, a camaraderie between creatures. Sometimes I believe that she wants to dance with them. Once, when she was still a puppy, we met a young deer on the path, and Bella whined and play-bowed. I like to imagine Bella and the deer playing together, but I think they would simply run away. But what if they didn’t? What if the deer also wanted to play, and they chased one another around the yard? I would catch it all on a reel.

Usually we see the deer when it is dark. Once, though, in broad daylight, we turned a corner, and there they were — a whole family. We startled one another, and again I stood still watching them, not wanting them to leave. We were closer than we’d ever been, that morning. Another morning we saw them from a distance. Four of them standing near a gated area of our community. They were beautiful, but I knew that we would not be able to get near. So we kept walking toward them, watching them while we could, until they leapt out of sight.

There are many deer in this community, but mostly we don’t see them. When we do — at least for me — it is a gift. It is a gift of wonder, that I do not deserve, but is given to me. There is nothing I can do to make it happen, but simply receive it when it comes. I can learn to be attentive to the small signs of presence — the dog beside me, turning her head first, because she can hear and smell things I don’t notice. But I can’t make the deer visible.

Right now, it seems like an odd thing to be contemplating, because there are perhaps more important things to do in the dark than look for deer, and be grateful for their presence. Right now I believe that I should be speaking out, marching, reminding people of the holiness of every life. But the words don’t come easily. And the world weighs me down. Perhaps it weighs you down too? Perhaps you even wonder, where is God, in the cruelty that is so visible around us.

When I see the deer, I feel a sense of wonder, and I stop. It is a form of worship, of contemplation, a prayer, and, for me, at least, it restores my hope. It reminds me of the beauty in the world, the presence of God who calls us to mercy and justice, to see the face of God in the stranger. It reminds me in this weary world, I am called to bind up wounds, to heal hearts, to stand in the breach.

They are impossible-seeming tasks. And we fail. I fail. But I keep going on the evening and morning walks, looking for the deer, and hoping for the day we will see them again. Just the walking helps.

We didn’t seem them tonight. But we will. I know we will.

Micah 6:8 “What does the Lord require of you, but to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God?”