A Little Less of Me…

Anyone who has visited my condo has probably figured out that I have a special place in my heart for hunting and for Africa. I’ve been blessed to have been on eight trips to Africa. Five of those were mission trips to the massive Kibera Slum in Nairobi, Kenya. Kibera is the largest slum in Africa. After two of those mission trips, I added a week-long, photographic safari in the Maasai Mara, as well as in other African National Reserves. In addition, I’ve also been on three hunting-only safaris. One in South Africa, another in the Kalahari Desert of Namibia, as well as a dangerous-game hunt in Zimbabwe.

All of the hunting safaris were with my son, Nick—who has visited 22 African countries, spent two full summers in Africa —including one summer doing missionary work in Kibera. Nick has been on several safaris in his quest to kill Africa’s “Big 5” —which refers to five of Africa’s most iconic and formidable large mammals: lion, leopard, elephant, rhinoceros, and Cape buffalo. I was blessed to be with Nick a few years ago in Zimbabwe when he completed his “Big 5 Quest” by killing a leopard one night. By the way, I could probably be persuaded, with a glass of bourbon and a campfire, to share more details with you of that hunt and others.

Here’s a humorous story you might enjoy from one of our South African safaris. The hunt was primarily for several species of African plains game and we were with a well-respected outfitter—Leopard’s Valley Safaris. Their lodge accommodations were very nice and our guide (ie: professional hunter) was very knowledgeable, as well as very personable.

We were sharing the lodge with another hunter who was using a different guide. We shared dinner with the hunter and his guide each evening. The camp had an excellent chef and each night we feasted on different expertly-prepared cuts of various African animals—such as Impala, Kudu, Eland and Wildebeest.

The other hunter at the lodge was a bit of a blowhard, verging on obnoxious, and certainly not my favorite person to be around. Occasionally, I could read his guide’s body language enough to get the idea that his guide might have the same impression of the other hunter as I did.

One evening, the other hunter shared that his longtime friend and hunting buddy, Sam, had passed away about a year ago. Later, however, the hunter piqued my curiosity when he remarked that his buddy, Sam, was actually with him on this current safari. Now, that remark appeared to be bait for an obvious question, but I bit anyway. I asked, “How is it that your buddy, Sam, is here with us today, when you said he died a year ago?” The other hunter explained, that since he personally reloads his own ammunition, as a tribute to Sam, he had included some of Sam’s ashes along with the gunpowder in some of his reloaded ammo.

The very next evening at dinner, the other hunter was not as talkative as he usually was. Someone at the dinner table asked if there was problem. The hunter told us that his primary quest on this safari was to get a trophy-size Kudu. Each and every day, he and his guide had been searching for just such an impressive animal, but it continued to allude them—as if it was a ghost. They finally spotted the long-sought-after animal and the hunter was able to make a carefully-aimed shot, but somehow he missed the animal altogether. His guide was quick to add that the hunter’s shot was low, underneath the animal’s body. The guide said he saw the bullet hit the ground directly below the trophy beast.

That followed with a sigh and an unusually long, pregnant pause, until my son Nick broke the silence with this comment, “I guess next time you need a little less Sam and a little more gunpowder in your ammo.” Nick, the guides and I couldn’t help but laugh, but the other hunter didn’t.

Recently, as I reminisced about that hunt and that evening, a self-convicting thought came to mind. For too much of my life, I’ve operated with too much John and not enough God in my “ammo”.

One night, more than 40 years ago, just after my first divorce and everything that led to the divorce, I realized that I desperately needed to be rescued, and that Christ’ death on the cross was actually the payment for my sin debt. On that night, I finally realized that I deserved hell, that neither I, or anyone, could earn their way into heaven. I chose that night to trust in Christ to be my Savior and Lord for all of eternity. It was the best decision I ever made and since then I have found peace, meaning and purpose in my life.

Before that fateful night, I, John, was all that was in my ammo of life. No wonder I fell so short of what I had once hoped to be! Now, my ammo includes God, even though I sometimes find myself trying to slip in some ammo that has too much John and not nearly enough God. That’s when I try to blast my way through difficulties and concerns without leaning on and consulting with God.

What about you? How would you describe your ammo (ie: your life and your identity) —too much you and short on God; just the right blend; or would you have to confess, you’re shooting blanks (ie: still searching for identity and real purpose)?

Feel free to share your thoughts here on the FATC FORUM about this or about whatever is on your mind. Remember our motto: It’s not just about the fly fishing.

John Muckerman

FATC Inspirational and Leadership Lead