Tonight my prayer was simple, but it came from a deep place in me:
Lord, I really do want to kill a deer — but only if it is Your intention for me to do so. Help me remember that we are both Your creations. I believe it’s important for me to take part in my own provision, to fill my freezer with food that came from Your land rather than from the greed of corporations. I want to feel the full weight — the pain and responsibility — of taking a life to sustain my own.
As I whispered that prayer, I felt both humility and conflict. I want to be a provider, to live responsibly and sustainably, and to step away from the consumer systems that dull us to the cost of living. But at the same time, I don’t want to act from pride, impatience, or hunger for the wrong reasons. I want this act — if it happens — to be aligned with something sacred, not just survival or success.
I remembered several scriptures while sitting in the dark, listening to the forest breathe:
Genesis 1:26–28 — humanity is given dominion, but that dominion means stewardship, not domination. To hunt with integrity is to act as a caretaker of balance.
Genesis 9:3 — “Everything that lives and moves will be food for you.” Permission, yes — but not license to take lightly.
Proverbs 12:10 — “A righteous person cares for the life of his animal.” Compassion and responsibility are part of righteousness.
Psalm 104 — the reminder that all creatures look to God for their food in due season; the cycle of provision is holy.
Matthew 6:25–34 — a whisper of reassurance that God provides, even when I cannot see how.
If God allows me to take a deer, I pray for a clean, merciful shot — one that ends swiftly, without suffering. And if the deer does not come within range, I will accept that, too, as part of His will. The forest isn’t mine to control. It is alive with His order and wisdom, even when I don’t understand it.
This prayer brought a few lessons forward for me:
Obedience means restraint as much as action.
Gratitude begins before the harvest, not just after.
True provision is never separate from humility.
Every act of taking should also be an act of giving — giving thanks, giving respect, giving back what I can.
If the moment does come, I hope to pause and say quietly:
Lord, thank You for this animal and for Your provision. Bless this life and help me use it well — nothing wasted, nothing taken for granted.
I want to live by that rhythm — to eat what I harvest, to take responsibility for the lives that sustain mine, and to remain tender enough to feel the weight of it each time.
Journaling thoughts for later:
What does honoring creation look like for me as both hunter and steward?
How do I ensure gratitude outweighs pride when I provide my own food?
If I don’t shoot tonight, what will that reveal about my patience and trust?
How can I share or give back to balance the life I take?
Whether I take a deer this season or not, I hope the forest continues to teach me reverence. In the stillness between breaths — between the desire to act and the willingness to wait — I think that’s where God meets me.
