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FROM THE BACKWOODS PEW
Forest Prodigal He was deep in the Great Swamp now, and he knew it. It had started out as a simple stroll, a small hike if you would, but it seemed like the Antill woods lured him in further. Really it was one bad decision after another that caused him to be in the predicament he was now in. There was another tree to see, another opening that seemed to glimmer in the light; one more stream to cross, and then the bees and the mad dash! The cell phone on his belt, the one he had failed to charge last night (another bad decision), was a useless weight. The mosquitoes and flies, unseen or heard when he entered the woods, had waited until now to make an appearance. He was being ravaged by the biting bugs. He knew right where his spray was; it was in his truck. With night approaching, it was only going to get worse. His feet were wet. He would have never tried to jump that creek and run like a maniac with no care as to where he was headed, except for the bees. At least he was finally able to outrun them, but he had gotten turned around in the mad dash. He grimaced at the thought of his compass, lying peacefully on the front seat of his truck. If he had it with him, at least he could see it in the morning. But first he had to survive the night. He never saw the stump hole, but
he sure felt the results. His right ankle had swollen to the size of a softball. It was hard for him to look at it very long, as the stump hole had also twisted his right knee, and with its swelling he could no longer see his ankle. He tried to look at the bright side of the painful injury, that there had been no snakes in the hole. It would have been a tough day to have a snakebite, broken ankle, and sprained knee all on the right side of the body. Too bad the snake showed up and bit his left hand while he tried to make a crutch from some fallen branches. At least it had not been poisonous, or so he surmised since he was still breathing. Day dawned, passed, and dawned again. Lack of food was taking its toll. The bugs had already removed much of his blood. His leg was a mess, and his snakebite was a ghastly site to behold; thankfully it had become numb. Through his bloodshot eyes and cracked lips, he looked up through the trees, and mumbled, “I am lost.” He remembered the first warning that came into his mind that day he had left the truck and started into the woods. He could still see the truck, felt the call to get his compass, and grab some repellant; but no, he ignored them all. He could find his way back, nothing bad was going to happen; he had done this hundreds of times. Now, sitting against the tree, he knew he was lost, both in terms of finding his way out, and in terms of living. There was no one to know where he was, or how to find him. It was called the Great Swamp for a reason.
Lost And Found It was a hunter, a friend, who eventually found him. In fact, the hunter had been looking for him non-stop from the moment he got the call. On his way home that day, passing by the Great Swamp, he had seen the forester’s truck and pulled alongside it in hopes of talking to his friend. The truck was empty. He noticed through the window that his friend had ventured into the Great Swamp without his compass. As he got into his own truck to head home, a deep dread and foreboding settled upon him. Even then, he began to pray for his friend. That night, when the forester’s father called with concern, he knew where to start looking. He immediately grabbed his gear and headed into the night. The Great Swamp was nearly endless; his friend could be anywhere. With flashlight in hand, he entered the darkness. He stayed in the woods, searching day and night. Calling out his friend’s name at intervals, he pushed through the swamp, constantly praying, that this forester, his friend, could be found and could be rescued. He found the forester, crumpled at the base of a tupelo tree. He was unconscious, and running a high fever. He was covered in mud. His wounds were ghastly. Another day in the swamp, and he would have been a goner. The hunter gave his friend some water, and some food that he carried in his backpack. He gave him some aspirin to help with the pain, and made a splint for his leg. He made a litter out of two
small logs, and gently placed the forester on them. The trek out of the swamp had begun. It would not be easy for either one, but the hunter was determined; he would not be denied this rescue. He pulled out his cell phone, dialed a well-known number, and with joy, told a father his son who was lost, had been found, and was coming home. “What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he loses one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one which is lost until he finds it? And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing.”—Luke 15: 4, 5 When Jesus spoke these words in Luke 15, he first gave the picture of a lost sheep being sought by the Good Shepherd; a Good Shepherd that would stop at nothing, searching the wilderness for his lost sheep. And then he followed up that illustration with the story of The Prodigal Son, of a wayward son who all but destroys himself with one bad decision after another, only finally to surrender and return to his father. You and I are in both stories. Lost in a wilderness of bad decisions, our eternity at stake, it is good to know that Jesus comes into our “great swamp,” searching for us, desiring to rescue us. When life would seem to have you down, when everything appears to be going wrong with one bad decision leading to another, know this and know it well: Jesus is not dissuaded by the swamp. Jesus is a hunter, and he will not sleep while we are lost. He is calling out your name, searching for you in the Great Swamp. Will you call out to him? Whoever calls on the name of the LORD Shall be saved.—Acts 2:21b Excerpted from Pine, Prayers, and Pelts Brad Antill, author: find it at www.onatreeforestry.com. Brad Antill has been a forester in the woods and swamps of the Southeast Coastal Plain for over 30 years. Besides being a forester, he is also an ordained minister of the Gospel, and together they combine as his two passions. He and his wife Cindy created On-A-Tree Forestry as a way of sharing his unique views of the gospel story. They share the fingerprints of God that are revealed every day in those same woods and swamps. Brad is a graduate of The Ohio State University forestry program, and a registered forester in North Carolina and West Virginia.
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APRIL 2021 l Southern Loggin’ Times
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