That bear season, the husbands in our church-couples group were arguing the best ways to hunt bear. In the area where we lived there were plenty of bears, so to resolve the question the husbands decided to try for permits to hunt.

Only one of them got his permit but the men went together and rented a remote cabin.

They spent six weeks packing in everything imaginable. Finally they all left to bring back the bear.

Back home that week we women stayed on our knees. All day long when the hunters were supposed to return we watched for the vehicles to pull up. They slipped in way after dark.

The next night was our regular group meeting and the men insisted on a long prayer and a very long Bible lesson, but we finally wormed the story out. The first six days of hunt-week, nobody had spotted anything, but the final day, in the dense woods, one of the men glimpsed what he thought might be a bear. The rest of the men fanned out around the area, pushing whatever it was out of the dense underbrush up toward the tree line at the stony crest of the ridge. Finally on the ridge they could see the outline of a massive bear. The guy with the permit raised his rifle. Before he could fire, the bear staggered and fell mortally wounded. An unknown hunter coming up the far side had got him dead on.

Next bear season, nobody mentioned best ways to hunt bear.

David, facing his enemy Goliath said, “The Lord. . . delivered me. . . from the paw of the bear.” 1 Samuel 17:37

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