by Kim Meeder
On the x-rays, materializing out of the darkness like a milky phantom, was an image of pure evil. Finally the source of Dakota’s four months of continuous suffering was fully revealed. Having passed through the dog’s throat and beneath her shoulder blade, the lethal intruder was wedged against her spine. It was an arrow!
The triple-bladed razors of a two-inch stainless-steel broadhead floated into view, with an eight-inch section of graphite shaft still attached. The projectile lodged within her body was ten inches long. The protruding remnants of the shaft did not exhibit the splintering break of an accident. It was obvious that the arrow’s shaft had been intentionally and cleanly cut with a smooth edge just below the surface of Dakota’s throat. Someone somewhere had done this on purpose and then tried to hide the deed.
Yet what confounded us the most was that Dakota was able to maintain the life of a normal dog with a nearly foot-long, razor-sharp weapon buried deep inside her chest.
How was it possible that she lived at all?
Because the arrow had miraculously passed through Dakota’s neck without severing any vital structures, Dr. Shawn knew it would be far too dangerous to try to retrieve the razored projectile the same way it entered. Instead, he opted to remove it dorsally through a large incision that he carefully made on her back. Once the arrow was extricated, Dakota made a complete and nearly instant recovery.
In no time she was bounding around the property. One evening while preparing for a ranch fellowship, I watched her as she bounced in delight, a knotted rope toy in her mouth. She had just stolen the treasure from a group of small boys who now chased after her with squealing abandon. From then on it was always easy to find Kelsie on the ranch. One only needed to follow the white dog with the charming black patch over her eye.
I look at that arrow, propped up in a green, enameled cup in my office, nearly every day. Sometimes when I’m on the phone, I pick it up and slowly spin it between my thumb and index finger. Without fail, I’m awed and a bit sickened by the horrifying destruction that three spinning razor blades can exact. I don’t wish to forget what this weapon looks like or stop imagining how it might feel if it were sunk into my chest.
When I look at the arrow, I also remember something else—how a dog, a wonderful creation considered to be man’s best friend, had survived the worst humans had to offer, was found, and was saved by the unexpected and persistent love of a stranger.
FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT
We can be so ashamed of some sins that we push them down deep inside. Beyond the view of others, these are the sins that kill.
We’ve all made mistakes, and we’ve all said and done things we’re not proud of. Some of these choices can be devastating—an abortion, an affair, a betrayal. In some cases our missteps bring so much pain and shame that we push them down into our hearts and turn them into secrets. We bury them like old bones, hoping to plant them so deep that no one will ever find them.
The problem with hidden sins, however, is that they don’t ever go away. Sooner or later these sins will ruin us. Attempting to conceal a sin is no less harmful than choosing to ram an arrow of selfish rebellion into our own chests. Once the infection sets in, it festers and spreads, eventually leading to our destruction.
We all know that covering up our problems won’t solve them. Neither will attempting to bury them under an avalanche of feel-good procedures, treatments, and programs. We can’t heal our sin on the inside by simply looking better on the outside. No external polishing can cure an internal rot.
There’s no regime of eating right, healthy living, or exercise habits that will make the damage from our sin cease. There’s no combination of righteous living, volunteering, mission trips, or good deeds that can stave off its evil seep. There’s no medication on earth that can cure it. There’s no amount of sex, drinking, or drugs that can mask its effects. There’s no distraction in fantasy books, movies, romance novels, video games, texting, Facebook messaging, tweeting, blogging, or online chatting that can negate sin’s presence in our lives. There’s no amount of cutting, burning, tattooing, piercing, binging, purging, or starving that can camouflage the pain we feel inside.
If you feel as if you’re reading about yourself in Dakota’s story—pierced, broken, with an arrow of sin in your life that you can’t remove—know that there is a remedy. There is one hope.
God’s Word says, “Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin? Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord” (Romans 7:24–25).
If you feel alone in your pain or pride, realize that you’re not. Scripture tells us, “For all have sinned; all fall short of God’s glorious standard. Yet now God in his gracious kindness declares us not guilty. He has done this through Christ Jesus, who has freed us by taking away our sins” (Romans 3:23–24). We all can be saved in this same way, no matter who we are or what we have done.
Perhaps David said it best in one of his most beloved psalms: “I prayed to the LORD, and he answered me, freeing me from all my fears.… The LORD hears his people when they call to him for help. He rescues them from all their troubles. The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those who are crushed in spirit” (34:4, 17–18). “Those who look to him for help will be radiant with joy; no shadow of shame will darken their faces. In my desperation I prayed, and the LORD listened; he saved me from all my troubles” (verses 5–6, NLT, 2007).
The healing truth of God’s Word declares that “anyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved” and “If we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us and to cleanse us from every wrong” (Romans 10:13; 1 John 1:9). If you feel pierced, there is One who wants to give you forgiveness, cleansing, and redemption. All you need to do is fall on your knees and ask.
Friend, there is no arrow that the unfailing love of Jesus cannot remove.
Editor’s Note: Read more about Kelsie in the story “A Perfect Match,” found in Kim’s book Hope Rising; about Laurie and her dog Mia in Kim’s book Blind Hope; and about Sarah in the story “Run Through Fire” in Hope Rising.
7
THE ATTACK
Fierce Defense
I love my ranch staff. They’re some of my dearest friends, and I consider them my family. Because they hail from across the United States, I’m passionate about introducing them to the marvels of this wild, western world. It’s my delight to take them back-country skiing, surfing, mountaineering, horse packing, rock climbing, night snowshoeing, marathon running, snorkeling, and various other forms of adventuring and exploring.
Of all the precious gems the Northwest has to offer, perhaps the most extraordinary is Yellowstone National Park. If you’d like to discover our God of wonders in a no-words-can-describe way, Yellowstone is a must-see. I’m certain the word amazing was coined there.
Because it gives me great joy to share my passions with those I love, a handful of my staff and I decided to do a whirlwind trip to this Serengeti of North America. Since it was September and our ranch season was still in full swing, we needed to make the trip as quickly as possible. This meant we would blitz the twelve-hour drive in one day, have two full days in the park, and then bolt home again. Taking in the whole park in two days is simply not possible, but jet-propelled by a ton of coffee, we were determined to try!
Our plan was to spend the first day viewing as much geothermal activity as we could squeeze in. The second day would be devoted to seeing as many animals as we could locate between dawn and dusk.
I’ve visited Yellowstone during many different seasons, and it never disappoints. My girls’ initial wide-eyed responses confirmed that this trip would be no exception. After a full day of viewing all the massive geysers, steaming ponds, burbling mud pots, and exquisitely colored pools that we could mash in between sunup and sundown, we bundled up and fell into our sleeping bags. Like expectant treasure hunters, we vowed to rise early with the wildlife the following day in hopes of seeing something incredible.
With hands full of coffee and cameras, we were good to go. To fan the fires of anticipation, I tossed a question to the girls in my truck: “If you could see any animal that lives in this park, which would you choose?”
Kelsie, who sat next to me in the center of the front seat, immediately answered with a monstrous grin, “If I saw a bear, I’d be so excited that I just might pee in my pants!” Laughter erupted when I told her to move to the backseat so I wouldn’t have to share in that experience.
While winding our way up 8,859-foot Dunraven Pass, we rounded a turn on a particularly steep slope and were surprised by a traffic jam. Of course, that’s Yellowstone language for “Stop here! There’s something fun to see!” As we carefully threaded our way through the bottleneck of parked cars and people milling about to find the best view, I asked some folks what was causing all the commotion. One pointed nearly straight up toward the ridge above us and said, “There’s a grizzly bear!” Upon hearing those words, Kelsie nearly leaped out the window like a dog after a Frisbee. Lucky for me, she did not make good on her earlier promise, and we both exited the truck with dry jeans.
Sure enough, approximately one hundred yards up the mountainside was a subadult grizzly. The bruin appeared to be taking great joy in climbing up small pine trees, breaking the entire top off, and then raiding the pine cones for nuts. The delight I took in watching the bear was completely eclipsed by the deep satisfaction of watching Kelsie watch the bear. My friend’s feet scarcely touched the ground. After the bear ambled out of sight and everyone loaded back into the truck, voices excitedly overlapped as five girls talked at once about the thrill of seeing a Yellowstone grizzly.
A quarter mile up the road we came upon another traffic jam. This time it was caused by a mother black bear with two small cubs. Because she had taken her youngsters below the road into thick underbrush, the mother bear and her family were more difficult to watch. Yet it was still a thrill to see flashes of jet black among the deep green forest. Several times the cubs rolled into view as they wrestled and played around their mother. They seemed oblivious to the ecstatic commotion that their presence aroused in all who witnessed them. Again we piled back into the truck. Kelsie looked at me with a grin that barely fit on her face. “I could go home right now!” she said. “Already this has been so amazing!”
As our day rolled on, it seemed around every turn the Lord blessed us with something incredible to behold. We viewed waterfalls so delicate they fell like angel’s breath, while others roared with enough power to shake the earth. Our little caravan came across deer, antelope, and elk napping in the sun. Herds of bison moved like slow, black rivers through the valleys and occasionally washed over the roadways in front of us, creating delightful traffic jams of their own.
About midday the other carload of girls decided they wanted to detour into the town of West Yellowstone to warm up and walk through some of the artisan shops. With parting hugs we sent them on their way and continued our exploration of all things inside the borders of the park.
We paused in the small town of Mammoth to stretch our legs. While there, we discovered that each grassy area between the buildings boasted groups of grazing elk. As we viewed a particularly massive male, a ranger told us we were fortunate to be witnessing the largest bull elk in the park. We’d just missed seeing him defend his herd against an unfortunate suitor who was sulking nearby.
He was unquestionably the most massive bull I’d ever seen. He seemed to revel in the fact that we were so taken by him. After strutting across the road right in front of us, he displayed his power by lowering his enormous antlers to the ground, violently swinging his head from side to side, and destroying everything in his path. Huge chunks of grass filled the air as he physically demonstrated to all other bulls, “Guys, you don’t want any of this!”
After a bit of hiking around Mammoth Hot Springs, we arrived at Willow Park just as dusk approached. Perhaps because we had seen so many spectacular sights already, we were certain that any minute a moose would roam into view.
Willow Park is a riparian area approximately two miles long. It runs parallel to and slightly lower than the road we drove on. The “park” is basically a high, narrow meadow with streams meandering through its length. Since willow thrives particularly well here, so does a healthy moose population.
After completing several mooseless passes, we stopped at all the turnouts and scrutinized each brown stream bank, log, and stump. We were sure that every distant, dark form had the potential to be a moose sighting. Thankfully, the park was empty of cars, so we were able to continue our inspection at about five miles an hour. At one point we even pulled off, and two of the girls hopped out in hopes of taking a game trail that descended to the creek in order to get a closer look at what might be coming to drink.
As the girls started into the tall willows, I felt a strong warning to call them back to the safety of our vehicle. The animals in Yellowstone are large and wild. Surprising them on a narrow game trail at dusk would not be a good idea.
To oblige my mother-bear instincts, the girls loaded back into the truck in the same order they’d ridden all day. Kelsie slid into the front seat beside me with Laurie next to her and the passenger door. Not wanting to miss any action by stopping for dinner, we opted instead for a ritual ranch tradition—we raided whatever we could find under the seats. As buried snacks emerged, so did the jokes about who was willing to eat what and how long it’d been down there.
I’m still the reigning diner when it comes to eating dodgy, found-under-the-seat cuisine. I managed to find a petrified pack of red licorice, while Kels and Laurie located a more nutritious offering of string cheese and crackers. Kelsie grabbed a handful and sent the rest into the backseat. Then she transformed into a cheese-eating machine.
Just as I was about to warn her not to mistakenly bite my arm, a flash of movement caught my eye. To my astonishment two grizzly cubs galloped across the road just thirty feet in front of us!
I was so excited I couldn’t get any words out. The best I could manage was to stammer, point, and finally shout, “Bears!”
The cubs were not ambling or trotting. They were running as fast as little bears could go. They darted across the pavement, scaled an eight-foot embankment on our left, and began bounding up a very steep hill. To get a better view, I quickly rolled the truck up the road to the exact location where they’d crossed in front of us.
Then, before I could watch the babies, Mom galloped out of the brush with a third cub on her heels. She was so close she nearly brushed the front of our truck. Her sheer size left me incredulous. The bear’s body was larger than some of the smaller horses on our ranch. Yet, despite her mass and power, her ears were down in a submissive position. Something had threatened these bears enough to make them believe they were in mortal danger. The mother was clearly hustling her family to safety. I watched the muscles of her back and shoulders ripple under her thick, glossy pelt. She was beautiful!
Still at a dead run, she looked over her shoulder once and then, in a single leap, jumped up the same embankment her two cubs had just climbed and continued sprinting up the hill with the third cub in tow. I watched in slack-jawed awe as she bounded up the steep ridge.
Everything seemed to happen fast and slow at the same time. I grabbed my camera, turned it on, and waited to activate the telephoto lens. The mother bear was about thirty yards up the hillside when I framed her up.
Through the lens of my camera, as if I were view
ing a National Geographic moment, I watched the scene. Without warning, the mother bear planted her left hind foot. In a single motion her body whirled around like a great, dark cape.
She didn’t miss a beat. Instead of watching her hind legs launch up the hill, I was now seeing her front legs charge down the hill. In a series of great leaps, she stormed directly toward us. My National Geographic picture suddenly turned into a horror scene.
Inside the truck I dropped my camera. The elation the girls and I had felt milliseconds earlier instantly transformed into terror.
In one last vault the mother bear landed squarely on the top of the embankment only four yards from our truck! She was slightly higher than my driver’s side window and could easily jump across. We were now eye to eye!
What I saw next is permanently seared into my memory. As the mother bear’s front paws hit the top of the embankment, her momentum forced her weight toward us. In an effort to keep from tumbling over the bank and into the truck, she drove all her claws forward and down, exposing their full length. In the same instant, her ears pressed backward, flat against her head, as all the hair down her back stood straight up. In one final display of fury, she pulled her lips back as far as possible and let out a fearsome, teeth-clenched, growl! The sound was loud enough for me to hear above the rumble of my truck’s engine.
In a fraction of a second, this bear showed me every weapon she had. In all my life I’d never seen an image of greater ferocity. Her message was obvious: “These are my cubs, and this is my territory, and if you don’t leave now … I will kill you!” She was so close that I could clearly see—and in my mind I still do—how perfectly her bared teeth fit together.
In what seemed like slow motion, I watched the bear bring her hind legs forward and begin to coil her body like a spring. Clearly, the mother grizzly’s next intention was to jump the short distance into my open truck window!
